Chapter 22
ELI
Ihit send before the rain even starts.
A beat later, confirmation ping. Filed, timestamped. Official now.
Doesn’t matter that she asked me not to. I can’t let it slide. Someone in Nexus used unnecessary force to keep her in line, and I’m not built to ignore that.
Rowan’s the first to notice me staring at my phone.
“Work?” he asks, tone casual but eyes sharp.
“Follow-up,” I say. Then, quieter, “The guard who tasered Jess. I logged it.”
Cassian’s head snaps up from the couch. “You serious?” His whole body goes tight, coiled energy in motion before thought. “Who the fuck—tell me who and I’ll taser his ass. Or better.”
“Don’t know yet,” I say, keeping my voice level. “That’s why I sent the inquiry request and a full investigation. It wasn’t in her file.”
Cassian’s fists clench. “It wasn’t in her file because someone wanted to cover their ass. A guard tasers an unbonded Omega in heat and no one thinks to document it? Bullshit.” He’s on his feet now, pacing like a caged animal. “If I ever find out who—”
“Cass.” Rowan’s voice cuts in, low and dangerous. He’s standing too, the storm flickering in his eyes. “You’re not the only one who wants blood.”
He drags a hand over his mouth, then mutters something in Russian that sounds like a curse. “She flinched when I brushed her shoulder earlier. I thought it was just nerves.”
“It wasn’t,” I say. “The worst of the bruising is yellowing out. You can barely make out where the taser hit—just two faint shadowed spots from when she was brought into Nexus which isn’t standard protol.”
Rowan turns toward the window, muscles locked tight. “They need to know she wasn’t the problem. They need to know what they did.”
“They’ll know.” I lock my screen, pocket the phone. “They’ll see it in the report I turn in.”
Cassian’s breathing roughens. “A report’s not enough.”
“No,” I agree. “But it’s the start of a trail that leads back to whoever thought hurting her was okay.”
The silence after that is heavy. Rowan’s still staring out the rain-slick glass, jaw hard enough to crack teeth. Cassian’s hands flex at his sides, knuckles white.
For a second, I think they might both explode—and maybe part of me wants them to—but then Rowan exhales, slow and lethal.
“Good,” he says finally. “They won’t bury this.”
Cassian scrubs both hands through his hair, still vibrating with it. “They’d better not. Whoever did this is gonna pay.”
“For now,” I say, quieter. “This is how we hit back—on record.”
I shove the anger down where I keep the rest of it and force my tone lighter. “Movie in half an hour. We need a reset before one of us drives to headquarters and commits a felony.”
I pocket the phone, shove the anger down where I keep the rest of it, and look for something lighter to hold on to.
Because I need something between me and the part of my brain that’s already writing the ending—the one where Jess figures out what every Omega after Meredith did. That I’m optional. That biology’s got a ranking system, and I’m not on it.
Meredith didn’t make me feel like a placeholder. But Meredith’s dead, and hope’s a stupid thing to hoard when you’ve already watched it bury you too many times to count. “Non-negotiable,” I add, forcing brightness I don’t feel. “I picked a good gateway.”
Rowan’s still by the window from before, sleeves shoved to his elbows like he’s ready to punch something, or rather, whoever the asshole was that tasered Jess.
Jess… pulls on a hoodie, and Cassian places his hand on her lower back, guiding her out to the car.
When Rowan gives me a look—soft, concerned, knowing—I shake my head. Can’t deal with sympathy right now.
Can’t let him hold me and kiss away the pain, because if I do, it’ll feel like surrendering to the truth I’m trying to outrun: that I’m the odd man out in our pack, and comfort won’t change biology.
But I’ll fight for Rowan and for the chance to have a sliver of what we all had with Meredith.
The little bay theater is two screens and a lobby that smells like butter and bleach. Neon hums over a hand-lettered poster: The Sky Between Us—subtitles. Good. Can’t stand anime with English voice actors; it just ruins the whole vibe, and they never get the voices right either.
I pick up our four tickets I ordered earlier, center seats. Then we buy popcorn, water, and a pack of chocolate things Jess pretends she doesn’t want, but grabs after I pay.
At the counter, I slip a travel-size tissue pack into her palm.
“What’s this for?”
“Trust me, you’ll need this. It’s double-ply.” My mouth tips. “Upgraded for emotional damage control.”
She looks at me like I’ve lost my mind, but I know my anime, and this one is going to convert her to the anime world.
“Wait—this is that cartoon thing, right?”
I freeze mid-reach for the popcorn butter pump. “Cartoon?”
Rowan groans. “Wrong word, sweetheart.”
Cassian’s grin is pure trouble. “Shit. You just called his religion a coloring book.”
Jess lifts a brow. “Big eyes, weird noises, melodrama… how serious can it be?”
