22. Storm
Chapter 22
Storm
M orning light filters through the unfamiliar curtains, casting the room in a soft golden glow. I open my eyes, aware of my surroundings in this safe house. The solid warmth of Rook's body presses against my back, his arm draped protectively over my waist, a reassuring weight that confirms he’s here with me.
The events of last night remain crystal clear in my mind. The escape from the penthouse. The frantic drive through the night. Fox, the male omega that Pack Kingsley has been hiding.
I carefully disentangle myself from Rook's embrace, trying not to wake him. He stirs slightly, mumbling my name before settling back into sleep. The sight of him, peaceful and safe, brings a lump to my throat. After everything we've been through, we're finally together again.
But we're not free. Not yet.
I pause by the bed, allowing myself a moment to really look at him. Four years we were apart, and now here he is, his dark hair tousled across the pillow, his face relaxed in sleep in a way it never is when he's awake and constantly on guard.
My fingers hover just above his cheek, not quite touching. I don't want to wake him. He needs the rest. But I can't help the well of emotion that rises in my chest, the fierce protective love that is Rook. He’s been my constant thought for four years.
I slip on one of Rook's t-shirts, breathing in his scent of strawberries and cream as the fabric settles around me. A pair of sleep shorts I found in the dresser completes my makeshift outfit. The clothes in the dresser are obviously Fox's—too big for me but not as oversized as Rook's things.
Padding silently across the hardwood floor, I cast one last glance at Rook before slipping out the door. The house is quiet, dawn barely breaking over the mountains visible through the windows. Our room is on the second floor, overlooking the sprawling property that seems to extend for acres in every direction. The isolation should make me claustrophobic, but instead, it feels like the first real chance to breathe I've had in years.
The hallway is lined with photographs—Fox at various ages, often with a woman I assume is his mother, sometimes with Alexander. Reed and Jonathan when they were younger. All four of them as teens. I can see Reed never lost his scowl. Jonathan actually smiling in one with Reed.
As I make my way downstairs, my mind churns with everything that's happened in the past week. Choosing Pack Kingsley was supposed to be my ticket to freedom, not a one-way trip to some hidden mountain retreat with the very alphas I was trying to escape. The irony isn't lost on me.
The stairs creak slightly under my weight, and I freeze, not wanting to wake anyone else. But the house remains quiet, the only sound, a soft ticking of a grandfather clock in the foyer and the distant call of birds outside.
I catch a glimpse of movement in the kitchen. Through the doorway, I can see Frankie standing by the large picture window, staring out at the garden and the endless trees and mountains. His shoulders are hunched, tension evident in every line of his body, and my heart aches for him.
Of all of us, he had the least choice in this mess. At least Rook and I have each other. Frankie was torn from the only life he knew, wrapped up in my chaos with no warning.
For a moment, I just watch him. The morning light paints his profile in gold, highlighting the gentle curve of his nose, the slight furrow between his brows. He looks tired, the kind of bone-deep exhaustion that comes from carrying too many worries for too long.
I approach him quietly, drawing close enough to catch his familiar scent of toasted marshmallows and cinnamon. Without thinking, I wrap my arms around his waist from behind and rest my head between his shoulder blades. He stiffens in surprise before relaxing into the embrace.
"Hey," I murmur. "You okay?"
His hand covers mine where it rests against his stomach, warm and reassuring. "Just processing," he says, his voice rough with emotion. He turns in my arms, his own coming up to hold me close. "It's a lot, you know?"
I look up at him, taking in the dark circles under his eyes, the worry lines that shouldn't be there on his face. "Yeah," I agree, leaning my head against his chest. "Who would've thought we'd end up here, hiding in the mountains with the same alphas we've been stuck with for four years?"
His heart beats steadily beneath my ear, a familiar rhythm that's been a constant in my life for four years. Here, away from watching eyes, the simple comfort of his embrace feels like home. I feel safe wrapped up in his arms.
"Life has a weird sense of humor," Frankie says with a small laugh that vibrates against my cheek. His fingers stroke through my wild curls, the gentle touch so different from Rook's.
"I'm sorry," I whisper. "For dragging you into this. I never meant for any of this to happen."
"I know," he says, and I can hear the smile in his voice. "But I'm not sorry. I would've followed you anywhere, Storm. You have to know that by now."
I look up at him and something shifts inside me, a feeling I've kept buried for too long. Before I can second-guess myself, I stand on my tiptoes and press my lips to his.
