28. Storm
Chapter 28
Storm
T he mountain air is cool against my heated skin as I sit on the wide porch. My dog-eared copy of The Hunger Games, open in my lap. I've read it so many times the pages have gone soft, the corners bent and worn.
It's been three days since Reed and I crossed that final line, three days of discovering each other in ways I never imagined possible. Three days of gentle touches and passionate encounters of learning the shape of his body and the taste of his skin.
Three days, and I haven't seen Jonathan once.
I know he returned. Fox mentioned it during breakfast, his eyes lighting up in that special way they do whenever he speaks of his alpha. But Jonathan has kept his distance, hiding in his study or out walking the perimeter of the property, always managing to be elsewhere whenever I enter a room.
It's deliberate, this avoidance. I can feel it in the way his scent lingers in spaces I just missed him in, the way conversations hush when I approach. What I don't understand is why.
The wooden steps creak behind me, and I turn, expecting to see Rook or Frankie coming to call me in for dinner. Instead, I find myself looking up into familiar green eyes, sharper and more intense than Alexander's identical pair.
"Jonathan," I say, his name coming out softer than I intended.
He pauses, one foot still on the step, as if considering retreat. His eyes flick to the book in my lap, recognition flickering across his features.
"Katniss Everdeen," he says. "Fitting."
I snap the book closed, suddenly self-conscious. "What's that supposed to mean?"
He moves to sit beside me on the porch swing. Not too close, but close enough that his smoky cedar and black pepper scent wraps around me like a physical embrace.
"A girl thrust into a game she never wanted to play," he says, nodding toward the book. "Fighting against a system designed to control her. Sound familiar?"
I tuck the book closer to my chest, protective of both it and the comparison. "At least she got to volunteer. I didn't get a choice when I presented."
For a long moment, neither of us speaks. The silence stretches, not uncomfortable exactly, but charged with all the words we haven't said. All the things that have changed since that night I drew his pack from the lottery.
"Beautiful sunset," Jonathan finally says, his deep voice breaking the quiet.
I glance sideways at him, surprised by the change of topic. "That's what you want to talk about? The weather?"
A ghost of a smile touches his lips. "I thought it might be safer than the alternatives."
"Since when have you known me to choose the safe option?" I challenge, turning to face him fully.
His eyes meet mine, green depths unreadable. "Fair point." He looks away, toward the mountains painted gold and pink by the setting sun. "You seem... happy. With Reed."
The statement catches me off guard.
"I am," I admit, because there's no point denying it. "He's... not what I expected."
"Few of us are, when you look beneath the surface."
There's something in his tone that makes me study him more carefully. Jonathan looks tired, the kind of bone-deep exhaustion that comes from carrying too much weight for too long. His usual perfect posture has a slight slump to it, and shadows linger beneath his eyes.
"Fox told me what you did," I say quietly. "How you stood up to your fathers. How you protected this place. Protected all of us."
Jonathan stiffens slightly, his gaze still fixed on the horizon. "It was necessary."
"It was brave," I counter. "And kind, in a way I wouldn't have believed you capable of when we first met."
Now he does look at me, surprise evident in his expression. "You hated me."
"I did," I agree with a small laugh, absently running my thumb along the worn edge of my book. "You were everything I despised about the system—cold, controlling, the perfect elite alpha lording power over omegas—" I pause, gathering my courage, "—I was wrong."
It's true. The Jonathan I thought I knew at the Omega House was only a fraction of the man before me now.
"I'm sorry," I continue, the words rushing out before I can second-guess them. "For being such a pain in the ass at the Omega House. For making your job harder when you were just trying to find Fox."
Jonathan's expression softens almost imperceptibly. His eyes drop to the book clutched in my hands. "That's why you kept chewing gum, wasn't it? A small act of rebellion. Like the mockingjay pin."
I'm startled by the comparison—and by the fact that he's read the book well enough to make it. "Maybe," I admit. "Frankie kept sneaking it to me."
"I know," Jonathan says, a hint of what might be amusement warming his voice. "I've always known."
I blink, genuinely surprised. "You never stopped it."
"You were the only thing keeping me going some days," he admits, the confession clearly costing him. "Your defiance, your fire... it reminded me why we were there in the first place. Why the system needed to change."
I blink, genuinely startled. "I thought you hated me."
"Never," he says, the word so low I almost miss it. "You frustrated me, challenged me, drove me to the edge of madness sometimes... but I never hated you, Storm."
Something shifts between us, the air growing heavier with unspoken possibilities. I'm suddenly acutely aware of how alone we are out here, how the fading light softens his sharp features, how his scent has deepened with an emotion I can't quite name.
"I think it was fate," Jonathan says suddenly, his voice taking on a quality I've never heard from him before. "You writing our pack name on that ticket. Like deep down, some part of you knew this was how it was meant to be."
The words should sound ridiculous coming from practical, controlled Jonathan. But they don't. They resonate somewhere deep inside me, touching a truth I've been avoiding since that night at the Choosing Day ceremony.
"You think I subconsciously wanted to be part of your pack?" I ask, not sure whether to be amused or offended.
Jonathan shakes his head, a real smile curving his lips now. "I think you subconsciously knew we needed you. That Fox needed you… That I needed you."
