Chapter 29
Vaelenor
We stopped meeting in the War Room.
With half our number gone or decommissioned, it just feels wrong. Makes me feel raw, like I’m scraping my nerve endings against glass.
Not quite sure how I feel about that thing being called “vintage,” considering I’m old enough to remember when advanced technology was a musket that didn’t explode in your face.
“Alright, where’s Silas?” I ask when I can’t take it anymore. He’s been missing all day, and I’m starting to worry. I can always hear him yapping from anywhere in HQ.
“I sent him with some trainees to check on warehouses near the one you and I visited.” Gav leans against the windowsill, looking out over the training yard and the forest beyond with a drink in his hand.
“Riven says there’s been chatter. More random cars rolling up at odd hours. Men funneling through.”
He turns from the window. “And quite frankly, I’m tired of listening to him complain that he misses his pack. It’s exhausting. He’s one-hundred-ninety-three, not nine.”
“Gods, is he really that young?” Dax asks, tapping at something on an iPad.
“Ford’s only one-hundred-and-four,” I point out.
“Ford doesn’t count, he could be twenty or two-thousand and still make me feel like I’ve done something to disappoint my grandfather,” Dax mutters.
I stretch, getting comfortable and making a note to check on Silas later. I can’t help but feel bad for the guy. It’s gotta suck being away from your pack.
“Alright, so we’re down Silas. Anyone want to talk about how half the compound is still running on a generator and Dax is two seconds away from being forcibly committed after a quarter of his tech was fried?”
Dax glares at me over his screen. “I’m not that pissed.”
I scoff. “You punched a trainee in the mouth for asking if you had a flashlight. Get serious.”
“He’s a vampire. He can literally see in the dark. The punch was because no one can possibly be that stupid.”
“If you go around punching every person who says something stupid, we’ll be running HQ with only four people by the end of the week,” Gav replies, sipping his whiskey. “Any idea what caused the blackout?”
Dax looks tired. More tired than I’ve seen him since all this shit started. Between Caelan’s injuries, sleepless nights, the Omega, and now the blackout, he’s barely holding it together. He’ll never admit it, of course. But I can see it. I can feel it in the Bond.
Just like I can feel his irritation with himself every time he interacts with the little Omega.
Of course, he’ll never admit that, either.
“Everything was fine until it wasn’t,” he sighs. “I was sparring with a few of the new guys when the bulbs started flickering. I went to check the breakers, but before I made it to the sub-basement, the entire compound went black. Bulbs shattered, circuitry fried, it was a full system failure.”
He groans, cracking his neck. “I’m working on getting replacements for the fried circuit boards, but the rest is going to take a few days to get up and running again. Thankfully, the generator can power the compound. We shouldn’t see any long-term issues.”
“Was Caelan affected?” I ask, chewing the inside of my cheek. The thought of Caelan waking up in pain makes my stomach roll.
“No. That’s the weird part.”
“That’s the weird part? Not the entire compound losing electricity for the first time ever?”
“There are any number of reasons that could have happened,” he waves a hand dismissively. “What’s strange is the medical wing wasn’t touched. Not even a light bulb went out.”
He looks between Gav and me.
“Every single room outside of the main house was affected except the medical wing. Not a flicker or a spark. Calder didn’t even know something happened when I called.”
I frown. “What the hell is going on around here? First the earthquake and now this?”
Gav eyes Dax warily. “What about the Omega?”
I tense. Each time Idril’s brought up in conversation, Dax responds one of two ways.
Either with an unnatural, predatory stillness, or like a man being forced to watch you drive his favorite car off a cliff—with baffled, rage-fueled irritation.
Just the reminder that she’s alive is enough to piss him off.
We get predatory stillness this time.
Sitting on the edge of the couch, hands clasped loosely between his knees, he gives Gavran one long, slow blink. Like a cat ready to pounce, letting you pretend he’s not unsheathing his claws.
I hate when he gets like this. I’d rather see the anger. At least that’s real. It’s something I can bite back at. This version of him just shuts down.
“I sent her to the Lost Room to categorize the boxes down there,” I answer, before Dax can lose it.
Gav’s snorts. “I guess giving her busy work makes sense. Pretty much the same thing I’m doing, having Cage babysit her.”
At the mention of Cage, Dax frowns. “Yeah, about that. We need to keep a closer eye on him.”
“Why?” I ask, stealing a pillow, stuffing it behind my head.
