Page 22 of Faith and Fury

And now their faces are all more or less matching—dark, begrudging, with the faintest touch of disappointment.

Caleb holds my glare. “These things … they take time.”

Time? If I was left to my own devices, I could sniff out Fang in a matter of days. The only reason I’m still here is to tap into the RDF’s resource, but if they’re planning to fuck around for weeks—

“Keep in mind,” Micah says gently, “it took the RDF months of scouting and planning before they could find you. We’re dealing with highly sophisticated criminals here.”

“Criminals who are good at going underground,” Jaxon mutters.

I can’t help myself. I grab the pen in a tight fist and write—YOU KNOW WHO ELSE IS UNDERGROUND? MY MATE.

“We know,” Caleb says in that soothing voice I just want to hate, but instantly, I can feel my inner omega softening. “We know, omega.”

It looks like Jaxon is about to say something else before Micah puts a hand on his arm, silencing him. They all stare at me like I’m a ticking time bomb—one wrong word from turning feral.

No. I take a breath. I won’t give them the satisfaction.

Of course, I knew the ringleaders must’ve been doing something to keep us sedated (and, well, sterile). It was just never my biggest concern. If anything, down there, it was a relief.

But I haven’t had a heat in three years. Haven’t even had a scent.

I’m not stupid. I’m fully aware the blowback is going to be a fucking nightmare. I just … don’t care.

“I meant to ask,” Micah says suddenly. “Do you have any allergies?”

I scowl, realizing they’ve all been continuing on like normal while I zoned out. Micah is behind the kitchen bench, piling ingredients on the chopping board.

I shake my head.

Jaxon offers to set me up on the couch. I admit, I like the idea of watching some more TV—it seems like the quickest way of catching up on the world—but I know I won’t be able to relax. Apart from sharing my medical results, Caleb hasn’t said a damn thing about the investigation.

I start to follow him into the bedroom. Jaxon grabs my wrist.

I hiss, spinning.

“Sorry.” He puts his hands up. “Just, a word to the wise about our head alpha.” He smirks. “He’s not super talkative until after he’s showered. You’re better off waiting.”

Exasperated, my hands move on their own—I’ve been waiting for three years, jackass.

Jaxon gapes. “Woah. Was that sign language?”

I hesitate. Pull away.

“No, no,” he says, “it was cool! What did it mean?”

I think back on my words. In particular, the ‘jackass’. Maybe not telling him would be a mercy.

“Holy shit.” Jaxon’s eyes light up. “Are you … smiling?”

No, I sign instinctively.

“I don’t know what that means, so I’m gonna take it as a ‘yes’.” He grins. “Unless, of course, you wanted to teach me?”

I go to sign No again, but stop myself, blushing.

Jaxon’s scent practically drowns me, rolling over my body in thick, hot waves of chocolate. I have to face away, furious at the way my mouth waters.

Guess that withdrawal is kicking in sooner than I thought. There’s no other explanation for it.

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