Chapter 4
Caelan
Irace home like the hounds of Hell are nipping at my heels.
All the way back, I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve left something important behind. Someone important.
It’s a constant pull. That feeling you get when you forget an important meeting or were supposed to be somewhere, and realize you forgot to show up.
It’s a lure in the middle of my chest begging me to go back. Back. Back.
All the way to Varenthrall’s if it has its way.
If I didn’t know better, I’d say my instincts have gained sentience in the last hour and are actively waging war on my common sense. I grip the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turn white, fighting the urge to give in.
The city lights in the distance become clearer the further away I get from the Omega, before disappearing completely as I maneuver the vehicle in the opposite direction. Towards home. Away from her.
I roll down my window to let in some fresh air.
Nevermind the fact that there aren’t any smells in here for it to filter through. Nothing outside of lingering traces of my own scent from days ago when I stepped out without a descenter.
How could someone’s scent chase after me when I’ve never been close enough to smell it? It’s a phantom itch at the back of my skull, fucking with me.
I know that if I close my eyes, I’ll see the Omega as clearly as I had when she’d been only a few feet away. Standing on that balcony, cuddling that behemoth of a feral feline, her starlit hair, pale skin, and wide, bright eyes glowing under the moonlight.
I slam my hands on the steering wheel and release a growl that echoes around the SUV’s interior and into the empty fields beyond. A growl I’ve been choking down since I first saw her.
Starlit hair? I need to get a fucking grip.
One pretty face and all of a sudden I’m fucking Lord Byron. Next thing I know, I’ll be writing sonnets about her lips like a psychopath.
Fuck. Those Fatesdamned lips.
My muscles tense, leather creaking under the flex of my fingers as I imagine how good they’d feel wrapped around my—
NO.
Godsdamnit, Caelan. Get your shit together.
I make sure the Bond is still locked down tight, and my packmates aren’t getting a random shot of lust second-hand. Then I floor the accelerator and race home, intent on outrunning whatever the fuck this is.
As soon as the Denali squeals to a stop in the circle drive, I notice Vae already waiting for me, having obviously just finished a run. His shirt is off and slung around his neck like a heathen, sweat running in rivulets down his abs.
He never misses a chance to show off, even if there’s no one around to show off for. His cocky grin and mirth-filled eyes feel out of place after the upheaval my entire system just went through.
I hesitate, debating on spilling everything just to get it all out, but quickly shut that shit down. What I feel shouldn’t be possible. I didn’t scent her. Didn’t taste her blood. It’s not like I invented a new fucking Mate Bond out of thin air.
Telling Vae and Dax, or anyone else, what’s happening is a no-go.
I refuse to pull an innocent girl into the cross-hairs just because my instincts went off-script.
If they think she’s anything more than a random piece on the board—especially Dax—then I’m essentially throwing her to the wolves.
He’ll start asking questions I don’t have the answers to, and I’m not prepared to put any of us in that situation yet.
Truth is, I kind of want to keep her to myself a little longer, because after what happened tonight, she feels like mine.
Mine to watch over. Mine to protect. Mine to figure out.
Vae and I fall in step, and I jog up the stone stairs like I can outrun the weight of my decision. I can feel his stare boring into the side of my head, and I grunt in annoyance. “What?”
He just smiles that cocky fucking grin and rolls his shoulders.
“Nothing. I was just thinking that for a guy with little to no emotions, you pulled up here like you were late to a hate-fuck.”
“I wouldn’t drive the Denali to a hate-fuck.” I reply flatly, playing along. “I like that car too much. It’s got lots of room. And armor.”
I pull open the huge oak doors, dropping my bag in the entryway. Reaching for my gun, I eject the magazine and clear the chamber before handing it off to a waiting trainee on cleaning duty.
“So does a coffin,” Vae points out dryly, leaning against the wall.
“That is such a bullshit stereotype!” Silas’s voice rings through the entryway as he saunters out of the kitchen with a sandwich in one hand and a beer in the other.
The side door to the garage slams shut on the opposite side of the entryway. A second set of footsteps rounds the corner.
Ford appears, already grumbling. “Fates, not this coffin crap again. Which of you jackasses started it this time?”
He’s probably been working on restoring his ‘53 Chevy if I had to guess. He wipes his hands on a grease-covered rag and eyes us like we’re troublesome teenagers who provoked his child on purpose.
I shoot Vae a feral smirk and throw him under the bus with exactly zero hesitation. “Vae did,” I shrug, shouldering past Silas toward the grand staircase that’s the centerpiece of the stronghold entryway.
