Page 49 of Hunted Omega: Part Two

One thing’s for certain—our pack dynamics are about to get a lot more complicated. As I recall the taste of Aria’s lips and the feeling of her body against mine, I can’t bring myself to regret it. We’re in for a wild ride, but at least we have a full tank of gas.

I turn to look out the window, the city sprawling before me. Somewhere out there, Noah is plotting his next move, but for once, I feel like we might actually be a step ahead. With Aria by our side, we might stand a chance, and that thought, more than anything else, gives me hope for the future.

23

ARIA

I slipinto the community center like I’m infiltrating enemy territory, my heart doing its best impression of a jackhammer against my ribs. The room is half full, folding chairs arranged in a depressing circle that screams, “Group therapy.” The air is thick with anticipation and the sour tang of stale coffee, fighting a losing battle against industrial-strength cleaner. A hint of sweat and desperation lingers beneath it all, a potent cocktail of human struggle.

I choose a seat near the back, the plastic chair creaking in protest as I sit—so much for blending in. The cold plastic against my back sends a shiver down my spine.

As I scan the room for Dash, my brain decides it’s the perfect time for a greatest hits reel of our worst moments—his cocky grin, and the dismissive flick of his wrist as he laughed off my concerns like they were no more important than deciding what to have for lunch. The memory sits in my gut like I swallowed a block of ice.

I can almost hear Cayenne’s voice in my head, calling me ten kinds of stupid for giving him another chance, but then again, my best friend’s romantic history reads like a cautionary tale, so pot, meet kettle.

When Dash finally walks in, I do a double take. Gone is the carefree alpha who acted like the world was his personal playground. This Dash looks… smaller somehow… vulnerable. There’s a set to his jaw that speaks of determination, but his eyes are what really throw me. They are clear and present. It’s unsettling as hell.

Our eyes meet, and for a second, I see surprise flicker across his face before it softens into something that might be gratitude. He gives me a small nod. I nod back, jutting out my chin in a gesture that warns him not to get any ideas. I’m not here to make things easy for him, after all.

The meeting kicks off, chair legs scraping against linoleum like nails on a chalkboard. One by one, people start sharing their stories. It’s raw, unfiltered honesty that sucker punches me right in the feels. Each tale of struggle and hope, of face-planting into rock bottom and clawing their way back up, hits closer to home than I’d like to admit.

I find myself wondering how the others would handle this. Would Malachi’s calm authority crack? Would Zane’s brooding intensity soften? Would Quinn make inappropriate jokes to lighten the mood? The thought of any of them in this vulnerable position is so foreign, it’s almost laughable.

I steal glances at Dash as others speak. He’s laser focused and nodding along, occasionally offering words of encouragement that sound genuine instead of rehearsed. It’s like watching a stranger wear Dash’s face. The Dash I knew couldn’t sit still for five minutes without bursting into song or trying to start a conga line. This Dash is still, attentive, and present in a way that makes my skin prickle with unease.

Finally, Dash stands up. His eyes find mine for a split second, and I catch a flash of anxiety before he takes a deep breath and dives in.

“Hi, I’m Dash, and I’m an alcoholic,” he says, his voice steady even as his hands clench into white-knuckled fists at his sides. “I’ve been sober for thirty days now.”

He pauses, and I swear you could hear a pin drop. His usual rapid-fire chatter is gone, replaced by careful, measured words, but there’s still a hint of the old Dash in the way he runs his hand through his hair, messing it up in that effortlessly sexy way that used to drive me crazy—and not always in a good way.

“There’s someone in my life,” he continues, and suddenly his gaze is locked on mine, pinning me to my seat, “someone I hurt badly because of my drinking. I was arrogant and dismissive… I treated her like she was less than me because she was an omega, but the truth is, she’s one of the strongest people I know, and I’m here today because I want to be worthy of her forgiveness, even if I never receive it.”

The raw honesty in his voice hits me like a blow to the solar plexus. Tears prickle at the corners of my eyes, and I ruthlessly blink them back. This isn’t the Dash I thought I knew. This is… I don’t even know. It’s like someone reached inside him and flipped a switch, revealing depths I never knew existed. I find myself wondering how Quinn or Zane would react to this transformation. Would they be as thrown off balance as I am?

When the meeting wraps up, I stay glued to my seat, my mind whirling like I just stepped off a tilt-a-whirl. Dash approaches cautiously, like I’m a spooked animal that might bolt at any sudden movement.

“Aria,” he says softly, uncertainty clouding his usually confident demeanor. “Thank you for coming. I know it couldn’t have been easy.”

I stand, meeting his gaze head-on. There’s a tsunami of words building behind my teeth, but what comes out is, “Well, I’m full of surprises. Don’t think this means everything’s forgiven and forgotten though.”

Dash nods, a small, hopeful smile tugging at his lips. It’s not his usualI’m God’s gift to omegasgrin, but something softer and more real. “I wouldn’t expect it to be, but… would you maybe want to grab a coffee? Talk a bit more?”

I hesitate, weighing my options. Part of me wants to run for the hills and put as much distance between me and this new, unsettling Dash as possible, but another part—a part I’m not entirely comfortable acknowledging—wants to know more.

“Okay,” I hear myself answer, the word tasting foreign on my tongue. “But you’re buying. Consider it the first installment in your grand apology tour.”

As we step out into the cool night air, there’s a shift in the atmosphere between us, subtle but unmistakable. Dash walks beside me, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off him, but he’s careful not to touch. It’s a level of consideration I’m not used to from him, and it throws me off balance.

The coffee shop is just a block away, a beacon of warmth and caffeine in the gathering twilight. As we walk, I can’t help but notice how different Dash’s energy is. There’s a stillness to him now, a steadiness that’s both intriguing and slightly unnerving.

Our hands brush accidentally as we navigate around a puddle, and I swear I feel a jolt of electricity at the contact. I jerk away like I’ve been burned and catch a flicker of something cross Dash’s face.

Inside, the rich aroma of freshly ground coffee beans wraps around us like a warm blanket. I order a latte, and Dash asks for an herbal tea—and isn’t that a mindfuck all on its own—and then we snag a quiet corner table.

For a moment, we sit in awkward silence, the weight of our shared history hanging between us. I wrap my hands around my steaming latte, letting the warmth seep into my fingers as I study Dash over the rim of my mug. He looks… different. Older,somehow. The perpetual mischievous glint in his eyes has been replaced by something deeper and more contemplative.

“So…” I finally break the silence, my voice coming out harsher than I intended. “Thirty days, huh?”

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