Hunter
BACKGROUND CHECK ON ROBERT RYAN
Ihaven’t slept. I’m not even tired. The highway rolls past us as we make our way to the next city. It’s been two nights since we got the news that Brittney’s parents have died, and she’s been stuck in her head the whole time. We’re meeting her uncle tomorrow in San Francisco.
It’s around two in the morning, and everyone else is sleeping. Brittney snuck out of the nest and moved to the couch hours ago. It’s taking all the restraint I have not to try and join her. If she needs space, I want to give it to her.
Colton is out cold with his mouth open, drooling like a kid. Cody’s arms are folded tight across his chest. He snores in a rhythm, a slow, arrhythmic pulse. They seem less identical while they sleep.
Fox has his hands folded behind his head, eyes closed, but I know he could be alert at a moment’s notice. He’s always alert.
Saint is snoring in the nest. Sometimes he doesn’t sleep for days, but tonight even he is down.
So I’m the only one left, conscious and adrift, watching the night pour past the tinted windows.
A low, keening noise, too soft for the engine to cover, reaches me. At first, I think it’s the wind, or maybe the air conditioning. But then it gets sharper, a sound that doesn’t belong in a vehicle at all, a sound that makes my alpha desperate. A whimper that’s small and desperate.
Brittney.
I can’t fight it. I move towards her and see she’s locked in a dream, rigid and twisting, the outline of her face visible in the blue from the strip light. Her eyelids are vibrating, jaw clenched tight, fists wound up in the hem of the blanket.
Then I smell her. It’s a sharp twist of panic in her usual toffee scent.
I know I shouldn’t invade her space, but my omega needs me, and that trumps everything else.
The floor is cold and gritty under my bare feet. I pad over, kneeling down beside her. I don’t touch her yet, not wanting to startle her.
“Brittney,” I whisper, as softly as I can.
She doesn’t hear me. Her face is wet, hair plastered to her forehead, mouth stretched wide in a silent scream. I want to wake her, but the idea of putting my hands on her in this state is terrifying. Instead, I plant both fists on the floor and lean in, as if my presence alone will pull her out.
She’s trapped in it. Whatever it is. The bond is full of panic and pain.
Her family, probably, or that mother fucking pack that thinks they own her. She never talks about them, not really, but the nightmares do. You can tell by the way she shakes, the way she chokes down every sob like she’s got to hide even from herself.
“Brittney,” I try again, louder this time, and her eyes snap open, huge and wild, pupils blown so wide there’s barely any color left. For a second, she doesn’t see me. She sees the past. Her hands go up, defensive and instinctive, like she’s about to catch a blow.
“It’s okay,” I say, holding my own hands up, palms out. “It’s just me, Hunter. You’re on the bus.”
She’s breathing hard, ribs hitching, whole body trembling. Sweat runs down her neck and soaks into the collar of her shirt. There’s a moment where I think she might start crying, but she swallows it, wipes her face with the back of her wrist, and looks away.
“Sorry,” she croaks, voice shredded. “I didn’t mean to wake-”
“You didn’t,” I say. “I was already awake.”
I want to say something comforting, something that’ll close the space between us, but I’m shit at comfort. I’m the joke guy, the distraction, the last-resort medic when Fox isn’t around. I settle for asking, “Do you want water?”
She nods, quickly, so I reach up to her kitchenette and grab the bottle there. I hand it over, careful not to brush her fingers. She takes a gulp, then another, the sound of her swallowing weirdly loud in the tiny space.
She drinks, wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. When she hands the bottle back, I take it, but don’t let go right away. Neither does she. We just… hold it, suspended, this dumb little tug of war that means nothing and everything at the same time.
“Was it-” I start, but she cuts me off.
“My dad,” she says, like it’s a confession. “And my mom. They… It’s stupid.”
“It’s not,” I say with conviction. She needs to know her feelings are valid. Things have gotten worse for her since she heard they died.
She hunches in, smaller than I’ve ever seen her. “It’s just, every time I think I’m over it, it’s like… they’re there. I can’t get away even though I have, permanently.”
I get that, more than she knows. “You’re away now,” I tell her. “Nobody can get you here. Not unless they’re, like, a giant spider, but even then I would face my fears for you.”
She snorts, a half-laugh, half-sob. “You’re such a dumbass,” she says, but her voice is steadier.
She drinks again, slower this time. The panic is draining out, replaced by something raw and tired. She wipes her face again, and I notice a red mark on her cheek, the shape of her own nail. She must have clawed herself in the dream.
I decide to be the mate she deserves and ask, “Is it okay if I sit with you?”
She nods. Her breathing is almost normal. The smell of fear is fading, replaced by the softer, warmer scent of chocolate under the toffee.
The other alphas are still out or pretending to be, but Fox shifts in the nest, rolls over, and lets out a little snore. Saint hasn’t moved, but I bet he’s awake. He never misses a thing. The twins are the only ones really gone, sunk into their own dreams.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask, knowing she doesn’t.
She shakes her head. “No. Just… Could you stay, maybe? Just for a bit.”
“Yeah,” I say, and I mean it.
I slide in next to her, pulling her close and resting her head on my chest. Her hair falls across my chest, and her scent hits again, making my heart jump.
She leans, I lean, and suddenly she’s pressed into my side, cheek against my shoulder, hand fisted in the fabric of my t-shirt. She’s so small like this, curled in, but so tense.
When she looks up, I realize how close I am, with my face barely a foot from hers. I should pull back, give her space, but instead I stay right there.
