Chapter 14
fourteen
“Gideon.”
Aside from his shoulder twitching, my omega ignores the bark. His bare feet stomp up the worn staircase at the front of the manor.
In over a decade, I’ve never seen him this upset. Not when Ryker set his latest fire and burned his cousin’s pack. Not when he found out his grandfather’s horrifying plans for their twisted family.
Never.
His scent is so dark, it isn’t recognizable. I can’t even identify all the notes of my own shame, because each time I breathe, it’s just a muddle of agony.
I follow him anyway, ignoring the tearing sensation that gores into my center. It truly does feel like a tether—an iron cable stretched from my soul to Violet’s. Ripping at the most important parts of me with every step.
I only tap into it long enough to ensure the doctor was correct—I sense Violet’s fear and confusion, but her pain isn’t as severe as mine. She’s not suffering from each inch I put between us the way I am. Yet.
But she will if either of us leave.
From the moment we met, Gideon has only let me see him cry a handful of times. Unless he’s in his heat, he typically reverts to his frosty upbringing when he’s upset. The shields go up, and he runs from his emotions by refusing to show them.
When he pivots toward our bedroom, though, I catch the sheen on his cheeks.
“Gideon,” I say again, softer. Reaching for his arm. “My love, come here.”
He doesn’t stop, but his steps slow. I rush at the opportunity, explaining as fast as I can.
“We had to bring her here, otherwise she would be in immense pain from the accidental bond, and so would I. It will only last until her heat, though, assuming Finn wants to make his own bond with her. Then she can go, and I can—”
Suffer.
I swallow hard. “—move on.”
Gideon listens until he glances at the hand wrapped around his wrist. His eyes leap to my angry, red bite mark. He jerks himself out of my hold.
Anger expands in his bright eyes, clapping like thunder. A cold sneer twists his features, replacing the partner I know. Turning him into the sullen young man who appeared in my office a decade ago.
“For years, you’ve been asking me why I wouldn’t bond with you,” he jeers, his smirk just a notch below cruel. “For years, you’ve promised I would always be the only one you wanted. And you couldn’t understand why I wouldn’t just accept that.”
Something stark and raw flashes over his face, cracking his mask. “This,” he whispers. “This is the reason.”
My lungs stutter and won’t refill. I reach for him again. “Gideon,” I repeat, infusing every ounce of earnestness I possess. “You are the only one I want.”
Gideon dodges my touch. The rest of his face is back to being frozen, but his brows arch. “Am I?” he scoffs. “Really?”
No.
But he’s the only one I want to want. And I will fight myself to the death if it means keeping all the promises I’ve made to this man.
I sway closer, gritting my teeth against a fresh rush of splintering pain. “You are my omega,” I tell him.
He throws up his hands. “She just bit you, Atlas!”
She did—and I’m still his.
“Two things can be true,” I murmur.
Now probably isn’t the best time to quote one of his least favorite therapy mantras, but it’s poignant, here.
“Yes, Violet accidentally bit me,” I rush to add.
“And look where I am right now. Here. With you. I’m still your alpha.
You’re still my omega. Nothing will ever change that. Nothing. Not even this.”
I mean that with every fiber of my being.
Gideon must sense my sincerity because a small bit of his tension ebbs.
I slide my hands over his sides, giving him time to step away if he wishes.
When he lets me clasp the back of his neck and press my forehead against his, the tension clenched in my chest releases slightly.
On the way home, I thought about what I would say if we managed to make it to this moment. I considered blaming Violet, joining him in his outrage, letting it unite us. But then our reconnection would be built on something molten—and I want us to be solid.
In the end, there’s only one truth in all of this that really matters. One choice that will determine how the rest of our lives turn out.
“Gideon,” I exhale slowly, murmuring, “I know this isn’t right or fair. And you have all the time in the world to process what’s happening and decide how you want to proceed, but… I’m here. I’m yours. And we can let this tear us apart… Or we can try to use it to make us stronger.”
Gideon blinks the tears from his eyes, listening as I repeat, “You are my omega. You are fully in charge of how we go about this. And nothing is more important to me than making our relationship everything we’ve always wanted it to be.”
His eyes fall shut, anguish flaring across his face. I hear him choke on a whine, vibrating with restrained distress. He doesn’t move away, but he tenses as he whispers, “Is she really your mate?”
A fault line cracks through me, yawning into a chasm of despair. My back stiffens, and he leans away, watching my reaction. Seeing the truth before I manage to scrape it out.
“Yes,” I admit, barely breathing. “But that doesn’t matter, Gideon. I promised to be your alpha for as long as you would have me, and I meant it.”
Gideon’s expression crumples. More tears sparkle in his eyes, but he refuses to release them as he gasps, “Do I—what? Leave? Give you to her? Let you bond your mate while I just… disappear?”
