CHAPTER 6
AMOS
My entire body aches.
I move through the fire station, watching as the others joke and banter around me. The easy lull of a no-call settles over us.
I’m not one to join in. I’m a loner, except with my packmates. Only with them can I be myself.
The fire station smells of lingering smoke, stale coffee, and the sharp tang of metal from the trucks. In a strange way, it’s a second home. The more hours I spend here, the more it becomes my own.
Staying busy helps me avoid thinking—otherwise, my mind goes to bad places.
People drift together in loose conversation, half-hearted jokes, and the kind of banter that fills the space until the next call comes in, giving us a purpose. I meander along, hands tucked into my pockets, allowing the rhythm of the station to carry me on.
Then there’s her.
I glance toward the right, at the omega secretary who sits at her desk near the front of the station.
She pretends to type something important, but I can see she’s pretending.
Her eyes keep flicking up at me when she thinks I’m not looking.
Not subtle at all. She’s not even trying to be.
It’s the same look she gives me all the time.
It’s the same look she gave me two weeks ago, right before I let her talk me into the back of one of those fire trucks.
That had been … a moment. A rut-driven, desperate, not-my-best-judgment moment.
Now, though? The thought of being with her again weighs on me. It’s not worth the energy. Today, I’m calm; no agitation, no instinct claws for release. I’m just steady, uninterested in her games.
She gives me that look again—wide eyes, a little tilt of her head.
It’s like she’s already imagining the two of us slipping away, like she’s already imagining my knot locking us together.
I glance past her, looking at the captain, then back at her.
Even if I did want to be with her again, that’s a no-go.
Even if her pussy was nice and tight as I fucked her, it’s going to be a no from me.
She’s the captain’s lady.
They’ve been together for a few months, and being with her this past time is just asking for trouble. And, also, just because I’m an introvert doesn’t mean that I hate the station I’m at. I don’t want to move to another one.
She gives me that look again. I sigh, releasing the tension in my body. I don’t have the energy to play into whatever she’s hoping.
My coworkers keep moving. I fall into step with them, letting the moment between Olivia and me pass.
The station hums around us, waiting for the next call.
I breathe easier knowing that is all I have to worry about right now.
At least, all I have to worry about in my work life.
Homelife is a different story. My pack and I are in a shit storm.
That’s another reason to avoid her. We need to focus on finding the right omega for our pack, not wasting energy on something that won’t last.
I walk toward my locker and put in the code.
I grab my smokes from inside, slam the door shut, and lean back against the wall.
I put a cigarette between my lips, light it, and take a long drag, closing my eyes.
The hit of nicotine calms my frazzled nerves.
I cross my arms and lean my head back, listening to the talk around me as I inhale again.
They’re talking about everything and nothing at the same time. Sports, dinner plans, the usual filler that makes for a conversation. I nod along, taking another drag, but my mind is already drifting somewhere heavier, somewhere I don’t really want to go.
Work is easy. Calls, drills, and the rhythm of the station. It’s all predictable. Manageable.
Home, though?
Home is a damn tornado splitting the sky that won't stop threatening us. The need for an heir and a mate. We have to take the time out of our already busy schedule to try to find an omega that can fit in with Wolf’s father’s circle while also giving us an heir before he turns thirty-two.
It’s stressful.
Insane.
Nothing about this feels right.
I take another drag off the cigarette and hold it in before slowly releasing.
My eyes open, catching sight of Olivia. She’s still watching me like a hawk, even with the captain at the window on a call.
She’s waiting for the signal. But she’s wasting her time if she thinks I’ll go there again.
I went there once because I fell into a rut, needed a release, and felt I was going to go crazy.
I don’t feel that way now. I feel clear-headed, if a little stressed.
I look away before she can mistake my expression for interest. Not because she did anything wrong, but because my life is too tangled.
I don’t want her misunderstanding. My pack and I are in a mess we didn’t see coming.
Every day, the ground shifts under us more.
We’re meant to be getting serious but haven’t even started looking for anyone who meets the cut.
I drag my hand down my face and toss the cigarette into the bin. The weight of everything presses down on me like an anvil on my chest, making it hard to breathe. The others laugh at some joke, but their voices sound distant, muffled by pressure.
I don’t want this mating thing. Not like this.
Not with the expectations that go along with it.
I want out, but that doesn’t change the fact that we’re stuck in this—deep in it.
The truth is, every instinct tells me that walking away isn’t an option, and I feel trapped by that.
Still, the idea of walking away rather than having our choice taken away is so tempting. Life would be so much easier.
So, I stand in my uniform, surrounded by coworkers who think life is simple, while the truth of mine feels like a noose around my neck. I’m done with the whole damn thing, but I’m trapped anyway. No matter what loophole Finian finds ...
“What am I even thinking?” I murmur to myself, groaning under my breath.
Finian won’t find a loophole. There’s absolutely no way that Wolf’s father left any room for error on their part. Wolf’s father made it impossible for us to get out of this situation without losing a part of ourselves.
We’re stuck in this, and knowing it feels unbearable. I hate being backed into a corner; too long, and I come out feral.
I never thought when I bonded with my pack brothers that we would be put in this position. I know it’s not Wolf’s fault that this is his dad's doing, but that doesn’t make it any easier to swallow. They’re still taking our choices away.
Before too long, we’ll have to give up something else for Wolf. I foresee it happening. It’s always one thing or another.