My packmate looks at me like I’m an idiot. “Because he’s a fucking sadist. I’m pretty sure he’s not feeding her, let alone giving her water throughout the day. That girl’s lips are so chapped they’re bleeding. And she could barely stand earlier.”
He makes her sound like a puppy rather than a whole ass person.
Also, is he… worried about her? Surely not.
I sit back up and lean forward, studying him with interest. “And how would you know?”
He shrugs, ”I was down there today. The Lost Room is right next to the breakers. When I walked in, she was leaning against the wall like it was the only thing keeping her upright. Said her chest and stomach hurt, and asked to lie down.”
“What did you tell her?”
I’m pretty sure Gav’s pissed if the white-knuckled grip on his glass is any indication.
I can’t blame him. He specifically ordered Dax to stay away from her unsupervised.
“I told her she’d be fine. That she wasn’t a delicate little flower. A little hard work won’t hurt the girl.” He frowns, and I think I catch a flash of guilt in his eyes, but it’s gone so fast I can’t be sure.
“She asked me for water. When I told her Cage would bring her some, she declined. Emphatically. Before I even had the words out of my mouth.”
Gav and I exchange a look.
“That… that wasn’t manipulation,” Dax mutters. “I’m sure of it. I think she’s scared of him, and to be honest, I don’t blame her. I’ve heard stories recently from other trainees. I don’t trust him.”
“I’ll talk to him,” I offer.
“Don’t. I already said something. Then I sent her back to her room for the day. She wasn’t much use to anyone at that point.”
Good.
I’m glad he sent her to her room. Glad she isn’t still sitting down there in that basement, cold and alone and not feeling well.
Then I hate myself for being glad. Because she’s the enemy—the reason Caelan’s in a coma.
Isn’t she?
Dax levels Gav with a serious look. “Actually, I’ve been meaning to talk to you. I don’t think the Bloodbound is a good fit for Cage. There’s something about him that’s… wrong. He’s not hard. Not ruthless. There’s no honor behind his mask. He’s just a fucking dick.”
Well, that’s interesting he’s never voiced such a strong opinion about a trainee before. I wonder if the way Cage treats Idril has something to do with Dax wanting to boot him.
Maybe he doesn’t actually want the little liar to die. Maybe he’s softening.
And Fates, I can fucking relate.
There are moments I have to force myself to picture Caelan—broken and bleeding when we found him—to remind myself why I hate her.
I still haven’t told anyone about the blanket and pillow I left for her, or the food. Or the hair ties. Or the moment I almost touched her that first morning, desperate to feel her skin against mine.
And I’ll never, ever, admit that when we crossed paths on the landing last night, I almost lost it.
She was standing there in a pair of leggings and a t-shirt, the same uniform she’s worn for days.
The paleness of her skin made the bruises still lining her throat stand out obscenely. I couldn’t stop staring at them, remembering the other morning at breakfast, when she thought I was about to hit her.
Fuck, I can’t get that moment out of my brain. It was so disturbing and seemed so real.
Like a learned response.
And last night, she looked as shocked to run into me as I was to be there in the first place. Worse than that… she looked fucking wrecked. Her skin was pale, her hands were chapped, and she was so Fates-damned small I was afraid I’d break her if I got too close.
Then, out of nowhere, my Alpha went fucking ballistic. Beating against my chest, screaming, ‘Fix her! Now! How the fuck can you look at her like that and not do anything? She’s hurting. She’s an Omega. You’re supposed to protect her. Hold her. Purr for her.’
It was pure primal instinct, urging me to protect. My Alpha’s normally not so vocal. I don’t make a habit of suppressing my instincts, but my Alpha’s just never shown much interest in Omegas one way or another.
Well, apparently that’s changed.
It’s like in that moment, his desires overtook everything.
All I wanted to do was pull her too-thin body into mine and purr until she was limp in my arms. I wanted to build her a nest of all my clothes and the softest blankets I could find.
Feed her by hand until she was healthy, and I could no longer see her collarbone under the thin fabric of her shirt.
It was complete madness.
It’s also the first time I’ve agreed with Dax about the power Omegas have over our biology. If my Alpha instincts rode me that hard without even scenting her Omega perfume, I can’t imagine how easily she could manipulate us if she weren’t on the suppressant.
There’s no reason to bring any of that up, though. As long as she keeps her mouth shut, I can keep pretending I’m not breaking my brothers’ trust by giving into the need to provide for the sad little Omega, even if it’s only in a small way.
Emotional treason, thy name is Vaelenor.