Confused
Cassian
My vision swims, colors bleeding together, shapes blurring into one another like my mind can’t decide what belongs where.
Then I hear a sound.
It’s a broken little gasp muffled against my chest, followed by a fractured rumble I don’t immediately recognize. My head is too thick to chase it down.
And I realize it’s me.
A low vibration hums through my chest, rough and fractured, more instinct than sound. A purr.
What the hell?
I don’t purr. Not like this. The only time it slips out of me is when Beck is upset enough to need it. When my instincts take over, soothing my beta without consciously doing it.
Confusion barely has time to register before I shift a fraction, trying to orient myself, and pain detonates.
My knee erupts in a vicious, throbbing heat that whites out my thoughts completely. Sharp and brutal, like something is trying to tear me apart from the inside. It makes the sound in my chest cut off.
I try to breathe through it, to collect myself, but it gets choked off by a wave of vertigo.
When air finally makes it back into my lungs, an unknown scent slams into me. It’s a tidal wave of honey and earthy tea that cuts through the fever and the pain, hitting my bloodstream like pure fire.
My heart kicks in my chest.
My vision blurs, then clears, and the world snaps into focus all at once.
And the first thing I see is Beck.
He’s right here, hovering at the edge of the bed like he’s afraid to breathe. His big blue-gray eyes blown wide, bright with something that looks like a confused mix of joy and terror. His mouth is pulled tight; lips pink like he’s been gnawing them raw.
“Cass,” he whispers, like my name might spook me if he says it too loud.
Behind him, more shapes come into focus.
Warren stands at the foot of the bed, bare-chested, joggers slung low on his hips. His hair is mussed, eyes sharp and sleepless, posture locked tight.
Grason is at his side. He looks like he fell asleep in yesterday’s clothes. His shirt is creased, sleeves rumpled, boots unlaced. His hands are curled at his sides, knuckles pale. He looks so amped.
“What’s wrong?” I ask Gray, my voice rough from misuse.
“Cass,” Warren says. “How about you let her—”
I shift and pain claws back in, making me grunt.
Fuck!
The room tilts as my knee screams with a bright, vicious agony. Heat floods the joint, relentless, overwhelming. I grit my teeth, breath going shallow as my arms tighten reflexively around something soft, anger spiking hard.
I fucking hate my body for betraying me like this.
“Easy, Mr. Vexler,” someone says.
I force my eyes open and snap a glare to the side.
Dr. Pace.
Of course, he’s here.
The older beta edges closer to the bed, slow and deliberate, like he’s measuring every step. A syringe glints in his hand. “There’s no need to get upset,” he says softly. “It’s just a simple blood test. I’m only trying to help.”
My jaw tightens, but I don’t respond.
“Please,” the doctor’s voice drops, pleading. “Let her go.”
Her?
But before I can figure out who he’s talking about, something moves against my chest.
I look down, and my entire body locks up.
There’s a woman in my arms, her side pressed flush against my chest.
My arm is locked around her narrow waist, and the other hand is tangled in a cascade of dark red hair. My fingers curve around the back of her neck, holding her. Possessive. Familiar in a way that makes no sense.
I have no memory of how she got here.
The hand at her neck moves, forcing her head to tip back.
Slowly, her face comes into focus. She’s pretty. Soft-mouthed, lashes dark and thick against flushed cheeks. Her brown eyes stare past me, wide and glossy with fear.
I have no idea who this woman is, but there’s something about her that feels too good.
My grip on her waist tightens before I realize how hard I’m holding her. A small, frightened sound slips from her throat, sharp and involuntary. It hits me square in the chest, and my arms loosen enough to let her breathe.
The moment the pressure eases, my own breath stutters back in.
Her scent floods me all at once, no warning, no mercy. Sugared-tea leaves deepen into something unmistakable, sweet and grounding and alive. It slides under my skin, curls around my spine, and settles hard and sure in a place that doesn’t argue.
Omega.
The realization is a lightning strike in my addled brain.
Every alpha instinct I possess roars to life, a primal command to claim, protect, mate.
A jolt goes through me, and my cock gives a pathetic twitch against my thigh. A faint, stirring echo of what it should be doing. But the fire in my blood dies as quickly as it came, smothered by the pain and fever.
“Who,” I rasp as my hold on the omega tightens once again. “Who is she?”
But no one answers.
“Where did she come from?” I rip my eyes off her face, looking directly at Warren.
He looks wrecked.
Shame is written all over him. Head bowed, shoulders rigid, and eyes cast down like he’s already braced for the blow. He looks guilty.
“She’s our omega,” he says quietly. “Her name is Tansy.”
My grip on the back of her neck doubles, instinct snapping sharp and territorial. “I know what she is,” I bite, and the omega shivers. “I asked where she came from.”
Warren swallows. “We got her at the Morder,” he says. “The omega black market.”
The room feels smaller, tighter, as shock tears through me. “You bought an omega?” I ask, voice low and dangerous. “While I was unconscious?”
Warren nods, shame deepening in his eyes. “Yes,” he whispers. “I did.”
Something in my chest fractures, rage and disbelief colliding with a cold, hollow weight.
They made a permanent decision for our pack.
Without me.
“Cass,” Beck starts, eyes wide and pleading. “You were dying. We had to help you. We—”
A growl rips out of my chest before I can stop it. Low. Stern. Final. It snaps through the room like a blade.
Beck’s slight body freezes up, color draining from his face as he goes silent instantly, eyes dropping in reflexive submission.