This is just the beginning of the end.
It’s not his fault, but that doesn’t mean it’s not bullshit.
We shouldn’t have to give up anything to live our lives or be forced to live a certain way because that bastard wants us to.
But saying anything about that will cause a mess of issues we simply do not have the energy to handle.
It’s simpler to go along with what Wolf needs, so he can get his inheritance, and we can be done with this mess.
But what a mess this situation is.
I watch the ember flare as it disappears inside the receptacle.
The moment it’s gone, I turn toward my locker with a heavy sigh.
The fluorescent light hums overhead; the glare from it hurts my eyes after hours inside that helmet, putting out a fire.
The smell of smoke, sweat, and engine grease wafts off my body.
My fingers are stiff as I spin my lock. When the door swings open, a wave of warm air hits me in the face.
Cinching my eyes closed tightly, I start peeling off my uniform, layer by heavy layer.
The fabric sticks to my slick skin like it doesn’t want to let me go.
My street clothes underneath feel almost too thin after the weight of the gear I’ve carried for hours.
I feel exposed, vulnerable. I kick off my boots and shove them aside as I push my uniform onto the floor.
Relief washes over me after being in that uniform for hours as we put out a fire on the outskirts of town.
All I want to do is go home, shower, and fall into bed.
After being on call for twenty-four hours, I’m dead on my feet.
I want to let the silence swallow me whole.
I want to forget the alarms, the heat, the adrenaline.
But I know I can’t. Not if I want to keep this job.
My body has to stay ready for anything, which means dragging myself to the gym even when all my muscles are begging me to go home and step into a hot shower to get the grit off.
I slam my locker shut, and the sound echoes through the room.
For a moment, I stand there and blankly stare at my locker, but after a few minutes, I come back to myself and grab my bag off the ground.
I take one last look at the office, seeing the scattered paperwork, half-empty coffee cups, and the faint scent of smoke lingering in the air.
It’s familiar and grounding. But it’s a scene that lives in my body by memory.
I head out, the station door closing behind me with a soft hiss.
The evening air hits my face, cool and clean compared to the stale heat inside.
It’s dark, the day giving way to night as the streetlights turn on their glowing orbs.
My truck waits at the end of the parking lot under a singular streetlight.
When I climb inside, I let my head fall back against the seat as I slam the door closed.
The leather is cool against my heated skin.
I close my eyes and breathe. Today was almost too much.
The tension. The hecticness of it all. I let the tension bleed out of my shoulders as much as I can, allowing the day to loosen its grip on me with one slow exhale at a time.
It gets harder to do this every day; pretend that nothing is wrong when everything is.
Everything is harder when you’re trying to keep it together on the inside.
Whether that is for yourself or those around you, it’s still difficult doing something that your body can’t seem to do, but you’re forcing it to do it anyway.
For the past decade, I’ve been living a life that isn’t mine.
It belongs to someone else. Wolf’s father has been pulling the strings for as long as I can remember, and I’m sick to death of living life this way.
With someone else at the helm, forcing me to do what they want me to do.
I’ve never been the type of person to fall in line and do what other people want me to do.
I’ve always been a rebel. The dangerous one.
The adrenaline junkie who can’t stay in one place for too long.
However, for the past twelve years, I’ve been here in Cedar Hill playing along with what Rothschild wants me to.
I’m not the type to play by others’ rules, and it’s getting harder every day to do exactly that.
All I want to do is act out, and I’m afraid that when that happens, there will be even more issues than what we’re facing now, because it will be big and ugly.
Easing my truck out of the parking lot, the station fades in my rearview.
The streetlights flicker one by one as I head toward the Upper West Side of Cedar Hill.
Every few seconds, a beam of yellow flashes through the cab, sliding across the dashboard, my hands, my face, and then disappearing again.
The rhythm of it almost lulls me into a trance, the quiet between each pool of light stretches longer than it should.
My body feels heavy, like I’m moving through sludge. The closer I get to the gym, the more exhaustion digs in its heels. I can practically feel the bed underneath me, calling my name. The promise of silence and surrender tugs at me harder than any sense of discipline I’ve ever mastered.
By the time I pull into the gym parking lot, the sight of the neon flashing sign in front of me, I’m dreading going inside.
The need to go home runs high and hits me like a punch in the chest. I grip the steering wheel for a second as I come to a slow stop.
I turn the ignition off and crane my head to look at the sign.
I watch as a few people walk in and out of the gym.
They’re smiling and laughing, which is in complete contrast to how I feel at the moment.
I breathe through the ache in my body, the burn behind my eyes.
I finally force myself to come to terms with the fact that I need to do this before I can go home and rest. I reach for the door handle, but then, my phone rings from inside my bag.
Sighing, I curse whoever it is calling because that means it gives me a chance to second-guess my life choices.
The sound slices through the quiet cab, sharp and unwelcome.
I grab the bag and sift through it, then grab my phone.
When I pull it out, I see Finian’s name glowing on the screen.
My stomach tightens. Finian doesn’t call this time of night unless something is wrong.
I swipe to answer. “What’s up?”
The moment he speaks, heated anger flashes through me—fast, hot, and blinding. Whatever sense of calm that waited for me at home evaporates into thin air. My grip on the phone goes white-knuckled.
It makes my blood boil.
“The fuck did you just say?” I grit between clenched teeth. “Do you really have a motherfucking death wish?”