29. Delilah
Chapter twenty-nine
I drag myself out of my room, such as it is, once again waking well before the rest of the house.
It’s become a habit over the last week or so.
The encounter with Bones was enough to put the fear of God into me, and I never want to repeat that.
And I’ve been actively avoiding Siren, determined not to give them another reason to yell at me, which has been mostly successful.
Besides that, I’ve found I function best with a routine, and, for all the harm the facility did, at least it provided a consistent structure.
I brush out my hair with my fingers, throwing it up in a high ponytail as I make my way to the kitchen, keeping my steps silent on the hardwood floors.
I pass all the closed doors to the other bedrooms, my heart twinging slightly with misplaced longing.
I shove down the feeling, like I have so many times since I’ve come to be in this house.
This isn’t my pack, and they aren’t my alphas.
They owe me nothing. Be grateful for what you get.
I start working on breakfast, deciding on something simple rather than the fancy meals I’ve been preparing up to this point. I doubt they’ll even care for all the notice they’ve paid to my cooking.
I set to work chopping peppers and onions, working quietly and efficiently, enjoying the silence in the house for once. Mornings are one of the few times when there aren’t people talking or training or anything else, and I can be in the common spaces without feeling like I’m in the way.
The silence does allow my mind to wander, and as it has several times since it happened, I think back to the moment with Joker.
I’ve been living off the memory of his sweet and musky taste on my tongue, using it to comfort me when I’m alone in the makeshift nest I made for myself.
Everyone is keeping me at such a distance that I’m not even sure they know I’m here half the time.
And I honestly don’t know if that’s worse than outright hostility.
But I don’t have the time to unpack that thought as I continue working.
Once the vegetables are chopped, I start on the potatoes, prepping them before throwing all of the things I’ve cut up into a big skillet to cook down.
That gives me enough time to clear away the mess into the garbage, which I note is overflowing.
I take the bag out and replace it, setting the full one aside to take out in a few minutes.
After I wash my hands, I set to work on cooking the bacon and sausage.
I’m transferring the first batch of meat out of the pan and onto a plate when I hear movement down the hall. I keep my head down, but the footsteps sound like Phantom, which I confirm as his scent drifts to my nose moments before he enters the common area.
“Mornin’, sweetheart,” he groans, stretching.
“Good morning,” I reply, my voice low.
I turn my attention to the home fries, flicking my wrist to flip the contents of the pan with practiced ease.
“Did you get any sleep?” Phantom asks flatly.
I nod, not looking at him to prevent him from seeing the lie in my eyes.
I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in months, and last night was no exception.
There’s something restless in my chest, and the feeling is only getting worse the longer I’ve been out of the facility.
It doesn’t help that I’m constantly on guard, not wanting to oversleep again.
I haven’t been in a deep sleep in days, and certainly not deep enough to dream.
“That’s good,” he replies, though he doesn’t sound convinced.
But thankfully, he doesn’t push, heading toward the couches and turning on the television.
He keeps the volume low enough for me to tune it out for now, keeping my focus on making breakfast. I start on the eggs, cracking them with one hand as I flip the sausages with the other.
Once I’ve got enough in my bowl, I flip the bacon.
The entire time, I can feel Phantom’s eyes on me, but I refuse to look up and lose focus.
Cross is the next one up, appearing out of the hallway in his usual black sweatpants and gray blanket hoodie, the hood pulled up around his face.
He doesn’t acknowledge me, just going to the couch to flop down beside Phantom.
I try to pretend the dismissal doesn’t bother me, turning my attention to cooking the scrambled eggs.
I start the coffee machine brewing as I wait for the eggs to cook a little, the machine whining loudly right as Siren appears.
They all but shoulder me out of the way to pour themselves a cup.
I step back toward the stove and keep my head down, finishing the home fries and removing the last batch of bacon.
And right as I’m finishing up the eggs, Bones and Joker join the group, the alpha dragging the omega to the table by the hand.
The rest join him at the table, and I move quietly, placing the food in the center and backing off as they start to eat.
I ignore the twist of hunger in my belly, working on cleaning up my mess.
They chat about things I don’t understand, which is easy to ignore.
Once I’ve finished with the dishes, I dry my hands and pick up the garbage to take it outside to the dumpster.
No one even calls me back to the table, or acknowledges I leave the room, though I do feel a pair of eyes on my back as I retreat.
When I make it outside, I take a deep breath, sniffling slightly but swallowing the burning in the backs of my eyes.
This is my new normal, and I should get used to it sooner rather than later.
I take a few steps toward the porch but stop when I see a box on the edge of the steps.
It doesn’t have any postal markings on it but is sealed with packing tape.
And when I approach it, I tilt my head curiously when I see that it has my name written on it in bold, black letters.
I finish taking the garbage out, grabbing the box and bringing it back inside with me.
“What’s that?” a sharp voice calls as I start to head back to my room.
I freeze in place and turn to find Bones glaring at me over the rim of his mask. I turn and hold up the box.
“It was on the porch, and it’s addressed to me,” I reply softly, unease turning in my gut the longer he stares at me.
Phantom is on his feet a moment later, closing the distance between us and pulling the box out of my hands. “No one is supposed to know you’re here,” he says sharply.
I flush and look away, my spine curling.
He sighs and sets the box on the island counter, inspecting it from every angle.
He’s right, of course. I shouldn’t have been so stupid.
He shakes the box and nothing shifts inside it, at least not that I can hear.
Siren steps beside him, blocking my view in a way that almost feels intentional.
But I keep quiet and step back, pressing against the opposite counter to be out of the way.
Phantom flicks open a knife at his side, and cuts open the tape, the entire room going quiet.
But as he opens the flaps, he lets out a confused noise.
“What the hell,” he mutters.
Unable to take it, I move over to his other side, looking at the contents of the box. But I regret it instantly, letting out a scream before sprinting out of the room.