Storm (Omega Chosen #2)

25. Reed

Chapter 25

Reed

T he kitchen feels too small, too confining. I pace across the hardwood floors, the tension in my body making every muscle taut. Alexander and Fox had taken Storm and Frankie out into the woods, and the thought of the beta's hands on her makes something dark and primal rear up inside me.

I shouldn't care. I shouldn't give a damn who she touches or who touches her. Storm isn't mine—she's not even really part of our pack, not by choice anyway. She’s a complication, a problem to be solved, not someone I should be thinking about constantly.

But I do. I think about her all the time.

The scent-marking this morning was a mistake. I shouldn't have done it. It was impulsive and possessive and exactly the kind of behavior I pride myself on controlling. Yet when I saw her with the beta, saw their easy intimacy, something in me snapped.

The worst part is that she smelled right with my scent on her. Like the salty ocean meeting dark chocolate, creating something both volatile and perfect. The memory of her soft skin, the way her pulse jumped when I traced her throat, the small sound she made.

I cut the thought off abruptly, forcing myself to focus. Rook is still in the house. He's upstairs, and Storm will be back soon. And there are things that need to be said.

I head upstairs, taking the steps two at a time. The guest room door is slightly ajar, and I can hear movement inside. I push it open without knocking.

Rook stands by the window. He's looking out at the forest, probably searching for Storm, and the thought makes something ugly twist in my gut.

"We need to talk," I say, my voice gruffer than intended.

He turns slowly, unsurprised by my presence. His dark eyes assess me calmly, measuring the threat. He doesn't look intimidated, which irritates me further. He should be. I'm an elite alpha, after all. But then, Rook Holloway isn't exactly known for backing down from a fight.

"About what?" he asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

"About Storm," I reply, stepping further into the room. "About what happens next."

A flash of something crosses his face. "What about her?"

I clench my jaw, fighting the growl that threatens to escape. "She's part of our pack now, whether she likes it or not." The words come out harsher than I intend. "Legally, officially, she belongs to Pack Kingsley."

Rook's expression darkens. "Storm doesn't belong to anyone."

"Wrong answer." I move closer. "She pulled our name at the Choosing Day ceremony. Under law, that makes her our omega. Makes her part of our pack."

"She pulled your name as a distraction," Rook counters, not backing down an inch. "She was trying to escape."

"Doesn't matter why she did it. What matters is that she did." I pace away from him, too agitated to stand still. "The entire city saw it happen. It's done."

Rook watches me silently for a moment, his expression unreadable. "You want me to leave her," he says finally. It's not a question.

The suggestion makes my alpha instincts roar with approval, but I tamp them down. "I want to know what your intentions are," I say instead. "What you plan to do next."

"My intentions?" His laugh is short, bitter. "I've had the same intention for four years. To find Storm and get her out of that hell they put her in. To help her escape a system that treats omegas like property." His eyes narrow. "A system you're part of."

The accusation stings more than it should. "I didn't make the system," I growl.

"No, but you profit from it. All you elites do." There's no mistaking the contempt in his voice. "Must be nice, having the world handed to you because you were born with the right bloodline."

I bark out a harsh laugh. "You think my life is easy because I'm an elite? You don't know a damn thing about me, Holloway."

"I know enough." His eyes are hard, challenging. "I know you're part of the system that took Storm away from me. The system that locked her in that Omega House for four years. Then raffled her off like she was a prize."

My patience snaps. I move forward, invading his space, letting my scent fill the air between us, a warning. "You want to talk about systems? Fine. Let's talk about how that same system would have given me the right to kill you this morning."

To his credit, Rook doesn't flinch, though my scent must be overwhelming at this range. He meets my gaze steadily. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that under pack law, I could kill you for touching Storm. After I specifically warned you not to." I let that sink in, watching his expression carefully. "But I didn't."

His eyes widen slightly, the first sign of genuine surprise. "How did you?—"

"I have a nose," I cut him off. "I could smell you on her. Your scent was all over her." The memory makes my blood boil all over again.

