16. Daniel
Daniel
"You made it," I say, pulling her into a hug. She smells faintly of winter and study, the scent of books clinging to her, grounding me. "How'd it go?"
"It was hard," she admits, her voice tight with tension, "but I think I scored enough to pass the interview. There's another candidate too, but… I think I did well." She takes a step back, brushing hair from her face, trying to mask the anxiety.
I shake my head, frowning just a little. "I still don't understand why you want to be a TA at the Academy."
"It's a rare opportunity," she says, eyes lighting up despite the tension, "and it'll be a great boost for my career. I want the experience, Daniel. It's worth it."
Tess glances around, noticing the fading crowds dispersing into cabs and buses. "Where's Gray?"
"Hospital. He's probably still tied up with whatever's coming in." I shrug. "I guess we're not making it back to Sweet Creek tonight. It's fine. We'll get something out here for dinner. You need a break after that interview anyway."
Her eyes widen, relief softening her features. "Can we? I'm starving."
"I know just the place," I say, sliding back into the driver's seat. The engine hums beneath me as I navigate the streets. My mind runs through the usual spots, and I settle on one tucked off the main avenue—a place I come to whenever I need to celebrate, whenever a case lands in my favor.
It's warm inside, the scent of roasted garlic and sizzling meat curling into the air, wood panels polished to a rich gleam. Familiarity settles over me the second we walk in, and I can feel Tess relaxing beside me. We slide into a booth near the window, the low hum of conversation around us.
I order a couple of hearty plates—pasta with garlic shrimp for me, a grilled chicken salad for her—and excuse myself, heading to the restroom.
The mirrors reflect the streetlight outside, my reflection split into fragments, and I take a moment to run a hand through my hair.
I can picture Tess humming softly back at the table, and something in that small sound twists a smile onto my face.
When I return, I catch the tail end of Tess's call, her voice animated, half-laughing, half-informative.
"Yeah… just updating them. We'll be back tomorrow instead, so it all works out.
" She ends the call and tucks the phone away.
I sit across from her, the warm scent of food filling the space between us.
"I can't believe how much the lodge has grown," I say, resting my hand on the tablecloth. "I didn't expect the tourist season to pick up this fast."
Tess nods, taking a bite of her salad, eyes bright.
"I know. Mom and Dad did a great job," she says, voice thoughtful. "All your objections aside, it's turning out better than anyone imagined."
I smile, leaning back. "I know I was against the idea of buying it at first. Thought it'd be a waste. But seeing it now, the way people respond… it's worth every argument."
Tess laughs lightly, a sound that threads into the hum of the restaurant. "I think the place has a life of its own. People love it, and… it's home, Daniel. You can see it in every corner, in every effort they put in."
"I do," I say, watching the play of light across her face, the way her expression softens when she talks about home.
I can feel the weight of responsibility she's carried with this interview, and yet she still sees the bigger picture.
It's something I admire, something that reminds me that not all victories are mine to claim.
Dinner arrives in earnest—plates steaming, silverware clinking. I taste the pasta first, savoring the rich flavors, then glance at Tess, noticing her eating with care, thoughtful bites.
"You nervous about tomorrow?" I ask, keeping my tone light but curious. She's apparently supposed to have a mini-interview with the professor over the phone. The last step before they'll extend her the position.
"I am," she admits, cheeks coloring slightly. "It's a big opportunity, and I just… I don't want to mess it up."
"You won't," I assure her, voice firm. "You're prepared, you know your stuff, and you can handle anything they throw at you. Just… trust yourself, Tess."
She smiles, and it's small, almost shy. "Thanks, Daniel. It means a lot."
We eat in companionable silence for a while, the bustle of the restaurant fading into the background.
I keep glancing outside, noticing the snow starting again, flakes drifting against the glow of streetlights.
It makes me think of Sweet Creek, the lodge, Mara, the warmth of a fire on a cold evening.
I push the thought down, focus on my sister across the table, on the small victories and milestones that shape our lives.
Dinner winds down, the plates cleared, desserts offered but politely declined.
We lean back, the conversation flowing into lighter topics—the odd quirks of the lodge, the guests we've had, the unexpected hilarity of the ski trips.
I find myself chuckling more than I have in days, Tess beside me smiling, energy lifted by relief and accomplishment.
