12. Conor
CONOR
Something was off—wrong. I tossed and turned, unable to put my finger on what was bothering me, only that I couldn’t find peace and drop off to sleep. The sensation crawled under my skin, like electricity before a storm.
Finally, I threw off the blankets and grabbed a towel to wrap around my waist. The cool air hit my overheated skin, but it did nothing to relieve my restlessness.
Emile reached for me in his sleep. Even unconscious, he sought connection—an urge I understood deep in my bones.
“I’ll be back,” I murmured, and rubbed my cheek against his, leaving him covered in my scent. His breathing evened out, comforted even in his dreams by proof of my affection.
Silently, I padded to the open space that looked over the forest gorge.
Nothing. The alarms were set, our weapons were hidden, after one disastrous incident where Lark thought she’d test how bulletproof the windows really were.
My lips twitched at the memory. She’d been gloriously furious when the glass held, denying her intended escape.
The moon cast shadows across the floor, peaceful and still, but the feeling of wrongness persisted, prickling at the base of my skull. My alpha instincts screamed at me.
Fuck. Maybe my desperate need for Lark was truly driving me mad. Two years of hunting, of planning, and now she was here—close enough to touch but still miles away behind walls I couldn’t breach without becoming the monster she expected me to be.
I’d check on her anyway, just in case. I walked down the stairs to her room, keeping my steps soft and silent. I stopped outside the door, listening.
She whimpered, then cried out, “No!” The word tore from her throat, raw and desperate.
Terrified for her, I wrenched the door open, only to find her alone, twisted up in her sheets as if they were trying to strangle her.
Her dark hair was plastered to her face with sweat and her hands clenched into fists so tight I could see the white of her knuckles, even in the darkness.
She cried out as she fought demons in her nightmares—demons I’d give anything to destroy for her.
“No, please,” she begged, and the broken sound of it made my chest cave in.
Her voice was younger, sweeter, stripped of all the armor she wore during waking hours.
This wasn’t the fierce killer who’d taken down a dozen alphas.
This was a terrified omega, reliving trauma that never should have happened.
I gently gripped her shoulder as tremors ran through her body. “Lark, baby, wake up, you’re having a nightmare.”
She continued to whimper, thrashing harder now, her breath coming in panicked gasps. A sob caught in her throat as she fought against unknown assailants in her sleep, as she begged them to stop.
“Lark!” I shook her harder, hating myself for it but needing to pull her from whatever hell she was trapped in. “Wake up!”
She jolted awake, her eyes wide and frightened, pupils blown with terror. For a heartbeat, she didn’t see me—she saw them, whoever they were. Her body coiled, ready to fight.
Then recognition flickered across her features, and the fight melted out of her. She slipped back into her blankets, making herself smaller, and it took everything in me not to gather her into my arms.
“Sorry,” she muttered, her voice rough with sleep. “Nightmare.”
I stroked the side of her face, unable to stop myself from offering comfort, my thumb brushing away moisture at the corner of her eye I pretended not to notice.
She nuzzled into my hand, inhaling deep, as if my scent calmed her.
Even with all her walls, all her resistance, her instincts recognized me as safe.
I felt a thousand feet tall, like I could battle monsters, slay dragons, burn the world down if it meant keeping her safe, if only she’d let me in.
“Want to talk about it?”
I waited for the flat refusal, the walls to slam back up, but instead, she flopped into her back and stared up at the ceiling.
“My first pack—” She took a deep, shuddering breath.
“The nightmares are the worst the night before a kill,” she admitted softly, her fingers tangling in her sheets.
“Like my brain needs to remind me where it all started. I’ll be fine. ”
“You sure?” I asked her, standing, swallowing hard, every instinct screaming at me to stay and comfort her, but not wanting to impose, not wanting to be like the assholes who’d abused her. We were different.
Weren’t we?
Her eyes met mine, warm and brown and vulnerable, and my heart ached with the need to protect her, to deserve the trust she was showing me in this moment, even if she’d deny it in the morning.
“Yeah,” she murmured.
I bent down to kiss the top of her head, breathing in her scent before I stepped away.
“Wait,” she said softly, so quietly I wondered if I imagined it.
“Baby?”
“Don’t go, please? I don’t want—” Her voice cracked and stopped, vulnerability shoved down by pride. “Never mind. I’ll be fine.”
Her fucking pride made me want to pull my hair out, made me want to shake her. This beautiful, broken, fierce omega could not admit to herself that she needed us as much as we needed her, that needing us didn’t make her weak.
I swallowed down my frustration. That’s not what she needed. She needed me to be an alpha she could trust. My omega needed care right now—tenderness and safety—and I was going to give it to her, whether she was willing to ask for it or not.
“Scoot over,” I said, infusing my voice with a hint of alpha bark, enough to take the decision out of her hands, to let her have what she wanted without forcing her to ask for it.
“What?” Her voice held surprise and a hint of relief, reassuring me that I’d made the right choice.
“I’m staying, whether you want me to or not.”
The radiant smile that broke out over her face made me fall in love with her all over again.
“And if I don’t want you to?” Her voice was soft and breathy, teasing now, even as she made space for me, lifting the covers up so I could crawl in with her. The invitation in that simple gesture made my heart pound against my ribs.
“Too fuckin’ bad.”
As soon as I was under the blankets, she snuggled right up to me, laying her head on my bicep and dragging my thigh over her hip with a possessiveness that had me biting back a groan. She fit against me perfectly. Always.
Her breath was warm against my skin, and her rapid heartbeat gradually slowed to match mine.
I held her close, one hand stroking down her spine in slow, soothing passes, murmuring nonsense until she fell asleep.
“Conor?” Her voice was drowsy now, thick and peaceful.
“Yeah, baby?”
“Thank you.” She whispered the words, but they lodged inside my heart like glass, delicate and perfect.
“Always,” I promised, knowing that it was a promise I could only keep if she allowed me to.
She fell asleep between one breath and the next, trusting me to keep the nightmares at bay. The weight of that trust terrified me and thrilled me in equal measure.
I lay awake for hours, holding her while she slept peacefully for once, memorizing the feeling of her in my arms. Because I knew that when morning came, she'd rebuild those walls and pretend this never happened.
We’d make an example of that pimp, and then she’d walk the fuck away from us.
I’d let her, because I loved her too much to become another nightmare she had to escape from.
But goddess help me, it might kill me to do it.