“Serious enough,” I tell her. “Rowan cried at Kingdom of Wings, and Cassian binge-watched MechaSoul Requiem in one sitting.”
“Lies,” Cassian mutters. “It was two sittings.”
“Point stands.” I nudge Jess’s shoulder. “Tonight’s The Sky Between Us. Gateway masterpiece.”
Rowan tips his head toward Jess. “Translation: he’ll be a wreck by the halfway mark.”
“Subtitles,” I correct automatically. “And yes, I will.”
She laughs, shaking her head. “You’re all insane.”
“Oh, you’ll thank me later,” I promise, handing her the popcorn. “Welcome to the conversion ceremony.”
Inside, the auditorium is mostly empty—two couples down front, a trio of teenagers whispering at the far aisle. Recliners, thank God; easy to disappear in.
Thankfully, it’s the middle of the day on a Tuesday; otherwise, this place would be packed.
Rowan takes the seat closest to the aisle, then Jess, me, and Cassian. The lights drop, and the previews stutter through.
Wind and water. A kid drawing a map of stars he can’t reach. Jess’s thigh finds mine. Not much—just contact. My body answers like I’ve been starving for it, like every nerve I’ve kept quiet is suddenly screaming yes. I keep my face neutral, breathe slowly, watch ink and color become a city.
Twenty minutes later, a joke lands. She smiles. Pretend that doesn’t put a hand around my heart.
The guardian shows up—teeth, shadow, the voice of a tired god. Jess shifts closer in the half-dark, the back of her hand resting on my leg like gravity put it there. I lower my arm to the shared rest; our fingers almost touch.
Next, the kid swears he’ll fix everything. Rowan exhales like he recognizes the type. Cassian fakes a cough.
Then her scent changes—vanilla warmed through jasmine, with a citrus spark that makes me want to bare my throat or sink my teeth in or both.
She moves first. Slow. Deliberate. Her fingers slide beneath the drape of my jacket, settle higher on my thigh. Heat through denim. Nothing obscene. Not yet.
“Okay?” I whisper, the word barely sounds.
She nods, once. Decisive.
I slip my hand under the jacket in answer and rest it on her knee. I hold her hand, and I feel like a damn teenager again. The film carries us through quiet breakfasts and a promise at a station, and a monster waiting at the end of an alley that only one boy can see.
Her breath catches when I draw two fingers up the inside of her thigh. Two inches. Then two more. She tips, lashes low, mouth parted like yes.
We’re not alone. That should matter more. It doesn’t.
“Jess,” I murmur—a question, a warning.
Her hand finds my wrist beneath the jacket and presses—guiding, not begging. Higher.
I’m not a saint. I’m a man who’s been told “not you” in a hundred careful ways; who learned restraint so well I could teach it. I slide my hand higher.
Soft cotton shorts. The first brush of my knuckles at the seam steals my breath. She’s hot there. Slick. Her scent opens like a fist unclenching, sweet and lush and a little unsteady.
I make nothing-shapes on her skin, careful, patient, never where she’s desperate, until her breathing goes rough and the little tendons in her wrist jump under my thumb.
Onscreen, the monster is not a monster. Jess bites her lip. I can feel the thoughts in her body—don’t push, don’t perform, don’t make me pick.
I don’t.
I find the edge of cotton and ease two fingers under, slow enough she can tell me no.
“Color?” I breathe—quiet, hopeful, too earnest to be cool.
“Green, Eli” she whispers. “Bright green.”
I feel that everywhere. Jesus.
Heat. Wet. I want to put my mouth on her. I want to drag her into my lap and say mine into the place she breaks open. I want a hundred things I don’t take.
I circle her clit once, lightly. Her breath stops. Again, a hair more pressure.
Her breath drops from chest to belly, becomes something heavy and inevitable. I keep my eyes front and work here the way I do everything—precision, patience, respect. No hurry, no showing off. Just steady, quiet heat until it’s all there is.
Rowan adjusts in his seat, face tipped toward the ceiling like he’s counting ductwork. Cassian’s hand scrubs over his mouth. Somewhere, someone munches popcorn in the quiet of the movie during the main characters making love.
Jess trembles. Doesn’t hide it. I lean shoulder to shoulder, anchoring her to something that won’t ask for anything back.
“Eli,” she breathes, the sound lost in the score.
“You’re good,” I murmur into her hair. “Breathe.”
I press two fingers inside—shallow, then slow, deeper. She takes me like she’s been waiting. My own restraint is barbed wire I hold with both hands; it bites, and I don’t let go.
I curl just enough to find the angle that bows her spine, stroke there in even passes while my thumb makes small, careful circles over what’s swollen and slick and ours to keep secret in the dark.