Page 118 of Faith and Fury

Slowly, he crouches down to pick up the shards of glass. Are you afraid of him? my inner omega asks me. Do you have any reason to be? He’s taken care of me. I should be grateful.

“There we go.” He deposits all the shattered fragments into a small waste basket by the door. Then his gaze lowers to my still-bleeding foot. “Mind if I take a closer look?”

I growl, but right now I’m grateful no sound comes out.

Maverick’s big hands cup my bandaged ankle. If only the cast extended a little further, I wouldn’t have cut myself—a clean puncture into the ball of my foot.

“The good news is we won’t have to amputate.” He tries to crack a smile. “The bad news is, Pack Wilder’s gonna kill me.”

I stiffen, the name like a dagger in my heart.

Maverick strokes my shin. “You have a nightmare or something?”

Hands shaking, I sign back, Or something.

“You get those a lot?”

I hesitate, then nod.

“Okay …” he considers, still examining my wound. “What helps? Apart from shattering innocent glassware.”

At once, an image of Pack Wilder springs to mind. Micah finding me watching TV in the middle of the night. Jaxon carrying me in his arms. Lying on Caleb’s chest while he purred. Those damn tears spring back to my eyes, burning as they spill over.

Maverick’s scent twists with alarm. “Hey, what’d I say?”

Nothing, I sign. It’s nothing.

For the first time, I sense him watching my hands—really watching—like he’s desperate to know what I’m saying.

“Faith …” he murmurs. “It’s gonna be okay. I promise.”

My head drops, unable to fight it anymore, the sobs wrenched silently out of me.

Maverick joins me on the edge of the bed. He puts an arm around me, tugging me into his chest. “I’ve got you,” he says, “you can let it out.”

The warmth of his bare skin—always, reliably, shirtless—helps. So do his deep, rumbling purrs. But it doesn’t change the facts of what I need.

What, and who, I’m missing.

Chapter Fifty-One

Micah

I must be asleep for hours. Why else would time be slipping away from me?

Caleb checks in regularly. What I said earlier must’ve really spooked him. I feel guilty, of course, but not guilty enough to take the words back. Or maybe I just don’t have the energy.

The front door startles me out of my half-sleep fugue. I roll over, groggily checking my phone. 1:14.

Jaxon. Must be.

I half-expect him to crawl into Faith’s room and join me in her bed, but five minutes go by, then ten, and I don’t see him. Faintly, it occurs to me that Pack Wilder has gone back to how we begun: Caleb in the master bedroom, me in the guest, and Jaxon camping out on the couch.

That’s when my phone vibrates. Who’s texting me at this hour? Suddenly, a spark of hope. Could it be … Faith?

When I check the screen, I see a name I don’t expect.

MAVERICK

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