Chapter 33
Vaelenor
Ineed to leave. Turn around and walk out that door, and pretend like my insides aren’t tangled up in knots watching Riven flirt with the little Omega.
I came by the library to give Dax an update on Caelan’s condition.
Apparently, yesterday evening, his healing somehow skyrocketed for a few hours.
The test results make no sense to me, but Calder swears it’s almost like his body was healing nearly ten times faster than normal, and they don’t know how or what caused it.
I was in a damn good mood on my way here to deliver the news, but then I walked in and saw Riven eyeing the female like she was a snack he couldn’t wait to sink his fangs into.
Now, he’s leaning back with a smug look on his face, flipping through another massive book. I don’t know where the guy finds them all. I half suspect he’s stealing from museums or old ladies just to prove he can.
Idril—the Omega—is stacking papers into a pile, her hands trembling slightly.
Why? It isn’t even nine in the morning. What could have upset her already?
My eyes flick to the Alpha, a few seats away from her. He hasn’t looked her way since making that comment about Daxen and things getting explosive, but maybe…
Daxen.
Fates, of course. It doesn’t matter what time of day it is; if Dax can find a way to upset her, he’ll do it.
“I, uh…” I pause, rubbing the back of my neck. Why is this so weird? “I brought you something to eat.”
Okay, so maybe I didn’t just come in here to update Dax about Caelan’s condition. Fucking sue me.
I set the buttered toast and fruit on the table, and take a step back. Idril stills, and her startled blue eyes snap to mine.
Why is she so surprised?
I get my answer a second later when she surreptitiously flicks her gaze to the door. Like she’s checking—
Fates. She’s checking to make sure that Dax isn’t coming back.
And honestly? That’s my fault, too.
I always leave her food in private. Never in front of other people. I have to do it that way, though. It’s just a constant struggle between my instincts insisting I take care of her, and my brain insisting she deserves our treatment.
It’s a constant itch under my skin.
I swallow thickly, shame blooming in my gut.
She hasn’t moved, papers frozen in her grip and her eyes glued to the plate. So I reach out, pluck the papers gently from her grasp, and set them aside.
”Eat.” I don’t mean to push Alpha Command into my voice. It just slips out—my instincts, frantic to ensure she eats, override my common sense.
It’s barely anything. Can hardly be considered a Command.
But she flinches back like I spat at her.
Fuck.
To my horror, her eyes well with tears, and guilt slams into me.
I don’t mean to upset her. I mean—not this time, at least.
I just want to make sure she eats. She’s too small. Too fragile.
My Alpha can’t fucking stand it.
Riven slams his book down on the table so hard the glassware rattles. “Do you all just wake up in the morning and have a meeting to decide if you’re going to take away someone’s free fucking will, or is today just a team building exercise?”
I turn to him with narrowed eyes and a growl rumbling in my throat. ”What?”
“It’s fine,” Idril whispers. The guilt in churning my stomach grows.
A growl rumbles in Riven’s chest, but Idril ignores it and reaches for the toast. Her eyes flick to me, and I’m strangely pleased that I can read the plea in her gaze. Please don’t.
And fuck me, but I keep my mouth shut.
“Thank you, Vaelenor.” Her voice is a sweet, soft melody that reaches into my chest, grabs hold of my heart, and squeezes. It wraps around my Alpha, soothing all his jagged edges into something softer. Something kinder.
The way she says my name is pure fucking sin wrapped in silk.
With a soft smile of gratitude, she bites into her toast. The softest moan of delight fills the space between us, and Fates help me, the sound goes straight to my cock.
I clench my jaw and subtly adjust myself.
My Alpha preens like a cocky asshole. All because she’s eating food we gave her.
The worst part is—I like it. It fills up some broken part of me that I didn’t even realize was empty.
What’s even better? When I’m around her, it’s almost like the anxiety over my Curse that’s constantly gnawing at my insides just… fades away. The worry that I’ll explode into a living weapon out of nowhere is always in the back of my mind. Lurking, like a fucking ghost that can’t be put to rest.
But around Idril, the persistent weight of my past lifts, leaving me lighter than I can ever remember feeling. It’s addictive. It makes me feel like everything’s going to be okay, providing me with the confidence I’ve always lacked.
And I fucking hate myself for it.
That hatred doesn’t prevent me from watching every bite the Omega takes, relishing the way my instincts settle more and more with each swallow.
My gaze is locked on her mouth, eyes tracing the slow sweep of her tongue as she licks butter off her bottom lip. She chews slowly, like she wants to make the moment last.
