Episode 10 Into the Woods
Courtland
We’re moving as soon as the interview takes a turn. As soon as Heather fucking Howle turns her predatory smile on our girl and we just know that whatever comes next we aren’t going to like. That Pixie is going to like it even less.
The interview continues playing on my phone as Forsythe calls for our private jet, barking at them to be ready to be in the air in thirty minutes.
“What the bloody fuck?” I mutter, watching as Florence pushes to her feet, the panic on her face is clear, her words pleading as Heather speaks over her.
“Don’t you think they deserve to know that you’re their fated mate and that their public rejection of you left you with Rejected Mate Disorder?”
Fuck.
There it is out there for the world to know.
Our personal business. Pixie’s medical information.
Ren sways, her eyes roll, and then she drops.
Right there on the screen, she faints dead away and my entire body goes cold.
No one even tries to stop her descent. They just let her fall.
And I vow right then and there to rip apart the entire production crew, to ruin every PA, camera operator, producer and Heather Howle. None of them will work again.
The cameras keep rolling as a huge alpha with dark skin wearing an impeccable suit, stalks into frame and scoops my omega into his arms, snarling at everyone in the room as he does. My own alpha snarls in my chest.
Who the fuck is that, and why is he picking up Ren like he has a right to? Why is he cradling her like she’s precious as he carries her out of the room, the camera swiveling to follow them. Why is his head dipping toward hers as they move out of frame?
My mobile cracks in my grip, and I want to crawl through that fracture and into the screen to demand answers. No… not demand, to beat the answers out of him.
But, alas, that's not possible at the moment. I’ll just have to wait until we’re face to face.
I stalk into my room, throw clothing into my bags willy-nilly and within moments, have it slung over my shoulder, heading toward the front door. Grieves is already there, glaring at everything in sight, and I can’t blame him. I’m feeling the same.
“You’ve been watching her?” I ask as I come to a stop next to him.
He grunts and jerks his head in a single nod. “There’s an alpha that she spends time with?”
Grieves brow wrinkles. “Is there?”
“Big, black, dresses like a GQ model. Looks like one too.” The words are said grudgingly, but it’s the bloody truth and I hate it.
His glower clears. “Atticus Calloway. He’s one of Haven’s alphas. Why do you ask?”
I grit my teeth for a moment before admitting. “He swooped in like a white knight and picked up our girl like she belonged to him after she fainted.”
“She what?”
I go on to explain what happened, but he’s already pulling out his phone to watch it for himself.
“I’m going to murder them,” he growls, but he doesn’t crush his phone, like I did. He does raise his voice and bellows, “let’s go!” down the hall.
A moment later the rest of our pack hurries into view, bags over their shoulders or wheeling behind them.
I’m moving before they reach us, yanking open the door, only to be brought up short by some palace staffer that I recognize but couldn’t tell you his name. He lifts his brows and then looks over my shoulder. “Your highness, you are going somewhere?”
Forsythe muscles his way forward leading the way into the hall and forcing the staff member back. He must be some kind of house manager, based on his stiff upper lip alone. “Indeed. We’ll be gone for a week at least, maybe longer.”
“But, your highness, you have dinner with the queen and your betrothed in just a few hours, I was coming to confirm the menu-”
“We’ll have to reschedule,” he bites out, not waiting for a reply before he hurries down the hall. The rest of us are right on his heels, urgency pushing us to a near run. “I will let my grandmother and my… betrothed know when I expect to return, when I have more information.”
“I see,” the man puffs from somewhere behind us, struggling to keep up with our fast pace. “And might I tell the queen where you’re going so suddenly?”
“You may not.” Sythe’s tone doesn’t invite more questions. In fact, it dissuades them. Rather effectively if the way the beta gawps after him like a fish is any indication.
I glance at Grieves and his mouth tightens as we explode outside to find three cars waiting for us and eight guards.
Without talking about it we move to the middle car. Grieves slides into the driver's seat after he’s tossed his bag into the back. We all pile in and in seconds we’re on the road. Not fast enough, my alpha snarls at me. And I can’t argue with him.
We’re too fucking far away from Pixie. Half a world away, and it’s going to take ages to get to her.
I think about her pale face, the way her eyes rolled to the back of her head, the way no one tried to fucking catch her as she went down.
