Chapter 2 #2
“We need to talk about your pending heat, River,” he mutters. “What we’re going to do to get ready for it.”
“We,” I let out a strained laugh, trying to lighten the mood. “Since when do alphas have heats? Do siblings now share heats? If so, you can go through all the bad parts and I’ll take the good.”
Storm rolls his eyes, not finding the humor in my words.
“I’m serious, River. How do you plan to handle it?
I don’t trust you going to The Foundation, and I sure as hell don’t trust Dad to help you find a pack that will cherish you the way they should.
If he has anything to do with it, he’ll go for the highest bidder. ”
I swallow hard, my throat tight. Storm has pressed this conversation on me for months, but this time it’s different. My first heat is closing in, and I can feel the walls tightening, every option narrowing to nothing.
“Can we pause that conversation for a minute?” I ask softly. “I need to get you cleaned up.”
“Get me cleaned up?” He reaches out, his hand skimming along the edge of my face, then along the temple on the other side, pushing my hair away from my face.
Storm sighs, but doesn’t fight me as I guide him to one of the chairs. Blood streaks down his cheek, trailing along his jaw onto his lip, where he’s sporting a fresh cut. His knuckles are torn up too, more evidence of the fight with the monster we call our father.
I rush to the bathroom, grabbing the first aid kit, my hands shaking as I rifle through the supplies.
It’s then that I catch sight of myself in the mirror.
The gash along my cheek. Opening the kit, I fumble through it, finding the skin glue.
I’ve used this before, and I will be doing it again today.
I dampen a washcloth and clean the wound, then pat it dry.
Carefully, I press the edges of the cut together and apply the glue, holding it firmly together as I give it a few moments to dry.
“River, are you okay?” my brother’s broken voice calls to me.
“Yeah, just cleaning the cut on my face.” I know he’s smiling, glad that I chose to take care of myself first.
Once it dries, I take out a couple butterfly strips and place them along the cut.
Just an added step. My eyes drift to my temple to the bruising already taking shape.
The cut there is smaller, and I add some strips there before taking one final look in the mirror, then close the lid on the first aid kit and head back to the kitchen.
When I return, Storm’s sitting still, his gaze distant. The sight of him so beaten, so tired, makes my chest ache.
I wet a washcloth and carefully begin dabbing the blood from his face. His body tenses at first, but he gives in and lets me tend to him. When I wipe over the gash on his lip, he winces.
“Your face…,” he murmurs, his gaze lingering on the wound he’s been trying not to look at.
His dark eyes swim with frustration and guilt.
“It’s going to scar. We need to get you to a hospital so they can take care of it.
” “It’s fine,” I tell him, trying to sound nonchalant.
“I’m good at taking care of little things like this.
” I try to play it off like it’s nothing.
“River—”
“I don’t care if it scars,” I interrupt, tossing the cloth on the table. “Maybe it’ll put a damper on Dad’s plans for me. If he even has any. Who will want a damaged omega?”
Storm’s jaw clenches, his hands curling into fists in his lap. “But what about when you decide you want to be part of a pack?”
I smirk. “If a pack doesn’t want me because I have scars, then fuck them.” I’d never let Storm know I have more than the scar on my face. He’d go postal and kill my father, landing himself in prison. That’s something I could never forgive myself for.
A flicker of something dark passes over his face—satisfaction at what he’s doing maybe, or anger. He exhales sharply, shaking his head.
“I have to go out of town for work,” he confesses after a moment. “I have a meeting with some contacts for suppressants for your heat and scent blockers. I’m going to help you escape before you turn eighteen. We’ll both leave and never look back.”
I freeze, my hands fidgeting with the hem of my shirt as I worry my lip, the metallic taste filling my mouth. We’ve had conversations about running before, about getting out, but this—this is real. A plan.
“He’ll know it’s you helping me,” I say, my voice unsteady.
Storm looks me directly in the eyes, his gaze fierce and unwavering. “I don’t fucking care.” His hands flex, the bruises on his knuckles standing out against his pale skin. “I’d rather fight battle after battle with him than let him ever hurt you again. Besides, he'd have to find us first.”
My eyes burn. I want to believe that we could outrun the nightmare we’ve lived in for so long, but deep down, fear claws at me. Can we really escape? Or would my father just hunt us down?
“I don’t want to leave you here. Not after this.” His voice drops.
“I’ll be okay,” I try to reassure him. “I’ll make sure to stay away from him when he’s drunk. I’ll stay locked in my room when I’m not in school.”
“And when it’s the weekend and school is out, what then?”
“I’ll find a reason to be out of the house. Trust me, Storm. I’ll be okay. I’ve made it this long, a little longer won’t make a difference.”
Storm’s expression darkens. “Promise me.”
I hesitate, then nod. “I promise.”
But we both know promises only mean so much in this house. Sometimes, despite your best efforts, they end up broken.
Storm exhales sharply, running a hand through his messy hair. “I’m getting you out of here, River. Once I get what you need, we’re running far from here, where he can’t find us. I’ll make sure you’re safe. Now and always.”
I want to believe him.
But even I know it’s a long shot.