Page 120 of Feral Omega

"You freaks want to come in?" he asks, his accented voice a low drawl. "Or are you just gonna stand out there? And I thought Plague was the resident creep."

I shoulder past him, not bothering to dignify that with a response. The room beyond is dim, lit only by the pale light of dawn filtering through the curtains. It lends everything a soft, ethereal glow, like something out of a dream.

And there, nestled in the center of her nest, is our omega.

She looks peaceful, her face relaxed in sleep, the usual furrow between her brows smoothed away. Her auburn hair fans out across the pillows, a halo of fire against the stark white of the sheets. Plague lies beside her, one arm thrown protectively across her waist, his face half-buried in the curve of her neck.

Something clenches in my chest at the sight, an ugly mix of emotions I don't care to examine too closely. Jealousy wars with relief, possessiveness with gratitude.

They kept her safe, gave her what she needed when I couldn't. I should be thankful for that, but the alpha in me rails against it, wants to rip Ivy away and stake my claim for all to see.

I push those thoughts down, locking them away with all the other dark impulses I can't afford to indulge. Instead, I call out softly, not wanting to startle her from her slumber.

"Ivy?" I ask. "How are you feeling?"

Her lashes flutter, those striking aquamarine eyes blinking open. For a moment, they're hazy with the remnants of sleep, unfocused and dreamy. But as they settle on me, a spark of clarity returns, chasing away the lingering shadows.

She shifts, wincing slightly as she pushes herself up on her elbows. The sheet falls away, revealing the creamy expanse of her shoulder, the elegant line of her collarbone. My gaze lingers on the worst scar there, on her shoulder, wondering as always how it got there. Knowing I don't have the right to ask, but wanting to murder someone all the same. I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry as the wasteland.

"Better," she rasps, her voice still rough with sleep. "I think the heat's finally passed."

Relief crashes over me like a wave as the tension drains from my muscles. She's okay. She made it through hell, then that gunshot wound and a rough heat, and she's still here with us.

With me.

She doesn't seem like she's on a hair trigger to escape again, either.

But I won't let myself get my hopes up just yet.

Whiskey perks up at her words, a grin spreading across his face. "In that case, you must be starving," he says, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. "I can whip us up some grub, show off my master chef skills."

Valek snorts, leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed. "Master chef?" he echoes, his tone dripping with disdain. "That's debatable."

"It would explain how he manages to not have visible abs," Plague chimes in, sitting up groggily, his messy hair falling over his face. I've never seen him look remotely disheveled. It's bizarre.

"Fuck you, Leatherface," Whiskey shoots back, flipping him the bird and rotating to flash it at Plague, too. "Neither of you assholes would know good food if you bit you in the dick."

Their bickering fades into the background as I watch Ivy, drinking in the sight of her like a man dying of thirst. She's watching the exchange with a glimmer of amusement in her eyes, her lips quirking up at the corners. It's such a welcome sight, a far cry from the haunted look that's shadowed her face for so long.

I know she hasn't let her guard down, not all the way, but she's starting to relax around us. Starting to realize that we may be cavemen, may be half-wild ourselves, but we're not monsters. And we'd never hurt her.

Not even Wraith.

At least, that's what I want to believe.

But before I can say anything more, a crash echoes from the hallway, the sound like a gunshot in the quiet of the room. We all tense, heads whipping toward the door as heavy footsteps pound closer.

A hulking figure comes barreling through, a blur of motion and barely leashed aggression. Wraith appears in the doorway, taking it up from frame to frame, his broad chest heaving as his feral gaze flicks between us.

Ice floods my veins, the remnants of the nightmare still clinging to me like cobwebs.

Is this it?

The moment he finally snaps, when the beast inside him takes over completely? Will I be forced to put him down, to end the threat to our pack, to Ivy?

Was my dream a fucking premonition?

I'm already moving, putting myself between him and the bed. The others fan out beside me, a wall of muscle and menace ready to take Wraith down if necessary. They don't hesitate to put themselves between the threat and our omega. Protecting her is the one thing that's rallied us all together in a way the Council has been trying to for years.

---