"You needed me?" I repeat, the concept so foreign I can barely wrap my mind around it. Jonathan Kingsley, the most self-sufficient alpha I've ever met, needing anyone—let alone me.
"I wouldn't change any of it, Storm," he says, his gaze intensifying. "Not the chaos, not the rebellion, not even the danger. Because it brought you here. To us. To me."
My heartbeat quickens, something warm unfurling in my chest at his words. "I thought you were avoiding me because of Reed," I admit. "Because I chose him first."
Jonathan's hand moves across the space between us, hesitating before covering mine where it rests on top of my book. His touch is warm, strong, and sends a flutter of sensation up my arm.
"I needed time," he says simply. "To process. To accept. To be sure I could face you without letting my alpha instincts take over." His thumb traces gentle circles on the back of my hand. "Reed is good for you. He challenges you, matches your fire with his own."
"And you?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
His eyes meet mine, and the raw honesty I see there takes my breath away. "I've always been drawn to you, Storm. From that first day when you stormed into the ring to stop Reed from injuring Rook. With your wild curls and fierce spirit." His voice deepens, grows rougher with emotion. "At the Omega House. You pushed me, challenged me to be a better alpha. A better man."
I turn my hand beneath his, our palms pressing together, fingers intertwining. My book slips from my lap onto the porch swing beside me, momentarily forgotten. "I didn't know," I whisper. "I never thought you saw me as anything but a problem to be managed."
"You were. You are." A smile softens the words. "The most beautiful problem I've ever encountered."
The air between us changes, thickens with possibility and a tension that's been building since that first day in the Omega House when he pinned me beneath him. Slowly, giving me every chance to pull away, Jonathan raises his free hand to cup my cheek, his touch gentle despite the strength I know those hands possess.
"Storm," he murmurs, my name a question and a plea on his lips.
My dark chocolate scent shifts, growing richer, sweeter, perfuming unconsciously in response to him. I can't deny the pull he has on me, just as I couldn't deny Reed, or Rook, or Frankie. Each of them touches a different part of me, fulfills a different need.
Instead of answering with words, I lean forward, closing the distance between us. My lips find his, soft and tentative at first, testing this new territory. Jonathan remains perfectly still for a heartbeat, as if afraid I'll spook and run if he moves too quickly. Then, with a low sound that's almost a groan, he responds.
The kiss deepens, his hand sliding from my cheek to tangle in my wild curls, cradling the back of my head as he pulls me closer. His lips are firm against mine, confident in a way that sends heat spiraling through me. He tastes like coffee and something darker, something uniquely Jonathan.
I shift closer, my free hand coming up to grip his shoulder, feeling the solid muscle beneath the fabric of his shirt. His black pepper scent is sharper and envelops me completely now, mingling with my dark chocolate in a combination that feels surprisingly right.
When we finally break apart, both breathing harder, his forehead rests against mine, our eyes closed, sharing the same air. His hand remains in my hair, gentle yet possessive, while our other hands stay clasped between us.
"I didn't expect that," I admit, a small laugh bubbling up from somewhere deep inside me.
"Didn't you?" Jonathan asks, pulling back just enough to meet my gaze. There's a warmth in his green eyes I've never seen before, a softness that transforms his entire face. "I think some part of you has been fighting this since the beginning. Just as I have."
"Fighting attraction to the enemy," I muse, though the word 'enemy' no longer fits. If it ever truly did.
"Fighting the inevitable," he corrects gently.
The sun has nearly disappeared now, the last rays painting the sky in deep purples and blues.
"What happens now?" I ask, genuinely uncertain. The dynamics of our strange pack are complicated enough without adding this new development.
"That's up to you," Jonathan says, his thumb brushing across my knuckles where our hands remain joined. "I'm not asking for promises or commitments. Just... openness to possibilities."
The words surprise me, so different from the controlling alpha I first met. "I don't know what I want," I confess. "I care for you all. It's all so complicated."
My eye catches on my forgotten book, the cover showing a mockingjay pin—a symbol of defiance that became something more. A reminder that even in the cruelest systems, there's room for change, for choice, for love.
"Life usually is," Jonathan agrees, no judgment in his tone. "But we have time to figure it out. Together."
Together. Such a simple word, and yet it holds so much meaning here in this mountain home we've created. Together, not as alpha and omega forced into roles by society, but as people choosing their own path.
"Together," I echo, the word feeling right on my lips.
Jonathan smiles, a real smile that reaches his eyes and transforms his entire face. In that moment, I catch a glimpse of the man he might have been without the weight of the Kingsley name, without the burden of a system that demands perfection and obedience.
"We should go in," he says, though he makes no move to release my hand. "It's getting cold."
"In a minute," I reply, shifting closer until our shoulders touch. "I want to watch the stars come out."
Jonathan's arm wraps around me, pulling me against his side where I fit surprisingly well, despite our difference in size. His warmth seeps into me, a shield against the growing chill of the mountain evening.
As the first stars begin to appear in the darkening sky, I feel something settle in my chest. Contentment I never expected to find in Jonathan Kingsley's arms. Whatever happens next, whatever complications our unusual pack arrangement brings, I know that this moment, this connection, is real.
And for now, that's enough.