Rook's expression shifts, something like understanding dawning in his eyes. "Is that what this is about? You're jealous?" A slow smile spreads across his face. "The great Reed Howard, elite alpha, jealous of a beta-born nobody?"

I clench my fists at my sides, fighting the urge to wipe that smug smile off his face. "Watch it, Holloway."

"No, I get it now," he continues, as if I hadn't spoken. "You want her. The omega who doesn't submit, who challenges you at every turn. The one who isn't impressed by your elite status or intimidated by your alpha posturing." His smile widens. "The one who chose me over you."

I move before I can stop myself, grabbing the front of his shirt and shoving him back against the wall. My face is inches from his, my voice a low rumble. "I said watch it."

To my surprise, Rook doesn't struggle. He just looks at me, something like pity in his eyes. "You can't intimidate me, Howard. I've been fighting alphas like you my whole life."

I should hit him. I should remind him exactly who he's dealing with. But something in his steady gaze stops me.

"She's a hurricane," he says quietly. "Storm by name, hurricane by nature. And she works her way into your heart before you even realize it's happening." There's a fondness in his voice that makes my grip on his shirt loosen slightly. "I get it. I do. She makes you feel things you don't want to feel."

I step back, releasing him. "You don't know what I feel."

"Don't I?" Rook straightens his shirt, regarding me thoughtfully. "I've been in love with her since we were basically kids. I know exactly what it's like to have Storm in your orbit. To be pulled in by her gravity until you can't imagine a world without her."

I turn away, unable to face the knowing look in his eyes. "This isn't about me. It's about what happens next. About our current situation."

"Sure it is." I can hear the skepticism in his voice. "Look, I'm not your enemy, Reed. I know you think I am, but I'm not." He moves to stand beside me, both of us now facing the window, looking out at the forest where Storm is somewhere with Frankie, Fox and Alex. "I just want her to be safe. To be happy."

"With you," I say, the words bitter on my tongue.

He considers this for a moment. "With whoever she chooses," he says finally, surprising me. "That's the difference between you and me, Reed. I don't see her as property to be claimed. I see her as a person who deserves to make her own choices."

The words catch me off guard. I glance at him, trying to detect any hint of deception. "You're saying you'd accept her being with someone else?"

"If that's what she wants? Yeah." He shrugs, though the movement seems forced. "Don't get me wrong, I love her. I'd walk through fire for her. But I want her to be happy more than I want to possess her. And if that means watching her choose someone else or a whole pack..." He trails off, his jaw tightening. "Then that's what I'll do."

I study him for a long moment, trying to reconcile this selfless declaration with the fighter I've watched climb into rings for years, the alpha who's never backed down from a challenge. "I don't believe you."

"I don't care what you believe," he replies evenly. "But it's the truth. Storm's happiness comes first. Always has, always will."

Something shifts in my chest, a grudging respect taking root despite my best efforts. "You really mean that, don't you?"

"Every word," Rook confirms. He turns to face me fully. "Look, I know you don't like me. The feeling's pretty mutual. But we both care about Storm, and right now, she needs us to work together, not against each other."

I hate that he's making sense. I hate even more that I'm starting to see him as something other than a rival to be eliminated. "What are you proposing?"

"A truce," he says simply. "For Storm's sake. We both know the father’s aren't going to stop. She needs protection that I can't provide on my own." His admission seems to cost him, but he continues anyway. "She needs a pack. Your pack."

The concession stuns me. "You'd leave her with us?"

"If I had to? Yes." His expression is deadly serious. "I trust you to keep her safe."

I don't know what to say to that. After everything I've done to keep them apart, after the threats and the warnings, he's telling me he trusts me with the person he values most in the world. It's the last thing I expected, and it leaves me off-balance.

"Why would you trust me?" I demand, searching his face for any sign of deceit. "You don't know me. Not really."

"I know enough," he says, echoing his earlier words. "I've seen how you look at her. How you protect her, even when you're pretending you can't stand her." A rueful smile crosses his face. "Besides, Storm's a good judge of character, and she doesn't hate you nearly as much as she wants everyone to think."