The woman in my arms—Tansy—reacts too.
She tries to jerk free, a sudden, violent twist of her body.
For a second, she almost succeeds, managing to turn slightly before my arm clamps down, pulling her back against me.
Her side is now pressed flush against my chest, giving me a clear view of her profile, the panicked flutter of her pulse in her throat.
“Don’t,” I growl, and her whole body trembles with a full, involuntary shudder. Her breath hitches as fear rolls off her in sharp, panicked waves. It makes her scent shift, sweetness going thin and frightened in a way that makes my instincts rear up even harder.
Fuck.
She must be terrified right now. I should let her go.
I know I should.
Every rational thought I have screams to loosen my grip before I accidentally hurt her. But my body refuses to obey.
My arm stays locked around her waist, hand still firm at her neck. I flex my fingers a fraction of an inch, and instinct digs in, stubborn and absolute, as if letting go would destroy both of us.
Mine, my animalistic urges demand.
I drag my gaze up from the omega’s shaking form and look at my pack. One by one.
Warren.
Grason.
Beck.
“You made a decision that wasn’t yours to make.” My voice is low and razor-edged. It doesn’t rise. It doesn’t need to. “You don’t get to rewrite the future of this pack because my wounds are taking their time to heal. It’s not your place.”
Beck flinches. Grason’s pecs flex under his shirt, shoulders slumping like he’s already taking the weight of it. Warren holds my stare, shame etched around his eyes.
Enraged, I drop my head, burying my face in the soft curve of Tansy’s neck. I breathe in deep, right against her skin, a deliberate, invasive act.
I’m not only scenting her. I’m hunting for further evidence of their betrayal.
I need to know how far they went, if they dared to mark her with their scent or filled her with their cum.
Sucking in a deep breath, I pull in her lush scent, but underneath it is the faint, unmistakable traces of my pack.
Warren’s warm sandalwood and Grason’s crisp pine.
They definitely touched her.
I lift my head slowly and fix the two alphas with a hard glare. “Did you fuck her?”
“No,” Warren says immediately, sharp and certain. “Never.”
Grason shakes his head once. Beck doesn’t even look up.
“We simply transported her home,” Warren continues. “That’s all. We didn’t touch her beyond what was necessary. We swear it.”
My alpha instincts go wild, a snarling, possessive beast inside me that doesn't believe them for a second. How could they have resisted something so soft and sweet? Hell, my own body, weak as it is, still reacts to her. How could theirs not?
But I refuse to reprimand my pack in front of an omega and a beta. I will handle their betrayal later, when I am stronger.
“Out,” I command, the word flat and final.
All three of them stiffen.
Beck and Pace quickly obey, rushing out into the hallway. Warren hesitates for half a second, long enough to register, and then he nods. Grason looks like he wants to argue, or apologize, or both, but one glance at my face kills it.
“We’ll be right outside,” Grason says as he reaches for Warren’s arm, tugging the alpha toward the door.
I don’t say a word.
I glare, not moving a muscle until the door closes softly behind them. The room goes quiet, and the tension shifts. It’s not gone, but contained.
Tansy’s breath is still uneven, coming out in shallow little pulls of air. Her body is rigid, arching forward like she’s trying to create some kind of space between us, but my arm stays locked around her waist, keeping her firmly pressed against my chest.
I close my eyes for half a second.
Don’t scare her more than she already is.
Slowly, I slide my hand from the back of her neck to rest flat between her shoulder blades. Open palm. But I keep my arm around her waist.
She shifts almost immediately, a subtle, careful movement.
Instead of pulling away, she angles herself slightly toward me, the best she can with my arm still a band around her waist. Her new position gives me a clear view of the side of her face.
The soft curve of her cheek, the long sweep of her dark lashes, and the vulnerable line of her throat.
My gaze drops, taking in the rest of her.
She’s drowning in one of my plain black T-shirts, the soft fabric hanging off one shoulder. The sight of it, of my scent all over her, is the only good decision my pack has made so far. It’s a primal satisfaction that cuts through my anger.
“I’m Cassian,” I manage. My voice is rough, low, unsteady. “You can call me Cass in private or alpha in public. You’re safe here,” I say. “No one here is going to hurt you.”
For a moment, she doesn’t move. Then, inch by inch, she lifts her head. Her gaze rises, lashes fluttering slightly as she finally looks up at me over her shoulder.
The second our eyes meet, something wild and possessive flares in my chest with an intensity I've never experienced before. And the longer I hold her, the more my body decides it’s finally time to wake up.
My cock stirs against my thigh, a slow, thickening pulse of heat that’s impossible to ignore.
It’s a visceral, demanding reaction, a primal urge to claim what’s right here in my arms. But I’m in no condition to act on it.
Not with the infection still ripping through my system.
I’ll have to wait until I’m back on my feet, and Tansy isn’t so tense and overwhelmed.
“What—” Tansy pauses, swallowing hard, her voice meek as a mouse. “What are you going to do with me?”
The question hangs in the air between us, but I hesitate.
The truth is, I know exactly what I want to do with her.
I want to spread her out on this bed, bury my face between her legs, and fuck her until she can’t remember her own name. I want to claim her so thoroughly that no other alpha will ever dare to look at her again.
But saying that would terrify her, and the fear in her eyes is already a poison I can't stomach.
So I swallow the urge, forcing my ugly instincts back into their cage.
Then, I lie, “I don’t know.”