Surely I’m not the only one ensuring she’s fed, am I?
Before I can spiral down that rabbit hole, Idril sighs in satisfaction and my eyes snap back to hers. I watch the way her lashes flutter, casting shadows across the tops of her cheekbones.
Who has eyelashes that long?
A shining curl of silver hair catches on the side of her mouth. She pushes it back with a delicate flick of her fingers, only for it to fall again, catching on the soft curve of her cheek.
Her thick, wavy hair is the sort of beautiful you only see in old oil paintings of fairytale princesses… or elven queens.
And Fates help me, I still can’t look away. She’s so beautiful. So godsdamned perfect that it hurts to look at her.
No wonder Caelan got so distracted. No wonder he got caught.
Caelan.
The thought hits me like a blast of cold water and I grunt audibly. The Omega glances up at me with curiosity shining in her eyes.
And because I’m a complete asshole who doesn’t know what the hell is happening inside my own mind and can’t get my shit together, I sneer at her.
What the fuck am I doing?
Of all people, what the hell is it about her that has me acting like an idiot? Ever since we brought her here, it’s like I’m caught between my instincts and shame so thick I can barely breathe.
I yank my gaze away, jaw clenched, blood boiling in my veins.
Why the hell can’t I get this girl out of my damn head? She’s a liar. She manipulated my packmate. She’s the reason I was up at four in the morning, trudging across the grounds and into the compound to sit by Caelan’s bedside for hours just to watch him breathe.
A growl slips out, and Idril jolts, dropping a piece of fruit. It falls to the plate, bounces once, and tumbles to the floor.
With a sigh, I lean over to pick it up, and as I do, I realize she’s frozen still. She’s barely even breathing. Her hands start to tremble, eyes glued to my face. Watching, waiting.
For what?
My gaze flicks up to hers. The naked fear staring back at me makes my stomach clench. She thinks I’m about to punish her.
She’s waiting for me to attack her. Again.
That realization makes something dark and painful slither through my ribs. What is it about me that makes her always on edge, thinking I’m going to physically hurt her?
I don’t know why I care. In fact, I should revel in the fear pulsing off of her in waves, shouldn’t I? I mean, I’ve certainly never given her a reason to believe I wouldn’t be a jackass over something as small as dropped food.
And the whole point is to push her until she breaks and gives us some damn answers. Push her until she finally admits to working with her father and hopefully provides us with intel that will lead us to the missing Omegas.
The missing Omegas that, despite spending fucking hours searching for, we’re no closer to finding.
The issue, though, is that I’m pretty sure my Alpha will lose his damn mind if I actually do something to hurt her on purpose.
It’s honestly inconvenient as fuck.
Slowly, I bend over in my chair, being sure to exaggerate each of my movements. Hopefully, broadcasting to her instincts that I’m not currently a threat.
“Just going to grab this, alright?” My voice is huskier than normal.
I wait for her nod, quick and frantic, before I pluck the grape from under my chair. My gaze catches on her slender legs encased in form-fitting leggings and trails lower, to her feet.
What the fuck? She’s not wearing socks. Or shoes.
“Omega—” I curse under my breath, trying to rein in my snarl. She stays silent as I straighten and level her with a look.
“Why don’t you have shoes and socks on?” I ask, raising a brow.
Her eyes flick to Riven—who’s pretending like he’s not listening to every godsdamned word—back to me, and then to the doorway.
Then, something changes. She clenches her jaw, narrows her eyes, and lifts her delicate chin. With a defiance I didn’t think possible, she stares me right in the eyes and says, “I wasn’t given any.”
Her simple reply doubles as both answer and accusation, and my shame burns hotter.
“Why were none provided for you?” I ask, trying to keep my voice even.
She wants to say something. I can almost see the words on the tip of her tongue, but she bites them back. Instead, she sits stoically and stares at my chest. I lean forward, forearms on the table.
“Why?”
“How the fuck,” Riven cuts in, his tone full of recrimination, “would she possibly have an answer to that question?” He leans in as well, and the look on his face screams ‘Pissed Off Older Brother.’
Which… what the fuck?
“You know, I always thought the whole Im-too-pretty-to-be-smart thing was a tactic you used to get people to underestimate you. But maybe I gave you too much credit.” He cocks his head. “Tell me, does it hurt when you think in full sentences?”
An irritated scoff announces Daxen entering the room behind me.
“Leave him alone, Riven. Gods, you’re in a foul mood this morning.”