Frankie freezes, his body going completely still against mine. For a terrible moment, I think I've made a horrible mistake. Then his arms tighten around me, and he's kissing me back, tentative at first, then with growing confidence. His lips are soft and warm, his scent wrapping around me like a familiar blanket.
When we break apart, his eyes are wide with surprise, a flush spreading across his cheeks. "Storm, I?—"
"I'm sorry I didn't ask first," I whisper, my heart pounding so hard I'm sure he can feel it. "I've been wanting to do that for a long time."
A smile spreads across his face. "Really? You have?"
I nod, suddenly shy despite the boldness of my action. "Yeah. For years, actually."
His hand comes up to cup my cheek, his thumb brushing gently across my skin. "Me too," he admits. "I just never thought... it could be possible."
The quiet admission makes my throat tight with emotion.
We stand like that for a long moment, just holding each other, finding comfort in a friendship that's been my lifeline for four years. The morning sun streams through the window, his golden hair so beautiful and brings out the tiny flecks of amber in his warm eyes.
A noise from another room breaks the spell, the sound of footsteps approaching. We break apart reluctantly, as much as I want to tell Reed to go fuck himself. I don’t want that this morning. I want this moment to be just ours.
The footsteps grow louder, and then a woman appears in the doorway. She's in her late forties maybe, with warm hazel eyes so similar to Fox's, and honey-blonde hair pulled back in a loose bun. She's wearing worn jeans and a soft-looking sweater, a far cry from the formal attire of the betas at the Omega House. Her scent is subtle—fresh baked bread and lavender—and she freezes when she sees us, eyes widening in surprise.
"Who are you?" she asks, her voice firm but not unkind. There's no fear in her stance, just cautious curiosity.
"I'm Storm," I say, automatically stepping slightly in front of Frankie in a protective gesture. "This is Frankie. Alexander and Reed brought us here last night."
Her posture relaxes immediately, a smile spreading across her face that transforms her from pretty to beautiful. "Oh! Of course. Alex mentioned that there would be guests in his message, though I didn't expect you to be up so early." She steps forward, gesturing toward the kitchen with a welcoming sweep of her arm. "Come, breakfast will be ready in a moment. You need to eat."
Her immediate acceptance takes me by surprise. No suspicion, no veiled hostility, just simple hospitality. She moves to the refrigerator with practiced ease, pulling out eggs and bacon, her movements efficient and sure.
"I'm Elena, by the way," she adds over her shoulder. "Fox's mother."
That explains the resemblance. Elena moves with an easy confidence that has me smiling. I like her.
"It's nice to meet you," Frankie says, his natural politeness kicking in despite his obvious surprise. He's always been better at social graces than I have.
"You too, dear," Elena says, patting his arm as she passes to reach the stove. The casual touch makes Frankie look at me with worry. Does he think I will be upset with him? I smile and I watch his shoulders relax. I give him a quick kiss on the cheek and turn back to Elena.
"Is there anything we can help with?" I offer, watching as she efficiently navigates the kitchen, pulling out pans and utensils with familiar ease.
"Oh, thank you, but you are guests.” She replies with a wave of her hand.
“We can’t stand here and have you do all the work. That would be rude,” I let her know as I walk around the bench. Wanting to be put to work.
“Oh, well, if you insist.” She gives me a warm smile as she hands over some placemats. “You can set the table," she says, nodding toward a cabinet. "Plates are in there, silverware in the drawer below. The coffee's almost ready, and there's orange juice in the fridge."
As Frankie and I move around the kitchen, following her directions, I can't help but notice how different Elena is from the betas at the Omega House. There's no cruelty in her voice, no sharp edges in her movements. She moves with easy confidence, chatting with us like we belong there, like we’re more than just something to be managed or tolerated.
"So," she says as she cracks eggs into a bowl, her hands steady and practiced, "what brings you to our home? Alex didn't give me many details, just that there was trouble in the city."
I hesitate, exchanging a glance with Frankie. How much should I tell her? How much does she already know?
"It's a long story," I say finally, deciding on honesty. If she's Fox's mother and has been sheltering him here for years, she's already deeply entwined in the secrets of Pack Kingsley. "But the short version is that I accidentally started a rebellion, and now Jonathan's fathers want to give me to another pack as damage control."
Elena raises an eyebrow, looking impressed rather than shocked. "You must be quite something to have turned those boys' lives upside down."
"She is," Frankie says with a small smile as he hands me a stack of plates. His voice holds a note of pride that makes warmth bloom in my chest.
