3. Cas
CAS
Waking up disoriented has become a regular occurrence for me, but waking up somewhere warm is strange—so strange that I quickly realise something is wrong.
My eyes seem glued shut, so I feel around, my aching fingers catching on a blanket I’m lying under.
It’s soft and fleecy, and probably the nicest material I’ve come into contact with in a while.
I grasp it hard, fisting it, unwilling to let it go now that I’ve got it.
Did…he give the blanket to me?
No.
I ran. How could I have forgotten?
I pry my eyes open, looking around blearily. My wolf took me north—I remember that much. When I come face to face with a couple of curious, concerned gazes, I still.
Shifters. But not just any shifters. Alphas.
Two of them.
“Can you understand me?” one of them asks in a gruff voice.
Not the nicest bedside manner, but not the worst I’ve experienced.
He’s big—I can tell that much even through my blurred-at-the-edges vision—with reddish-brown hair and a thick ginger beard.
His age isn’t immediately apparent. Shifters are like that, sort of ageless for most of our lives.
I’d be surprised if this alpha were anything less than a decade older than I am, though.
“Are you feeling okay?” the other one asks, though it’s more directed at the ginger alpha, as if he’s pointedly telling him that’s what he should have said to me instead.
It takes a second to parse his words, because I wasn’t expecting the North American accent.
This shifter is younger than the other, I’d guess.
His black hair keeps flopping into his eyes, and I’m transfixed by the various dot and line tattoos on his fingers as he shoves it back ineffectually.
His edgy look—at odds with the other alpha’s rugged appearance—is completed by a large tattoo of a forest of pine trees circling one forearm.
How apt for a wolf. He’s not as big as the other alpha, but still takes up a hell of a lot of space compared to me.
I try to speak, but all that escapes is a thready whimper. It’s been a while since I’ve used my words. I stopped, mostly—keeping my voice to myself was a silent rebellion, one of only a few I could afford.
“Here,” the ginger alpha says, brandishing a glass of water at me. Some spills, cold liquid dripping onto my hand where I’m still holding the blanket as if it’s anchoring me to the earth.
I untangle my fingers with effort, each digit stiff.
I was in wolf form for a while—that much is clear.
My body aches for many reasons, but being in only one form for longer than a couple of days wreaks havoc on our systems. Unnatural, to not stretch our bodies the way they’re meant to be stretched—like being stuffed into a too-small cage.
“Here.” The other alpha is right beside me, a warm hand slipping under my back to prop me up on the bed. My muscles strain with the effort of staying upright.
Alpha. So much alpha scent. I should be scared of it, given what happened.
Instead, I want to burrow right back under the covers and surround myself with the woodsmoke and wildflowers that fill the room.
The fleece blanket drops down and I realise—to my surprise—that I’m not naked.
I take in the large, buttoned-up flannel shirt that I’m wearing.
It’s not mine, of course—one of the alphas’, by the smell of it.
The room smells of both of them, but wildflower wafts off the shirt more than the other.
I inhale deeply, letting the scent comfort me. It shouldn’t. And yet…
“You didn’t have anything on when we found you,” the big one explains.
“If you want to take the shirt off, that’s—fine.
” His pause has me meeting his eyes for the first time.
They’re a warm honey-brown, softer than I was expecting from someone whose voice has been telegraphing otherwise.
He’s got the sort of eyes I could learn to trust, I think.
And he’s unhappy with the idea of me removing his shirt—I can tell that much.
I shake my head, hoping he understands, and hold out my hand for the glass. I’m shaking badly, though, and my hand cramps from even that small movement.
“Let me,” the other alpha says, grabbing the glass before the big one can stop him. More water is spilled, the glass now half-full before I’ve even had a drop.
“Watch what you’re doing, Kato!” the ginger alpha hisses.
“It’s fine,” Kato says, turning to me. “Drink,” he commands, tipping the glass towards my lips without further ado.
I follow his instruction, mainly because he isn’t giving me much of an option. Either the water goes in my mouth or it’s going to dribble down my chin. Thankfully I’m cognisant enough to part my lips in time, the perfectly crisp water hitting my tongue in a satisfying splash.
“You’re going to make him choke,” the bigger alpha says unhappily.
Kato pulls the glass away, shooting me a concerned look.
“I’m okay,” I croak. “Thank you.”
“Are you well enough to tell us your name?” the ginger alpha asks. “I’m Nathan, and this is Kato.”
