3. Cas #3
Nathan shoots him a look. “You’re not that much older than him.”
“He’s a lot younger than you, though,” Kato fires back. “What are you again, fifty-something?”
“Thirty-five,” Nathan grits out, then turns his attention back to me. “And where are you from?”
My hands are beginning to hurt now. “South of here.”
“Well, yeah, obviously, but where?” This from Kato, trying and failing to check his own eagerness, his curiosity plain.
I briefly suck the inside of my cheeks between my teeth and take a deep breath. Okay, this information won’t necessarily put anyone in danger. “Inverness.”
“And…your pack?” Nathan asks, his rough voice now gentle. “Family?”
I release the mug with a soft gasp. My palms are raw and red.
“Oh—look. Done yourself a mischief, as they say around here.” Kato’s leaning across the table, thrilled to have an excuse to fret, but I jerk back in the chair before he can touch me. He goes still, watching me with eyes that are not quite predatory but want for something.
But that’s the thing—I can’t give it to him. Either of them. No matter how desperately my body sings for it, craving that touch from both alphas. I. Can’t.
“I—I need to rest,” I stammer. “Tomorrow, I...” Tomorrow I will come up with another excuse. Tomorrow I will figure out something.
“Of course,” Nathan murmurs, exchanging a loaded glance with his alpha companion. “Let me show you—”
“I can go myself,” I say. “To the bedroom. On my own.”
And thank god they let me do that much, at least. I quickly case the layout of the house as I make my way back.
The kitchen has a door leading out to what I presume is a back garden; the hallway is short, with the front door at the opposite end to the living room and stairs leading upwards.
The bedroom is at the back—an odd place for a master.
Once I’m back in the familiar bedroom, I shut off the lights, draw the curtains and bury my face in the pillows that smell of both of them. I weep, silent, until darkness draws me under.
Where I don’t have to feel them. And that is a temporary mercy, even if the rest of me disagrees.
When I wake up, disoriented and puffy-eyed from crying long into the night, it takes me long seconds to work out where I am. It’s the smell that reminds me—Nathan and Kato’s intermingled scents, woodsmoke and wildflowers.
The slight crack in the curtains lets in soft light.
Morning, I presume, given I feel less like seconds from death and more like minutes.
Uninterrupted sleep has been scarce of late—the relative safety of closing my eyes without fear has resulted in the best night of sleep in far too long, swollen eyes aside.
How I manage to feel safe in a confined space with two unmated alphas who I’ve known for a matter of hours should freak me out.
You’d think after everything I went through, their sort would be those I trusted least. Nothing about either of them scares me, though—only the prospect of following through on what my body is telling me to do with them.
I push that thought away and contemplate staying in bed all day.
The sweet lure of sleep beckons until my stomach rumbles insistently, reminding me it’s been far too long since I ate a decent meal.
So, with minimal groaning despite my stiff body, I clamber out of bed and go to the bathroom, taking care of business and splashing my face with water in a vain attempt to look more presentable.
My irises are bloodshot and my white-grey hair is sticking out at all angles, but I’ve got some colour in my face and the shadows under my eyes aren’t too stark.
Satisfied I don’t look like the ghost of a murdered Victorian child, I pad back out into the bedroom. I don’t have much in terms of clothing options, so I keep Kato’s sweatpants on and pair them with Nathan’s shirt.
The shirt is old and soft and very large. It’s like wearing a warm blanket. Nathan might look gruff, but he’s generous—he’s letting me stay in his home, in his bed, and giving me the clothes off his back.
It makes me feel like I’m already a member of his pack. Not the wider pack, not yet, but a smaller one. Nathan’s, made up of only Kato and me. I’d be happy if that were true.
I think Nathan would dispute Kato being in his pack. He’d be wrong, though. Kato and Nathan circle around each other like two sharks hunting the same prey, though it’s not clear which of them might end up being dinner.
In that analogy, I’m probably the prey. I’m not unobservant—I saw how they looked at me yesterday, like they want to eat me up.
It makes me all hot and shivery to think about.
Maybe I want to be devoured by them—these two big alphas who could have left me to die and instead took me in and kept me like I was something worth saving.
Before everything, I’d never been into alphas—too domineering and entitled for someone like me.
I’ve been on the receiving end of it, proving everything I’d ever assumed about alphas right.
Neither Nathan nor Kato comes across as privileged, though.
I get the impression that they’re both outcasts. A bit like me, I suppose.
It’s probably why I feel a kinship with them already. That, and gratitude for rescuing me. It’s also why I should leave immediately, run as far as I can and not stop until I know they’ll be safe. The last thing I want is for trouble to follow me here, right to their door. They don’t deserve that.
I’m so distracted formulating a plan to leave that my fingers are clumsy as I do up the buttons on Nathan’s shirt. Mortifyingly, one comes loose in my hand, falling to the floor with a clack. It was the one right in the middle, so it won’t go unnoticed.
Shit.
I scour the floor for any sign of the button, but it’s disappeared into that place where tiny lost things go, never to be found again.
The walk-in wardrobe Nathan pointed out is probably my best bet, so I go in search of sewing supplies, hoping some might be stashed away somewhere.
I scan the contents. Rows of plaid shirts, neatly folded jeans and colour-coordinated T-shirts make up one side; boxes of paperwork and camping gear take up the other.
I rise on my tiptoes for a better look at the most promising shelf, dotted with small boxes.
I strike gold when I spot a blue tin decorated with photos of shortbread and reach up to get it.
When I open the tin, I am—for once in my life—pleased that it’s not full of biscuits.
I might even let out a squeak of pleasant surprise at the sight of so many thick spools of brightly coloured thread and loose buttons in every shape and size.
Digging around, I find some round pearl ones that catch the light with a pink sheen.
They won’t match the rest of the buttons on the shirt, but I could replace them all if I find enough.
I search for more, instead finding some coiled ribbon in baby pink that catches my eye more than the buttons. I take it out, unfurling it fully. It’s more than one piece, I realise, as a few ribbons drop to the bed. Different lengths and thicknesses, but all the same shade.
There’s no way Nathan bought these. Perhaps he had an omega here before—one who liked pretty things. I rub the satin between my fingers, revelling in its smoothness.
“Perfect,” I murmur.
Selecting one of the shorter pieces, I wind it around my right wrist before tying it off with some difficulty.
I do the same with my left, though I can’t get it as tight—I’ll have to ask one of the alphas to help me with it.
Having the ribbons wrapped around me, adorning me, makes me feel pretty and…
normal. Like the old me, who liked dressing up when I wasn’t mucking out horse stalls.
After finding a button that matches the others on the shirt, I spend a few minutes replacing it. I’m not skilled with needlework, but I do a good enough job that I don’t think Nathan will notice.
My ears prick at the shuffle of soft steps on the stairs. I listen, but whoever it is doesn’t come towards the bedroom. The sound of a door shutting—loud in the quiet of the morning—follows. I drift towards the bedroom door, listening for further movement.
Faintly, so faintly, I hear a curse from upstairs, followed by a deep grumble.
“Fucking hell, how can he have got to his age and never learnt how to shut a bloody door?”
I cover my mouth with my hand to stifle a laugh at the string of expletive-laden muttering from Nathan as he stomps downstairs.
Maybe they’re not sharks after all. More like pups playfighting—all bark and no bite.
And maybe, just maybe, I might have found shifters who could really offer me the safety I need. Hope is a tenuous thing—I almost don’t want to feel it, knowing it’s likely false.
I do, though. Hope. I hope with all my heart that I won’t regret putting my fragile trust in Nathan and Kato.
After all, I have nothing left but hope.