"She threatened to burn the whole system down if I touched you," I admit, remembering our confrontation in the kitchen.

Rook laughs at that, a genuine sound that transforms his face. "Sounds like her. Fierce Little Storm, always ready to take on the world."

Despite myself, I find my lips quirking upward. "She's certainly... unique."

"That's one word for it," Rook agrees. He holds out his hand, the gesture catching me off guard. "So? Truce?"

I look at his extended hand for a long moment, weighing decades of elite conditioning against the strange new reality I find myself in. Finally, I take his hand, his grip firm against mine. "Truce," I agree. "For now."

"For Storm," he amends.

"For Storm," I echo, releasing his hand.

A companionable silence falls between us, less tense than before. I find myself reassessing Rook Holloway—not as a rival, but as a potential ally. An alpha who loves Storm enough to put her needs above his own. A fighter who's been battling the same system I was born into.

"I scent-marked her," he says suddenly, breaking the silence. "I couldn't help myself after I scented you on her. I'm possessive too, even knowing I should be better than that."

"It's instinct," I say, surprised to find myself defending him. "Hard to fight, especially with a scent like hers."

He nods, understanding passing between us. "I'm going to follow her lead on this. Whatever she wants, whoever she chooses—I'll support her. As long as they don't hurt her."

"Agreed." The word comes out before I can stop it, a pledge I hadn't intended to make. But I find I mean it. Whatever happens next, Storm's well-being is the priority.

"You might not be part of the pack officially," I hear myself saying, "but you can stay. With us. Until we figure out our next move."

Rook looks at me, surprise evident in his expression. "Thank you," he says simply.

"Don't thank me yet," I warn him. "Jonathan still has final say, and he's not exactly known for his hospitality."

"Jonathan will come around," Rook says with unexpected confidence. "He cares about Storm, too, even if he's too stubborn to admit it."

I snort at that. "You think you have Jonathan figured out?"

"No," Rook admits. "But I know what it looks like when an alpha is trying to pretend they're not affected by an omega."

Before I can respond, the sound of laughter drifts up from downstairs. Storm's voice, distinctive and bright, accompanied by Fox's deeper tone and Frankie's quiet laugh. Rook and I both turn toward the sound, drawn to it instinctively.

"They're back," Rook says, already moving toward the door.

"Rook," I call after him, stopping him in his tracks. He turns, waiting. "This conversation isn't over."

He nods once, understanding the unspoken message. Our truce is conditional on Storm's safety and happiness. The moment either is compromised, all bets are off.

I follow him downstairs, my mind still processing everything that's been said. The house is filled with the scents of the returning group—Fox's honey and chamomile, Frankie's cinnamon and toasted marshmallows, Alexander's warm vanilla, and strongest of all, Storm's rich dark chocolate.

But there's something else in her scent, something that makes me pause on the stairs.

Cold. She's cold.

I enter the kitchen to find Storm wrapped in Rook's arms, her small frame shivering slightly despite the warmth of the house. Her wild curls are damp, clinging to her face, and her lips have a faint blue tinge.

"What happened?" I demand, my gaze snapping to Alexander.

"She fell in the stream," Fox explains before Alex can answer, his expression a mixture of concern and amusement. "She was trying to catch a fish with her bare hands."

"It was slippery," Storm protests, her teeth chattering slightly. "And I almost had it."

"You weren't even close," Frankie teases, earning himself a glare from Storm that quickly dissolves into another shiver.

Without thinking, I move forward, instinct driving me to fix whatever's wrong. "She needs to get warm," I say, my voice leaving no room for argument.

Rook looks like he might protest, but then he glances down at Storm's trembling form and nods. "She does. Her clothes are soaked."

"I'm fine," Storm insists, but the way she burrows deeper into Rook's embrace belies her words. "Just need a minute to warm up."

I ignore her protests, already calculating the fastest way to raise her core temperature. "She needs a hot bath. My bathroom has the largest tub."

"I can take care of her," Rook says, a hint of challenge in his voice despite our earlier truce.