“Casper,” I say, my voice coming out stronger this time.
“I, uh, go by Cas.” I don’t—everyone always uses my full name, but my addled brain can’t manage a better lie.
They’d never have known if I’d given them a false one to cover my tracks.
Responding to a name that doesn’t belong to me at all, however, seems impossible right now.
Besides, I’d rather feel like myself once again.
“Cas,” Kato says with a decisive nod. I think he’s doing that old trick of committing my name to memory by repeating it until he says it again, this time more slowly, like he’s tasting the letters.
“Where are you from, Cas?” Nathan asks, with an inquisitive tilt to his head.
I don’t know how to respond. Maybe I’ll feign amnesia. Wait—do amnesiacs remember their names? Dammit, I have no idea. I should have paid more attention to the soaps my omega grandad used to watch; they were always doing an amnesia storyline.
Before I can wallow in memories or come up with a solution, however, Kato speaks.
“Don’t tell me,” he says knowingly. “You’re running from a bad situation, right?
Who’s the alpha they promised you to? Is he ancient?
Bet he’s rank. They usually are. Swear everyone gets a kick out of pairing teenagers with octogenarians. ”
His assumption, not miles from the terrible truth, might make this a lot easier. I turn up my deer-in-the-headlights look. “I’m not a teenager,” I tell them.
Nathan scrutinises me and I squirm under his attention. “Okay,” he says. “We’re part of the McLeod pack, so you’re aware. Declan McLeod is our alpha. Did you mean to end up here?”
I certainly didn’t. I don’t know much about the McLeod pack other than their reputation for being incredibly insular. It might work to my advantage if they’re not aware of what goes on beyond their territory. Staying hidden and under the radar is paramount to my survival.
“You’ll re-traumatise him, Nate,” Kato says. “Look at him. He’s been through the wringer. Enough with the interrogation.”
Nathan’s jaw tightens. “Sorry. It’s just that the pack can’t really be harbouring a fugitive. Declan won’t allow it.”
I can’t promise him that no one will be coming after me, so I stay silent, hoping he won’t press further.
“We had one of the beta nurses take a look at you, by the way,” Kato says. “As much as this big lug would let him, anyway.” He elbows Nathan playfully in the side, getting swatted in return for his trouble.
I instinctively press a hand to my abdomen. If they looked at me there—if the beta saw—
“Niall only checked your head,” Nathan says. He noticed my reaction again. I really need to stop being so easy to read. “We wanted to make sure you didn’t have a head injury. We’ll get him back here—”
I shake my head sharply and it rattles my brain, making me blink as dark spots cross my vision. “No. I don’t need a doctor.” I don’t want anyone like that touching me ever again.
Nathan doesn’t look like he believes me, his lips turning down.
It makes me feel the way I did whenever I got in trouble at school—how a teacher’s disappointment would eat away at me.
But it’s in everyone’s best interests to ignore what’s been shoved inside of me against my will.
So I lower my eyes, focusing on where my hands are twisted in the blanket.
The fleece is soft to the touch, and the pastel pink is at odds with the decor in the rest of the room—which is mostly rustic browns and greens. Utilitarian. Too sparse to be properly cosy. Neat, but mostly because there’s not enough in here for it to get messy.
It must be Nathan’s room. I wonder where he slept last night. With Kato in another bedroom, perhaps. I can’t quite figure out their dynamic, but their scents complement each other perfectly, and Kato’s entire body is turned towards Nathan’s like he’s caught in his gravitational pull.
I understand that, though. The big ginger alpha may give off stern vibes, but he’s got an arresting gaze that reels you in. I peek up at him through my lashes and he’s still staring at me. I wonder what he sees when he looks at me.
A lost omega, I suppose.
I switch to looking at Kato, who’s tapping his fingers on the mattress in a nervous rhythm. If Nathan is ice, then Kato is all fire—he’s in constant motion, the heat coming off him palpable. My body flushes as he meets my eyes, like he’s so hot that it’s spreading.
How the fuck did I end up running into the arms of these two? A sudden, horrid thought hits me. Is this even real? Has captivity driven me so far to the edge of reality that I’ve invented a whole new one for myself, complete with two ridiculously attractive alphas?
An out-of-body feeling hits me like a bulldozer, and I have to grip the blanket to stop myself from tipping off the bed. Of course this can’t be real. Good things don’t happen to people like me. Not anymore.
“Cas?” It’s Kato. He’s closer than before, right up next to me.