We should have left ages ago. As soon as we knew she was sick, we should have bid farewell to Bravonne and the goddamn queen and done everything in our power to grovel, to beg, to earn her forgiveness and prove that we’ll never hurt her again.
We land on a private airstrip in Granton eleven hours later. An hour after that we’re parked in front of a security gate facing down a guard holding a gun big enough to blow a hole in an elephant.
“I’ve told you,” Forsythe grits out. “I am His Royal Highness Forsythe Ashbourne and this is my pack. We’re here to see our omega, Florence Karlin.”
The guard sucks his teeth unmoved by the title or the claim of Florence as ours. “From what I recall, you stated quite plainly that Miss Karlin was not your omega, didn’t you? Right there in front of the cameras for everyone to see.”
I sag at the derision in his voice. We expected some pushback from Haven and the Calloways, but we didn’t expect that the guards would have opinions on how we treated Pixie.
But then, why wouldn’t they? They’re tasked with her protection, her safety, and I’m sure if they have any sort of regular interactions with her, she’s won them over with her kindness and sunshiny personality, just like she does everyone.
“Mistakes were made,” Forsythe grits out.
“Pretty damn big mistake,” the guard standing on the other side of our car holding an equally large gun spits out. “Rejecting your fated mate.”
I lean forward, trying to slip my charming persona on, but knowing it falls short. “Look, we’re more than aware we fucked up. But we’re here now. We just want to see her, see how we can help her get better.”
“You gonna bond her?” The first guy asks, and when all of us growl in his direction he just shrugs. “It's a valid question. Just about the only cure for RMD, isn’t it, Sykes?”
“Sure is,” the other man agrees.
“It’s also none of your bloody business,” Forsythe growls out.
Sykes smirks at me. “Nah, it is our business. See, Miss Karlin is under our protection. It's our job to keep her from harm, and even if we weren’t being paid for the delightful duty of keeping you away from her, we’d still do it.
As far as we’re all concerned, not one of you is worth the shit on the bottom of her shoe. ”
“I swear to fuck,” Grieves growls, hands fisting and relaxing on his thighs repeatedly, “that if you don’t open that goddamn gate in the next ten seconds, I’m going to leave this car and rip your bloody head from your body.”
I wince at the threat, certain it’s not going to win us any favors, but I stand corrected when there’s a loud buzzing and the gate slowly begins to open.
The first guard gives Forsythe a strained smile.
“Seems the boss has deemed you worthy enough to give you entrance. But be aware we’re all watching and at the slightest indication that you’re going to hurt Florence, we will not hesitate to rip you apart.
” He pats the top of the car and gives us all a charming smile. “Have a great day now.”
Then he backs up, leaving us free to drive through the gates and onto the Calloway pack property. The driveway is long, but not so long we can’t see the house when we pull through the gate.
Anticipation thrums through me, my hands move in a tapping rhythm that has Grieves growling at me to ‘knock it the fuck off’, but I don’t.
We’re about to see Pixie for the first time in over a month.
And we’ll scent her for the first time too.
Fully. Not a stale scent off clothing she never really wore, but her true full scent.
God, I can’t fucking wait.
The car pulls to a stop and I’m already shoving through the door before it’s fully parked, bounding up the stairs before I consider whether it’s wise. Get to her is, all I can think. Find her. Make sure she’s okay. Never fucking let her go again.
The front door opens before I can knock. Of course it does. They knew we were on our way to the house, opened the gate for us.
I draw up short and eye the man on the other side of the door. The alpha. The one that scooped Ren up off the floor and carried her out of the interview. “Atticus?” I guess.
“Courtland,” he growls back, without the title and the deference I’m used to hearing. His gold eyes move to my pack behind me. He doesn’t bother to greet them, keeping his body in the open space of the door, like he’s considering barring our entrance.
Let him fucking try, my alpha thinks somewhat gleefully, like he’s salivating for a fight. But that really shouldn’t be our focus right now. No. Ren is our focus. The only thing that matters.
“Let me be clear,” Atticus says, keeping his voice relatively level, but there’s no missing the underlying thread of menace.
“I was against letting you anywhere near Ren. I argued against it. Having you here and then having you leave might make her condition worse. You’re all pieces of shit who broke the best thing that ever happened to you.
But, my omega, Ren’s best friend in the entire fucking world, wants you here. ”