The thought chills me to my bones. I stagger back, barking before I can help it. “Never say that to me again. Don’t even think it. I love you, Gideon. I want you with me for the rest of my life. It doesn’t matter that she’s my mate.”
His expression shutters, save for a bleak, broken smile. “That’s impossible,” he says, stepping out of my grasp. “And we both know it.”
The hallway outside our one furnished guest room is as dismal as the rest of this situation.
I ignore the footsteps I leave in the dusty runner, walking just far enough to peer through the open door. I’m not sure what would lead to more self-loathing—going in and checking on Violet, or walking away.
Doing anything for her feels like betraying Gideon, but I know that isn’t logical. The girl is weak and scared. She didn’t mean any harm. Ensuring she’s comfortable doesn’t take anything away from my true omega.
Yet, I hesitate, watching how Finn carefully arranges the blonde woman’s hair. It really is obscenely long. I’m surprised our most image-conscious alpha hasn’t taken scissors to it right away.
Instead, he brushes the final third of her thigh-length tresses, gently smoothing the bristles of a silver hair tool through her frayed ends. He gazes at her sleeping face, concern and apprehension weighing down his manicured eyebrows.
Deep, foreboding dread expands under my ribs, along with a swift shock of guilt.
None of this is her fault.
And she really has ruined everything.
The worst thing is, part of me doesn’t care. The same way I wouldn’t care if Gideon made a colossal mistake—because he’s mine and I will always find a way to understand him.
I hate that I have the same instinct, here. Perhaps I can’t help but empathize, given the way her emotions flow freely through our tattered half-tether.
Fear, befuddlement, frustration, hope.
Whatever she’s dreaming about has many layers. Or is her Omega awake in there, trying to figure out what to do next?
I should try to wake her, I think grimly. Explain everything again.
Impulses prickle under my skin, urging me to take the place at her other side. Hold her fine-boned hand, stroke over the pulse in her wrist.
My jaw hardens and I sway, holding myself in check. Settling for a mild question. “How is she?”
It’s absurd. I know how she feels better than anyone else. Her emotions, her physical needs. The hollow in her gut is gone, but she’ll need to eat tomorrow. We’ll have to find a way to wake her up for food, or we’ll have no choice but to take her back to the hospital.
It was risky enough to go there in the first place. We listed her under Jane Doe because, technically, I don’t have confirmation of her identity… She needed medical attention, though, and I had to find a way to protect Gideon while caring for Violet, too.
If her real name hit any hospital database, we’d have Cillian’s pack all over us. I suppose that’s inevitable, once she rouses and asks to speak to her sister, but…
If Briar convinces Violet to leave, will I be able to stay here, with Gideon? Will she truly suffer if I let her go before her heat, like the doctor said?
Damn it. I have far too many questions and very little in the way of answers. I need to do more research and call in some favors to—
What? Confirm my fate? Figure out the best way to divide our pack? Dye Gideon’s devastation deeper into the wool?
I can see from the look on Finn’s face, if Violet goes anywhere, he will too. Which might be a dream situation for Ryker—no more strange omega, and he’d be rid of his least favorite packmate. I have no way to know for sure, though, since none of us have seen him all evening.
A fresh wallop of failure socks me in the stomach. It only gets worse when Finn replies.
“She hasn’t woken up at all,” he murmurs. “I got her to drink some water through a straw, but she won’t open her eyes and—” Finn glances up and sighs, shoulders slumping. “I thought maybe being here, with all our scents, might at least put her into a spike or something.”
Hoping this poor, lost woman goes into a heat-spike is a grim notion. Not to mention what it would mean for me and Gideon if she did. I need to take a couple of those sedatives the doctor prescribed, just in case.
I understand Finn’s desperation, though. He’s spent the better part of eight hours guarding a woman who hasn’t even met him yet. She won’t open her eyes—and he doesn’t have the first clue about omegas, their care, or half-bonds.
“We’ll figure this out,” I vow. “And if she isn’t awake by morning, I’ll take her back to the hospital myself.”
Cillian Blackwood will simply have to deal with it. And me.
Finn blows out another shaky breath, ruffling his fingers through his hair. He looks shot. I wonder when he last worked this hard.
Possibly never.
“Go shower and have something to eat,” I suggest. “Her Omega might be keeping her under because she’s scared. If we give her some space, she may let Violet out.”
I can’t tell whether the advice is self-serving. Do I actually believe it? Or am I just trying to buy myself more time before she inevitably wakes and learns just how impossibly hopeless all of this is? How I’ve basically already rejected our bond?
Finn listens, trusting me, which only makes my stomach sink lower. He stands and comes toward the door, pausing, with an uncharacteristic pinch of worry between his brows. “You should go rest, too, At,” he mumbles, clapping my shoulder. “You couldn’t look much worse.”