"My bathroom," I repeat, meeting his gaze steadily. "It's twice the size of yours, and the water heats faster."

We stare at each other for a long moment, a silent battle of wills. Finally, Rook glances down at Storm, who's shivering more violently now. "Fine," he concedes. "Your bathroom."

I hold back the triumphant growl that threatens to escape, aware of the eyes watching us. "This way," I say instead, already heading for the stairs.

Storm makes a noise of protest as Rook lifts her effortlessly, cradling her against his chest. "I can walk," she grumbles, but she doesn't struggle.

"Save your energy," I advise, leading them up the stairs. "You need to conserve heat."

Fox and Alexander exchange a look as we pass, something knowing in their expressions that I choose to ignore. Frankie hovers at the base of the stairs, uncertainty written across his face.

"Frankie," I call back without slowing. "Ask Elena for some dry clothes for Storm. Something warm."

The beta nods, seemingly grateful for the task, and hurries off toward Elena's cabin.

My room is at the end of the hall, away from the others. I've always preferred the isolation, the quiet. Now I'm grateful for the privacy as I push open the door, leading Rook and Storm inside.

The bathroom is large, as I'd claimed, with a deep tub built into the floor. Without ceremony, I move to the taps, turning them to start the water flowing. I adjust the temperature carefully, hot enough to warm her, but not so hot it will shock her system.

"Set her down," I instruct Rook, who hesitates for only a moment before gently placing Storm on her feet. She sways slightly, and he steadies her with a hand on her waist.

"I'm fine," she insists again, though her voice is weaker now. "Just cold."

"You're more than cold," I counter, checking the water temperature with my hand. "You're on the verge of hypothermia. That stream is fed by mountain snow."

"I didn't mean to fall in," she says, a hint of her usual defiance breaking through the chattering teeth. "I was just trying to?—"

"Catch a fish with your bare hands, I heard," I cut her off, turning back to face her. "Unnecessary risk."

She scowls at me, some of her color returning as irritation brings blood to her cheeks. "It was fun, Reed. Something you wouldn't understand."

I ignore the jab, focusing instead on practical matters. "The bath is almost ready. You need to get out of those wet clothes."

Rook clears his throat. "Maybe I should go?—"

"No," Storm says immediately, gripping his arm. "Stay. Please."

The vulnerability in her voice catches me off guard. Storm, who never shows weakness, who fights every step of the way, is asking him to stay. It shouldn't hurt, but it does.

"I'll be right outside," Rook assures her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. His eyes meet mine over her head, a silent message passing between us. Take care of her. I nod once, acknowledging the trust he's placing in me.

Once Rook has closed the bathroom door behind him, I turn back to Storm. She's standing there, shivering in her wet clothes, looking smaller and more vulnerable than I've ever seen her. The sight does something to my chest, a tightening that's uncomfortable and unfamiliar.

"Let me help," I say, the words coming out softer.

She looks up at me, those storm-gray eyes wide with surprise at my tone. "I can manage," she says, but there's less bite in it than usual.

"I know you can," I acknowledge. "But you don't have to."

Something shifts in her expression, a softening around the edges. She nods once, a silent acceptance of my help. It feels like a victory, though I couldn't explain why.

I step closer, my hands moving to the hem of Rook's hoodie she's wearing. It's soaked through, heavy with water. "Arms up," I instruct gently.

She complies without argument, raising her arms above her head. I pull the hoodie up and over, careful not to catch her wild curls. Beneath it, she's wearing only a thin t-shirt that clings to her curves. It's soaked through. I force my gaze to remain on her face, respecting her even as every alpha instinct in me wants to look, to claim, to possess.

"The rest you can manage," I say, stepping back to give her space. "I'll check the water."

I turn my back, focusing on adjusting the taps, adding some of the bath salts Fox keeps stocked in every bathroom. Behind me, I hear the soft rustle of clothing being removed, the quiet splash as she tests the water with her toe.

"It's hot," she says, surprise evident in her voice.

"That's the point," I reply without turning. "Get in slowly. Let your body adjust."