"I didn't mean to cause so much trouble," I admit, setting the plates on the table. "I was just trying to get back to Rook—my alpha." The word feels strange on my tongue; I've never referred to Rook that way before. He's just always been Rook, my rock, my constant, my home.
"The tall one with the dark hair?" Elena asks, whisking the eggs with practiced efficiency. When I nod, she smiles. "He seems devoted to you. The way he was holding you when you arrived last night... reminded me of how my parents used to look at each other."
"You were watching?" I ask, surprised.
She chuckles. "I’ve been here about five years. I have never seen anyone other than Jonathan, Reed and Alex leave and return. I was curious,” she says with a wink.
Of course. This isn't just a home, it's a safe place for a male omega the world doesn't know exists here. Elena has been safe but isolated here. I would be curious too.
"Thank you," I say. "For having us."
She waves off my thanks. "You are pack now. You pulled Kingsley’s name, that makes you my daughter-in-law. You’re always welcome. This is your home too, Storm. And Frankie. You are very cute and young."
I bite back the urge to correct her—to say I’m not pack, more like reluctant allies thrown together by circumstances. But she called me her daughter-in-law, and that did something to my heart.
I bump Frankie's shoulder playfully as we finish setting the table, and he wraps an arm around my waist in a casual half-hug. I love that he is reaching out to touch me. His scent is warm and comforting, and I lean into him automatically, savoring the warmth.
"You two have been together for a while?" Elena asks, glancing over at us as she slides bacon into a skillet.
"Four years," Frankie answers, because really that’s what it has been. I might not have kissed him four years ago. But I should have. "Since Storm came to the Omega House."
"He was my guard, but kept me sane," I add, resting my head briefly against his shoulder. "Smuggled me gum, played cards with me when no one else would."
"Sounds like a good friend," Elena says with a knowing smile.
I return the smile, grateful for her understanding. "The best."
A low, menacing growl from the doorway shatters our peaceful moment.
Reed stands there, his hair damp from a shower, wearing only a pair of low-hanging sweatpants that expose the sharp cut of his hip bones and the muscled planes of his chest. Ugh, why is he so hot? It should be illegal.
His stormy eyes are fixed on Frankie's arm around my waist, his face a mask of barely controlled rage. His saltwater and cedar scent has turned sharp, filling the kitchen with alpha aggression so potent I can almost taste it.
"Hands off," he growls, stalking into the room with predatory grace.
I step away from Frankie, but not out of submission. Anger flares hot in my chest as I move to stand between Reed and Frankie, shielding the beta from the alpha's wrath. "Back off, Reed. You don't get to dictate who touches me."
Reed's eyes, already dark with anger, flick to me. The intensity in his gaze is startling—there's more than just territorial alpha instinct there. Something deeper, more personal. "You're part of our pack now," he says, his voice dropping to that dangerous low that makes most people tremble. "And betas don't touch pack omegas."
"I'm not your omega," I snap back, my dark chocolate scent spiking with defiance. "I was forced into your pack against my will, or did you forget that part?"
Reed's eyes darken further, his nostrils flaring as he inhales my angry scent. His pupils dilate, the black nearly swallowing the stormy blue. "You chose us," he growls, taking a step closer until I have to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact. "You pulled our name on Choosing Day."
"As a distraction!" I move closer still, refusing to be intimidated by his height or the heat radiating from his bare chest. I poke him with my finger, pressing it against the solid wall of muscle. "Not because I wanted to be part of your elite alpha boy club."
The kitchen crackles with tension as we face off, our scents clashing in the small space. Elena has moved to the far side of the kitchen, her expression a mixture of concern and fascination. Frankie stands behind me, his scent spiking with anxiety.
Reed grabs my wrist when I go to poke him again, his grip firm but careful, as if he's conscious of his strength. "You have no idea what you're playing with, Little Storm," he warns, his voice dropping to a whisper that only I can hear.
I step even closer, until we're almost chest to chest, glaring up at him. "Neither do you, Alpha ."
For a moment, I think he might actually use his alpha bark on me. His jaw clenches, the muscle there twitching with tension, his chest rising and falling with each controlled breath. Then—to my complete shock—he grabs my waist with both hands and pulls me against him in one swift motion.
My hands fly up to brace against his chest, the bare skin warm beneath my palms. Before I can protest, he leans down and runs his nose along the column of my throat, from my collarbone to just below my ear, scent-marking me with a rumbling growl that vibrates through my entire body.
