Page 14 of Faith and Fury

“Yeah.” He scoffs. “Look how that turned out for her.”

Just thinking about it—not what she did to me, but what I did to her—makes me sick. I know I could make the same excuses for myself, say I didn’t have a choice, but it doesn’t take away from that feeling.

“Hey.” Fang’s voice quiets, the way it does when he doesn’t want our fellow rogues to overhear. “She’s gonna be fine. Stronger, probably, for what you showed her in the ring.”

What I did to her, you mean.

“What you had to do.”

He says the same thing nearly every time I win a fight. And, nearly every time, it makes me feel just a little bit better.

“You’re a survivor, Faith,” Fang murmurs, tucking my hair behind my ears. “There’s no shame in that.”

Even with my busted lip, I want him to kiss me. Want it more than anything.

He leans in, his breath cool and steady, and—

***

I startle awake.

There are voices behind the door—possibly in the kitchen.

“Shit,” Jaxon hisses.

Ceramic clatters. I listen closely, picking out three moving bodies. The whole pack must still be up.

I stand, my eyes quickly adjusting to the darkness. Apart from the queen-sized bed and dresser, there’s not much to my room—though I was taken aback by just how many blankets and pillows Micah left me with.

“She’s asleep,” Caleb’s voice trickles through. “It’s alright.”

“You checked?” Jaxon asks dubiously.

There’s no answer. Someone sighs.

“Fuck, it’s been a day.”

I can scent Jaxon through the door, those chocolatey pheromones turning sour. He’s not holding back anymore, his inner alpha shining all the way through.

“You must be exhausted,” from Micah. “Both of you.”

Caleb chuffs, and Jaxon groans.

“I really hoped we could just spend the night getting drunk and celebrating,” he says, “but with those bastards still out there—not to mention all the rogues they took …”

My breath hitches. So they know about the other rogues? I press my ear to the wood, listening closer.

“You saved a lot of alphas and omegas today,” Micah tells him. “That’s something to be proud of.”

“Yes,” Caleb concedes, “it is. But Jaxon’s right—no-one’s celebrating until this is done.”

There’s a somber beat of silence. I hear running water, followed by tinkering cutlery, before Micah says, “Did Maverick have any luck with his informant?”

Jaxon scoffs. “If he did, I wouldn’t be here.”

A low growl emanates from Caleb. “Yes,” he says, knowingly, “you would.”

Something shifts in the air. It’s not just Jaxon’s scent rolling under my door, but Caleb’s too—earth and spice, like he’s carved out of sandalwood. Just when I think my inner omega is going to melt, I catch a third scent. This one is tart. Almost lemony.

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