Page 122 of Candy & Her Saints

I’m still on enemy territory. I trust my fated mates to die to protect Ghost and me.

The Head Alpha of this pack is Mayor St Clair, however, and in his own way, is he as dangerous as the leader of the criminal Ace pack?

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Saint Cage, Haven

Ilie on the hard earth of the basement, spooning Ghost. His lean back is warm against my front. I absentmindedly kiss the back of his head over his white-blond curls.

For once, Sugar isn’t down here with us but has taken herself off to stalk around the sunny gardens or possibly, hunt.

Do cats hunt Alphas?

She’s so loyal to Ghost that she probably would for him.

Thomas’ tie hangs around Ghost’s neck, where it’s become my habit to place it, when I come down into the basement each morning. It’s become our ritual like I’m dressing Ghost up for the day.

He poses like he’s at a model shoot for me.

“Perfect,” I’ll reassure.

His smile will be blinding, before he’ll strut the length of the basement like he’s on a runway.

Over this last week that we’ve spent together in the basement, we’ve developed other little rituals: I bring down the latest copy of magazines like Omega Weekly, which I read first while Ghost drinks his black coffee, he passes Sugar from his lap to mine for at least half an hour of petting, and he teaches me a new card game every day (and I lose, apart from one game).

Ghost still won’t communicate directly with Lincoln but he’s less wary of him.

Lincoln only spends a short amount of time with us.

The mayor has become more demanding, and Richard is a violent shadow.

Together, we’ve agreed that Lincoln needs to stay at Thomas’ side for his protection.

When Lincoln does spend time in the basement, I notice Ghost glancing more and more often at him, when he thinks Lincoln isn’t looking. Sometimes, he can’t stop himself laughing at his jokes.

He no longer growls, when Lincoln approaches or kisses me goodbye for the day.

Once or twice, I’ve caught a longing look, as if Ghost wishes that he could relax and allow himself to connect with Lincoln, just as he has with me.

But he’s not quite there yet. I won’t rush him.

Ghost’s already made incredible progress in this last week. I’m proud of him.

I sniff at Ghost’s neck, breathing in his rich scent. I smile happily, resting my arm over his middle.

I tug the soft blanket more snugly over both of us.

It’s mid-afternoon, but Ghost’s gently snoring. I’ve found out this week that he naps a lot. It’s probably normal for someone who’s been kept in prolonged solitary confinement.

Hell, I wish that I could get him to a therapist. Are there therapists for Omegas?

Even if there are, how could an Alpha or Beta truly understand what we need support with? Our trauma?

Perhaps, if I could show the world that an Omega can be a professional baker, then one day Omegas will be allowed to go to college and train to become anything they like, including therapists. Then we can get the support that we need.

I smile at the thought. But then, my smile fades.

Despite my whispered discussions with Ghost, Thomas, and Lincoln this week about how to break Raylan’s iron control over Haven and his pack, we haven’t come up with one idea that feels like it’ll truly work.

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