I hear her exhale softly as she sinks into the water, the sound somewhere between pain and pleasure. Only then do I risk looking back.

She's submerged to her shoulders, only her head and the tops of her knees visible above the water. Steam rises around her, making her wild curls cling to her face and neck. Her eyes are closed, her expression one of blissful relief as the hot water begins to work its magic.

Something protective and possessive surges through me at the sight. My alpha instincts purr with satisfaction at providing for her, at keeping her warm. It's a dangerous feeling, one I should fight against. But in this moment, with her guard down and mine not far behind, I allow myself to embrace it.

"Better?" I ask, my voice rougher than I'd intended.

Her eyes flutter open, finding mine across the steam-filled space. "Yes," she admits. "Much better. Thank you."

The gratitude in her voice, rare and genuine, does something to my chest again. I nod once, acknowledging her thanks without words. Then, before I can say or do something I might regret, I move toward the door.

"I'll be outside with Rook," I tell her. "Take your time. The water will stay hot for a while."

She nods, her eyes already drifting closed again as the warmth seeps into her bones. I slip out of the bathroom, closing the door behind me.

Rook is sitting on the edge of my bed, his posture tense. He looks up as I enter, searching my face for any sign that something's wrong.

"She's fine," I assure him. "Already warming up."

The tension in his shoulders eases slightly. "Good. That's good."

We lapse into silence, neither quite sure where to go from here. Our truce is new and built on a shared concern for Storm, rather than any real trust. But it's a start.

A knock at the door saves us from the awkward silence. Frankie stands there, a bundle of clothes in his arms. "Elena sent these," he says, holding them out. "For Storm."

I take the bundle, nodding my thanks. "She's in the bath. I'll make sure she gets them."

Frankie hesitates, clearly wanting to ask something but unsure if he should. Finally, he settles on, "Is she okay?"

"She's fine," Rook answers before I can. "Just cold. The hot bath is helping."

Relief washes over Frankie's face. "Good. That's good." He lingers for a moment longer, then turns to go. "I'll be downstairs if you need anything else."

Once he's gone, I place the bundle of clothes on the counter by the bathroom door. Then, at a loss for what to do next, I lean against the wall, crossing my arms over my chest.

"You don't have to stay," I tell Rook, though part of me hopes he'll leave. "I can take it from here."

Rook regards me steadily. "I know you can. But I promised her I'd stay."

I nod, accepting his decision. We fall back into silence, the only sound the occasional splash from behind the bathroom door as Storm shifts in the water.

Minutes tick by, stretching into what feels like an hour. Finally, the sound of water draining signals that Storm is finishing her bath. Rook and I both straighten, alert and ready.

The door opens in a cloud of steam, and Storm emerges wrapped in nothing but a large towel. Her wild curls are damp, framing her face in tousled waves. Her skin is flushed from the heat, a healthy pink replacing the earlier pallor. The towel clings to her curves, revealing more than it conceals.

My breath catches in my throat, my alpha instincts surge with protective possession at the sight of her, vulnerable and half-naked in my bathroom doorway. Beside me, I hear Rook's sharp intake of breath.

Storm's eyes move between us, something like uncertainty flickering in their depths. Then her gaze settles on me, those storm-gray eyes meeting mine with an intensity that makes my heart rate accelerate.

"Reed," she says, my name a question and an invitation all at once.

And then she perfumes.

The rich dark chocolate scent of her explodes in the room, intensified by the heat of her skin and whatever emotions are coursing through her. It wraps around me, invades my senses, makes my head spin with want and need and something dangerously close to desire.

Rook takes a step toward her, and I growl before I can stop myself, drawn by her scent, by the unspoken challenge in her eyes.

He dips down and whispers something softly to her, her eyes never leaving mine before he places a kiss on her forehead and leaves the room with a soft click of the latch.

I prowl towards her. She doesn't back away. If anything, she lifts her chin, defiance and something else, something heated and urgent in her gaze.

"Storm," I growl, her name a warning and a plea.

Then she lets the towel fall.