My omega instincts surge traitorously, responding to the alpha claiming with a flush of heat that spreads from my neck to my cheeks and down to my core. My scent turns sweeter, dark chocolate mingling with his saltwater in a combination that smells disturbingly right .
His grip on my waist tightens for a heartbeat, his thumbs pressing into the soft flesh just above my hip bones. I feel his breath against my neck, hot and uneven, his heart thundering beneath my palms. This close, I can see the individual lashes framing his stormy eyes, the slight stubble darkening his jaw, the pulse jumping at the base of his throat.
A startled sound from the doorway breaks the moment. We both turn to see Fox standing there, his eyes wide with disbelief, his hand frozen on the doorframe.
Reed releases me instantly, stepping back as if burned. His face, so expressive with fury just moments ago, shutters completely. Without another word, he stalks past Fox and out of the kitchen, his growl echoing down the hallway.
The silence he leaves behind is deafening.
"I..." I struggle to find words, my body still humming with the aftermath of Reed's scent-marking. My neck tingles where his nose traced my skin, and I resist the urge to touch the spot, to see if it feels different somehow. "Fox, I'm sorry. That was—I didn't mean to?—"
"Don't apologize," Fox interrupts, his expression shifting from surprise to something almost like amusement. "You've done nothing wrong."
I gesture helplessly at the doorway Reed just stormed through. "But they're your pack, your alphas. I'm just an interloper who shouldn't even be here."
Fox crosses the room and, to my surprise, takes my hands in his. His touch is gentle, his hazel eyes kind as they meet mine. "You have just as much right to be here as I do," he says firmly. "This pack needed a shake-up. Some new members." His gaze flicks to Frankie, then back to me, a small smile playing on his lips. "And I can't think of anyone better than you, Rook, and Frankie."
I stare at him, taken aback by his acceptance. "But Reed just?—"
"Reed needs someone to challenge him," Fox says with a shrug. "He's been locked in his own head for too long. You might be exactly what he needs, even if he doesn't know it yet."
As he speaks, I notice his gaze drifting to Frankie, appreciation evident in his eyes as he takes in the beta's tall frame and gentle features. Frankie blushes furiously under the attention, his ears turning bright red as he suddenly becomes very interested in arranging the silverware on the table.
A giggle escapes me at the obvious mutual interest, the tension of the previous moment dissolving into something lighter. Fox catches my eye and grins, a conspiratorial look that makes me like him even more.
"Well," Elena says, breaking her silence with a clap of her hands. "That was certainly an interesting start to the morning. How about we finish getting breakfast ready before the rest of the house wakes up? Fox, you can help me with the coffee."
As we move back to our tasks, I can't help but replay the moment with Reed in my mind. The possessive growl, the feeling of his hands on my waist, the heat in his eyes when he looked at me, the way my body responded without my permission...
I shake my head, trying to dislodge the memory. It was nothing. Just alpha posturing and omega biology. It doesn't matter that his scent still lingers on my skin, or that part of me—a part I refuse to acknowledge—wants more.
What matters is finding a way out of this mess. For me, for Rook, for Frankie. For all of us trapped in a system that treats us like property instead of people.
And if Reed Howard gets in my way again, well… he'll learn exactly what kind of storm he's dealing with.
The kitchen gradually fills with the scent of coffee and bacon, erasing some of the lingering tension. Fox moves around his mother with practiced ease, their coordinated movements speaking of years of shared routines. It's nice to watch, this comfortable domesticity so different from the sterile environment of the Omega House.
"Should I go wake Rook?" I ask, suddenly realizing he's missing all of this. "He's probably still asleep."
"Let him rest," Elena advises. "It was a long night for all of you. Food will be here when he wakes up."
I nod, grateful for her understanding. Rook needs the sleep—needs this safety, however temporary it might be.
As I help finish preparing breakfast, I catch Frankie watching Fox with that same shy interest. Fox feels his gaze and looks up, their eyes meeting for a moment before both glance away quickly. I hide my smile behind my coffee mug. At least some good might come of this strange situation.
But underneath the momentary lightness, the weight of reality presses down. We're fugitives now, hiding from the powerful alphas in Crescent City. Jonathan's fathers won't stop looking for us, and I don’t think we can do anything about the rebellion brewing in the streets. Can’t put the genie back in the bottle.
Plus, there's the matter of Reed.
I rub absently at my neck, feeling the ghost of his touch, and try to convince myself it meant nothing.
I'm not even sure I believe that lie.