Episode 12 Faith, Trust and Pixie （Dust） #2
I do as he says, the rope rough against my palm as I use it as a guide until it runs out and there’s just open space in front of me.
Petal is laughing so hard she snorts. “This is chaos.”
Rosamund huffs dramatically. “I refuse to be guided by someone with the spatial sense of a feral goose!”
“Hey,” Courtland yells. “Geese are majestic! And so am I. Honk, honk.”
That makes me snort a laugh, humor cutting through my need to get through this as quickly as possible. Every moment he goes on being ridiculous helps, every moment her directs us without using his bark is a godsend.
I can tell just from their tones that his pack mates aren’t being so careful.
“Courtland!” I call, still giggling. “Focus! Maybe guide us one at a time?” Maybe he’ll see reason this time. Now that he knows the chaos of doing it his way.
“Nope! All or nothing!” Why does he sound so pleased with that concept? “Pixie, walk forward. Careful. There’s a dip.”
I take a step as he shouts orders to the others. Thayer’s voice is off to my left, closer than Grieves or Forsythe, distracting me from Courtland, which I suspect is the point. We have to strain to listen to our alpha.
“Stop,” Thayer’s bark snaps out. Not directed at me, but I can still feel the force behind it. It shivers over my skin, making goosebumps rise.
I jolt in surprise, my toe hits a divot in the sand. My knee jerks, sharp pain lancing up my leg. I suck a breath between my teeth, biting back a slew of curses that would need to be bleeped on air.
Courtland’s tone changes instantly, from chaotically happy to protectively concerned in an instant. “Pixie? Did you hurt yourself?”
“No,” I lie, shuffling forward with my arms stretched in front of me. “Just stepped funny. It’s fine. Which way?”
Silence. Then, quieter, “You sure?”
My chest tightens, but determination blooms. “I can do this.”
Another long pause.
“Alright,” he says finally. “Turn right and step forward. Slow. Gentle. Little baby mouse steps. I’ve got you.”
I move again, barely lifting my feet off the sand, guided by the sound of his voice.
But Rosamund begins whining loudly about being lost, and Petal bumps into a rope and squeaks, and Courtland tries to direct all three of us at once again.
“No, Petal, left! Rosamund, turn around. You’re heading back to the start! Pixie, wait! I just need to find-”
It’s too much.
Too loud.
Too chaotic.
Thayer is still issuing barked commands at his team and its setting my teeth on edge.
My knee is throbbing and I just want to get my weight off it. I need this to be over.
I stop listening, shutting out all the male voices clamoring for my attention, humming Claire de Lune under my breath to help me stay focused.
I drop one hand to the rope wall beside me, running my fingers along the thick knots. The rope angles inward. I trace it. Turn with it. Count steps. Feel the sand cool under my feet where the shade hits.
“Ren?” Courtland calls. “Pixie, what are you doing?”
“Finding my own way,” I mutter. Like I always do. “Just tell me which direction to turn when I reach the end of the rope, pretty boy.”
“Ren. Pixie! No, wait! If you just give me a second-”
But I’m already moving, quick and sure now, fingers gliding along rope, memorizing the pattern. He’s stopped giving me directions, which is honestly a relief. It's easier to concentrate without them.
Petal’s hands brush blindly near me. “Ren?”
“Here.” I grab her wrist and guide her hand to the hem of my shirt at the base of my spine. “Grab on and follow me. Don’t let go.”
She gasps, fisting the fabric. “You little genius!”
Behind us, Rosamund shrieks, “Are you leaving me?!”
“Yes,” Petal and I say together.
“But don’t worry,” I add. “Pretty boy’s got you.”
He’s got us too, honestly. Once he realizes we can use the ropes as a guide, he does as I asked and only calls out what direction we need to turn when we hit a gap. The orders are blissfully direct.
Right.
Left.
Forward.
Left.
Forward.
Forward.
And then…
“Pix!”
Courtland’s voice is right above me now, delighted and scandalized at once. My hand makes contact with a smooth plank of wood, and not rough rope.
“Holy shit! You made it! Both of you!”
Petal slides her hands off my body and grabs the base of the platform, giggling. “Ren dragged me!”
I rip the blindfold off, blinking up at Courtland on his platform, hair wind-tousled, grin feral and proud.
He looks down at me like I’ve hung the moon and my heart lurches.
Danger. Danger. Danger.
“Pixie,” he says, breathless with awe, “remind me never to doubt you again.”
My cheeks burn.
He extends a hand down to me—to us. “Get up here. Let’s see if we can herd our lost lamb.”
Behind us, I can hear Rosamund wailing for some kind of direction.
Petal moves first, sliding her hand into his and allowing him to pull her up and onto the platform like she weighs nothing.
Then he does the same to me. My body moves on instinct, muscle memory. A thousand leaps and holds with my pas de deux partner, making me jump a little to help, muscles tensing to hold form as I have a moment of weightlessness, where I have to trust him to not drop me.
And I do.
And he doesn’t.
But I still wince slightly when I land on the platform next to him.
His eyes drop to my knee, just for a second, concern flickering, but he doesn’t call me out. Doesn’t force the issue. Doesn’t bark a command.
Instead, softly, so only I hear, he murmurs, “We’ll talk about that knee later. Deal?”
“It’s fine. I just tweaked it.”
“Deal?” he presses. I can tell by the stubborn glint in his eye that he’s not going to let it go, even though I’m not lying. I did just step wrong, I did only tweak it. But now's not the time to get into an argument about it.
“Deal,” I mutter, and he grins before clapping his hands together and turning to face the maze where Rosamund seems to be tangled in a rope… somehow. It only gets worse when Court tries to talk her through it.
“How is he so bad at giving directions?” Petal asks, leaning into me to murmur it, so he can’t hear. “I thought it was like an alpha imperative to be good at this kind of thing.”
I hum my agreement. Most alphas delight in giving orders in having them followed, particularly by their omega. It means that their mate trusts them to take care of them, to have their health and safety in mind.
As omegas we crave that kind of reassurance. That steadiness. The surety that our alphas will always have our best interests at heart and that they know how to take care of us.
By that logic though, Court’s absolute dismal display during this game should give my omega the ick. But… I just find it endearing as hell. And it makes me trust him more.
He could have barked at us—or at the very least he could have barked at Petal and Rosamund—the way his pack members clearly have done. Each of them only has one omega left in the maze and each of them are using clear concise barks to move them through the turns.
Courtland, though? He’s still cheerfully calling out orders with no dominance behind them.
He took my request to heart. Took his promise to me to heart.
And I love that.
So. Freaking. Much.