I jog up the stairs with Ford by my side. Vae and Silas follow behind us, and I assume we’re all heading to the War Room for a debrief.
Our footfalls echo down the long hall, and Silas, never one to miss a chance to hear himself speak, takes advantage of the moment to jump on his soapbox.
“It just makes no logical sense. I mean, do I look like a discount prop from Spirit Halloween?” He scoffs, taking a huge bite of his sandwich. Somehow, he’s managed to gesture wildly with both hands and not lose a single bit of filling.
Impressive.
We round the corner, and I push through the door to the War Room, the other three shuffling in behind me.
“We don’t even die during the day,” he mumbles around a mouth full of food. “Where did humans come up with that shit, anyway? I rest. Like a normal person. With pillows.”
“And weighted blankets,” Vaelenor agrees seriously, nodding like Silas is finally putting into words everything Vae’s been thinking for years.
Spoiler: He hasn’t.
“Yes! Thank you!” Silas throws up his hands and drops into a chair, slapping both his beer and sandwich—sans plate—onto the old oak table that dominates the room.
As I take a seat across from him, Daxen lets out an aggrieved sigh from across the table. I follow his gaze and realize he’s looking at Silas’s sandwich with horror etched across his face.
A large dollop of mayonnaise slides down the side of the bread slowly and falls onto the table with a plop.
Dax’s jaw ticks and his right eye twitches.
I raise a hand to cover my smirk.
“You have three weighted blankets, seven pillows, a voice-activated fan, and a machine that plays five kinds of thunderstorms.” Ford points out, settling down and lining up his cigarette case and lighter in a neat row in front of him.
“You once hollered across the hall because you didn’t want to get up and shut your own blackout curtains. ”
Silas sputters in outrage. “I was already in bed. I couldn’t get out and then get back in! Plus, I already knew you were awake. It’s called efficiency.”
“It’s called being a little bitch,” Daxen mutters, eyes trained on his laptop.
“Regardless,” Silas drawls, glaring at Dax. “I don’t crawl into a wood box at night. That’s a bullshit myth.”
“You did once.” Dax reminds him.
Silas stills. We all still.
Then, the younger Alpha slams his hands on the table in front of him and snarls, “That was one time, and it was because I was trapped inside, Daxen. It was sealed. With no air holes. I nearly died—”
“Vampires can’t die from lack of oxygen,” Vae interrupts lightly.
“Just like we can’t die from walking into the sun.
Or garlic. Or stepping into a church, or a room with a cross.
Or gluten, for that matter. Ever meet a vampire with celiac?
Me either. I mean, if that were real, we’d have lost an entire choir of vampire monks in the Vatican. ”
Ford hums in sympathy, muttering, “Tragic. Think of the hymns.”
Silas snaps, “Still—”
But Vae is already talking over him again. “You know, I’d love to meet the human who started that myth. Imagine seeing a vampire a little sluggish and cranky from too much sun and thinking, ‘This makes so much sense, obviously they burst into flames like a bug under a toddler’s microscope.’”
I cough to hide my laugh and catch Dax’s lips twitch like he’s trying not to smile.
“You’re missing the point—”
“No, I’m nailing the point,” Vae leans back, lounging like a smug professor who just got tenure in the middle of a lecture hall. “If I can’t die from the sun, then you can’t die from lack of oxygen. We are very difficult to kill, Silas. Trust me, I do this for a living.”
“I. Nearly. Died,” Silas grinds out, glaring at Vae like he’s considering putting the sun theory to the test. “It was a nightmare. And all I could hear while slowly suffocating was Dax rattling off instructions over comms on how to pick a lock with a paperclip… despite the fact that he knew I didn’t have a fucking paperclip. ”
“So the box won,” Ford tsks, shaking his head. “Tough break, pal.”
Silas looks ready to flip the damn table.
Dax’s smile is full of menace, despite staring doggedly at his laptop screen.
Vae starts outright cackling, and Ford lets go of his emotions long enough to bark out a laugh.
Their voices wash over me as Silas continues to recall his valiant escape, insisting repeatedly that the furniture did not, in fact, overpower him.
My gaze drifts, eventually landing on the forest outside the window.
This is good. This is okay. I can do this, I just have to keep ignoring the violent tug insisting I return to the Omega.
I wonder what she’s doing. Is she safe? Hungry?
Did Varenthrall hurt her when he took her downstairs? Did Alexander?