My brain short-circuits. Every alarm in my body is going off. I want to hold her, to be the wall between her and everything that hurts, but I don’t want to overdo it. If I grab too tight, she might panic.
I settle for an awkward, one-armed wrap. My palm lands on her back, right between the shoulder blades. She shudders at first, then settles, a little at a time.
She breathes in, slow and steady. I can feel the rise and fall against my chest, her pulse flickering in her neck. My own heart is hammering, way too fast for the situation, but I try to ignore it.
We stay like that for a while, not moving. I watch the window, the blurred shapes of roadside signs and rest stops as they slide by in the dark. I’m hyper-aware of every point of contact, every shiver and sigh.
Then it happens: I start purring. Not on purpose, but the low, vibrating rumble just slips out of me. At first, it’s barely audible, just a background hum, but then Brittney shifts, nuzzles closer, and the sound ramps up, a steady, soothing thrum that’s half human, half animal.
She freezes, just for a second, then laughs. A real laugh, not scared or embarrassed. “Are you… purring?”
I want to die. “Uh. Maybe?”
She smiles again, softer now. “I like it. It’s comforting.”
I keep purring, and she keeps listening. I would purr for her forever if it helps her like this.
My alpha settles, enjoying the comfort of his omega.
After a while, I feel her breathing even out. Her body goes heavy against mine. She’s finally asleep for real, the scent of fear gone, replaced by something sweet and warm and safe.
I stay there, holding her, purring, until my own eyes start to close.
I don’t know if I helped, but at least I didn’t make it worse.
* * *
I wake up with my perfect omega wrapped around me, and I instantly start my purr back up. She didn’t wake up again with a nightmare, and I feel like the best alpha in the world for giving her that.
Dawn is peaking through the curtains when the rest of the pack starts to stir.
It’s the purr that wakes them, probably. Or maybe the fact that Brittney is not where she’s supposed to be. Either way, I feel it.
Fox rolls over, his blue eyes catching mine in the reflection off the glass. He doesn’t say anything. He just watches, calm and calculating, a tiny smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
The twins are next. Colton’s the first to lift his head, hair wild, eyes bleary and red-rimmed.
He sniffs the air and grunts. Then he spots Brittney, still folded against my side, and his entire body goes alert.
Cody wakes up with a groan, immediately mirroring his brother, and together they stare down at us like we’ve grown new limbs.
Saint is the last, or maybe just the last to admit he’s been awake. He stands in the doorway, face unreadable, eyes sharp enough to cut diamonds. He doesn’t speak, but his gaze pins me, then slides to Brittney, then back to me.
Everyone is worried about her.
Brittney wakes up a few minutes later. She blinks, squints at the light, and then freezes when she realizes where she is. She jerks back, face going scarlet, and stammers, “Sorry I made you sleep on this lumpy couch with me.”
“Don’t apologize. I loved it.” I say, letting my hand drop, even though I already miss the weight of her. “You were having a rough night.”
She scrambles up, tugs the blanket higher, and shoots a terrified glance around the bus. When she sees everyone watching, she shrinks, tucks her chin in. “Why are you all staring?”
Colton lies. “We were all just, uh… doing security stuff.”
Cody snickers. “Super secure.”
Saint clears his throat. “Are you okay?” he asks, clinical as always.
Brittney nods her head, eyes fixed on the vinyl floor.
Colton, never one to let silence hang, leans in over the back of the couch. “You want breakfast? We can make instant oatmeal. Or Hunter can try to burn the bus down with a panini press again.”
I flash him a middle finger. “That was one time.”
Cody grins, “Three, actually.”
Fox eases onto the little bench seat outside the nest, elbows on knees. “Nightmares?” he asks, but there’s no judgment in it, just curiosity.
Brittney nods, and for a second, the mask slips. She looks up, face raw and open, and says, “It was my dad. And my mom. They used to— They didn’t want me. Not really. They just wanted what I could do for them. Their death is bringing everything back up for me.”
Saint doesn’t flinch. He never does. “That’s over now,” he says, voice flat but certain. “No one will touch you. Not while you’re with us.”
Fox nods, slow and deliberate. “You’re safe now.”
The twins slide in on either side of her, Colton nudging her with his knee, Cody tossing a grape at her from the fruit bowl in his hand. It bounces off her shoulder, and she actually laughs, a tiny, startled sound.
I stay where I am, watching her. She looks… lighter, like the weight has shifted, even if just for a second.
She pulls the fuzzy blanket tighter and says, “Thanks. All of you.”
Colton gives her a two-finger salute. “Any time.”
Cody snags another grape and tosses it at me. I catch it, just to prove I’m faster than him.
Saint stands up, stretches his back until it cracks, then starts prepping the coffee pot with military precision. “Next stop is two hours out,” he says. “Eat, drink, then rest. You’ll need it.”
Fox leans over, voice pitched low. “If you want to talk about it, you can. Or you can just hang out and listen to Colton’s terrible jokes. Either way, you’re not alone.”
She smiles, this time real and unguarded.
The rest of the morning is a blur of small things: coffee, instant oatmeal, the twins bickering about who gets to pick the playlist. Fox reads a book, occasionally pausing to check on Brittney.
Saint just plans, his eyes always on the road, but every so often, he glances around, making sure the pack is whole.
Brittney stays bundled up. The scent of fear never comes back.
I sit at the end of the booth, close enough to listen, close enough to help if she needs it, but not crowding her. Every time she glances my way, I see gratitude flicker behind her eyes.