"Tomorrow," I say, voice low, "we can head back to Sweet Creek. Make it an early start."
She nods, eyes thoughtful. "I'll be ready. And maybe… I'll finally get to ski without breaking something."
I grin, leaning forward, voice teasing. "You know I'm going to make sure that doesn't happen. You'll have me there every step of the way."
Her laughter rings out, soft and genuine, and I watch her, thinking about the trust, the loyalty, the little victories we share as siblings. The world outside the restaurant hums with life, but inside, it feels like a bubble of safety, warmth, and familiarity.
As I grab my card after paying the bill, I glance at my watch, the evening deepening, the snow falling harder. "Let's get going," I say, standing and helping her into her coat.
She nods, zipping her jacket, her cheeks still flushed from the interview and the warmth of the restaurant. I open the door, the cold hitting us like a crisp rush of air, but the glow of the lights reflecting on the snow makes it feel almost festive.
The door clicks behind us at nine, and the apartment greets me like a breath of fresh air after the streets of Denver. I sling my bag down and tap out a quick text to Gray, telling him to come by whenever the shift lets him go. Then Tess's scream slices through the hum of the city outside.
"You redecorated!" she blurts, eyes wide, body frozen in the doorway.
I can't help the grin that spreads across my face. "Yeah," I say, voice low, pride threading through it. "Wanted it to feel… like this."
She steps inside, and I follow her gaze. Exposed brick walls offset by rich walnut shelves, soft lighting illuminating furniture that's sturdy and elegant, and a scatter of rugs that pull the whole space together.
The kitchen gleams under the pendant lights; the living area invites with a deep leather couch and two chairs angled just right for conversation.
A large painting above the fireplace brings color, splashes of blue and green, and the books lining the shelves hint at a mind at work, a life lived with purpose.
Tess spins, taking it all in, laughter bubbling over. "I want to start earning good money so I can live like this," she says, half-teasing, half-admiring. Her eyes land on the wine rack and the glasses I've lined up. "I could get used to this."
I laugh and pour the wine, the rich red liquid catching the glow of the overhead lights.
The scent of it mixes with the faint trace of leather from the couch, the warm aroma of wood, and a low, heady rush hits me.
Seeing her excited, thrilled even, fills me with a protective pride that's entirely new.
My little sister, glowing in the space, her eyes wide with curiosity and amazement, makes every hard decision, every late night, every bill I've ever paid feel worth it.
We settle into the couch, glasses in hand. I take a slow sip, savoring the flavor, and glance at Tess. "Will you be taking care of the lodge after Mom and Dad retire?" I ask, careful, measuring.
She shrugs, fingers tracing the stem of her glass. "I don't know. I like it, but… not like Mara does."
Her mention of Mara sends heat curling through me, a pulse that sharpens at the thought of her and what she means to me.
I set the glass down, lean forward slightly. "Can I ask you something?"
Tess nods, curiosity lighting her features. I study her, the way she's poised and patient, the way she trusts me.
"Why is Mara in Sweet Creek? I thought she was engaged to her pack, moving to Denver. I… I'm confused."
Tess hesitates, her hands curling around the glass. "I'm not sure that's my story to tell, Daniel," she says softly, almost apologetically.
"It's okay," I insist, the tone of my voice firmer now, though still gentle. "I just… I asked her, and she said it was some issue with the paperwork."
Tess swallows, the faint crease in her brow deepening. "Mara never mentions her pack. The night she drove to Sweet Creek… she ran. Made me promise not to tell Jonathan where she was."
My chest tightens. A cold flash skims my spine as her words settle. My stomach churns, and my mind floods with every case I've ever handled, every Omega stuck in a pack with rules that weren't rules, just chains.
My hands clench into fists on my knees. I've fought too many of those battles, and I remember failing once. One failure that never leaves me—and the thought that Mara, sweet Mara, could have been caught in something like that makes blood heat my veins.
Tess continues, oblivious to the storm brewing inside me. "She wasn't happy with them. I don't know all the details, but… she wanted out. Really wanted out."
I feel the room tilt slightly, the warmth of the apartment doing nothing to offset the rage coiling inside. The thought of her trapped, controlled, manipulated in ways I've fought to protect others from… I see red.
