Page 97 of Feral Omega

The part of him that emerged in those frozen mountains, sheltering Ivy from the harsh elements and shielding her from harm with his own body.

As twisted and utterly destroyed as his psyche may be, there's still some shred of protectiveness buried deep, some instinctive drive to guard and defend his...

Our omega.

She's good for him. I haven't seen this side of him in a long time.

Not ever, really.

The only question is whether I'm willing to entrust my most prized possession to the care of a monster. Even one I love.

But I'm a monster, too, so that makes me a hypocrite.

I search Ivy's eyes, seeing the flickers of trepidation warring with that unshakable core of resolve that first drew me to her like a moth to the flame. She won't back down on this, I realize. Not easily.

With a slow exhalation, I force the tension from my shoulders, giving a measured nod. "You're right," I murmur, the weight of each word ringing in the stillness between us. "The others don't trust him. But I do."

Ivy's brows knit, that clever mind already spinning out the implications of my simple statement. "But...?"

I hold her stare steadily, unflinching. "But he's not always... himself," I admit roughly. "I trust Wraith, just not the thing he becomes when he's like that. You've seen what he's capable of out there, the violence he's able to unleash. And that's with his mind intact."

She shivers instinctively, a spike of pure, undiluted fear souring that rich, heady scent. But she doesn't look away, doesn't flinch from the weight of my stare.

"He's never been around an omega before," I continue, the words like gravel in my throat. "Certainly not one in heat, with all those pheromones and instincts raging. I don't know how he'll react, how far that feral side of him might take things if he gets a whiff of you like this."

Ivy's lips part on a soft exhalation, something vulnerable flickering across those delicate features. "Is that what you're afraid of?" she breathes, holding my gaze with an intensity that steals the air from my lungs.

It is what I fear most.

But there's another thing looming in the back of my mind.

I draw in a deep breath, struggling to find the words to explain the tangled knot of emotions churning in my gut. How do I make her understand the complexity of the situation, the delicate balance we're all teetering on?

"It's not just that," I finally manage, my voice rougher than I intend. "There's... something else."

Ivy's brow furrows, searching my face. "What is it, Thane?" she asks softly, a note of genuine concern in her voice that tugs at something deep inside me.

I run a hand through my hair, frustration building as I grapple with how to articulate my fears. "Wraith, he's... he never lets anyone see his face. Not deliberately. Not even me."

Her eyes widen slightly, a flicker of understanding dawning, and her gaze softens. "I've seen scars before, Thane. I have some of my own."

A harsh bark of laughter escapes me before I can stop it. "Scars," I echo, shaking my head. "God, if only it were that simple."

I draw in a deep breath, the scent of her heat still clinging to every molecule of air in this cramped infirmary. It's a constant reminder of what's at stake here, of the delicate precipice we're all balanced on.

"Ivy," I begin, my voice low and rough. "What Wraith's been through... it's beyond anything even you can imagine."

Her eyes widen, a flicker of shock rippling across her face. But to her credit, she doesn't flinch away. Just waits, silent and attentive, for me to continue.

"His throat was torn out," I forge on, the words like ash in my mouth. "That's why he can't speak. It's scarred over now, but… his face..." I trail off, struggling to find the words to describe the horrific damage without betraying him. He doesn't even let me see him. The few times I have weren't on purpose.

The images are still burned in my memory.

I break off, swallowing hard against the surge of protective fury that wells up. Even after all this time, the flashback of first seeing the extent of his injuries still has rage boiling in my gut.

"It's... a lot to take in," I mutter. "Even for someone who's seen their share of battle wounds. Because he's alive, and he shouldn't be. Not after that."

She's quiet for a long moment, her eyes searching my face. "But that's not what you're really worried about, is it?" she asks softly.

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