My jaw tightens, fists threatening to crush the wine glass in my hand. Every instinct screams to go to Sweet Creek right now, to see her, to hold her, to tell her she's safe, that I won't let anyone ever hurt her like that.
I breathe in, trying to shake the heat, trying to force calm back into my system.
But every breath brings her face into my mind, her hazel-green eyes, the curve of her lips, the way her hair fell around her shoulders.
I remember the stolen kiss in the bathroom at my parents' house, the press of her body close enough to set my heart thrumming. My mind won't allow me rest.
"I…" I start, and the words falter. I want to ask Tess more, push for details, but I can't. It's not her story to tell, and I won't pry. I force the words back down. "Thanks," I manage. "For telling me… what you could."
Tess nods, glancing down at her glass. There's a hesitancy in her stance now, a vulnerability that makes me want to wrap her in reassurance. "I just… wanted you to know she's okay. She's safe there. For now."
I lean back, fingers rubbing the bridge of my nose, the anger ebbing just enough to let concern take its place.
My mind is still a storm, a whirl of legal cases, of failed protections, of the kind of danger Mara might have faced.
But the image of her here, in Sweet Creek, even for a fleeting moment of peace, soothes some of that heat.
"I wish I could be there," I mutter, almost to myself. "To see her, make sure she's… actually safe."
Tess reaches over, hand brushing mine, a soft anchor. "I know you worry about us, about her. But Daniel, she's strong," she says, voice quiet but steady. "She always finds her way. That's Mara."
I close my eyes for a moment, letting her words sink in.
Strong or not, the thought that she might have been in a pack that could have hurt her makes my blood pound with protective fury.
The memory of what I've seen in courts, the horrors some Omegas endure, flashes through me.
I won't let that happen to her. Not ever.
I open my eyes and force a slow exhale. "Yeah," I murmur. "She's strong. And… we'll make sure she stays that way. No one's going to take that from her while I can do anything about it."
Tess smiles, a faint, encouraging tilt of her lips. "I know. She's lucky to have you."
I can't help the pride, even as it coils with worry.
Mara. The thought of her presence in Sweet Creek, her safety, the faint vulnerability I know she's never fully admitted…
it keeps me on edge, restless. Every plan I've made, every bit of control I have over my life, suddenly feels like it's been redirected toward keeping her safe.
I want to be there, to reassure her, to make her feel the warmth, the safety, the freedom she deserves.
"You'll see," I say finally, more to myself than to Tess. "We'll get it right. We'll… protect her."
The apartment feels impossibly still now, the glow from the city lights painting the walls, the faint aroma of wine in the air, a reminder of the life outside this storm of worry and tension. I take a sip, trying to calm the pulse in my veins, but every heartbeat calls her name.
Mara. Sweet, untouchable Mara.
Tess leans back, finishing her wine, and I glance at her, thankful for her presence.
She's steady in a way Mara can't be right now—not with what she's left behind, not with the secrets she carries.
I force myself to focus, to let Tess anchor me while my mind spins scenarios of Sweet Creek, of Mara walking through snow-laden streets, of her smiling, of her finally feeling free.
Every instinct, every professional muscle in me, every ounce of big-brother, legal, protective reflex, is on high alert.
I can't act yet, not until I'm there, not until I can see her, ensure that she's truly free from whatever chains the pack might have held.
But the thought of that, the anticipation, the simmering mix of pride, worry, and something darker—possessive, protective desire—keeps my pulse hammering in my chest.
I lean back into the couch, glass in hand, eyes tracing the lines of the apartment, imagining Mara walking in here, safe, laughing, brushing snow from her hair.
The image almost sets me on fire with longing.
And I let it. I allow myself to plan, to anticipate, to hold that moment like a promise I intend to keep.
She's safe now, but I want to be there. I will be there. And when that moment comes, when I can see her face and know she's really free, nothing else will matter.
I sit back, glass resting against my palm, the city buzzing faintly outside. I close my eyes, just for a second, letting the anger, the worry, the longing mix together. And I swear to myself, Mara will never be trapped again. Not if I can help it.
The thought steels me, focuses me. I will go to Sweet Creek, see her, make sure she's safe—and maybe I'll even let her know how much she's meant to me all along.