Page 22 of Psycho Pack

But my alpha instincts are still fired up about it.

I feel guilty for reasons beyond that.

My fingers trace the outline of each surgical tool concealed in my stolen lab coat. The familiar shapes of scalpels and syringes that once brought me such satisfaction now mock me. What good is surgical precision when I couldn't even find our omega?When all my careful planning and meticulous preparation meant nothing?

Wraith found her first.

Protected her.

Kept her safe.

The most unpredictable, wild, unhinged, feral, aggressive pack brother I have was the one who came to her rescue. Not me. All my careful plans and preparations meant nothing in the end.

When Ivy needed me most, my strengths failed her.

Our quarry's inky blood leaves an oily trail along the concrete, mixing with the grimy water. Each splash of my boots through the putrid mixture sends droplets of contamination onto my clothes. My skin crawls at the thought of the bacteria festering in this cesspool.

I deserve it.

I've failed so spectacularly today.

Ahead of me, Whiskey says something that makes Ivy laugh. The sound echoes off the tunnel walls, pure and sweet. My chest tightens. Even that oaf manages to comfort her better than I can. He may be a brute, but at least he knows how to make her smile.

Have Ievermade her smile?

What do I have to offer?

Clinical detachment?

Surgical skill?

Oh, right. She was happy about the birth control. Happy I gave her the absolute bare minimum an alpha can give an omega.

A little taste of freedom.

A rat skitters across my path, its naked tail leaving a trail in the slime. I grimace. Focus. We have a mission. Find the Knight. Get out alive. Everything else is irrelevant.

Including my wounded pride.

Why are we even doing this?

Because she feels sorry for this thing?

I should be frustrated, but it just makes me more obsessed with her. Obsessed because even though the world has been so cruel to her and others like her, she's still so… kind. Compassionate. Forgiving.

If I'm lucky, she'll show me the same grace she's showing this iron monstrosity that nearly killed us all not twenty minutes ago. Grace for failing her. Grace for letting myself get distracted. Those minutes I spent bickering with these assholes and planning every little detail of her rescue should have just been spent finding her faster. I doubt Wraith planned at all. He's never approached any situation with a strategy.

Other than kill, maim, and destroy, of course.

The idea that she may have suffered because of my obsession with the finer details and planning everything out makes me want to fucking vomit.

And then, when I finally had the chance for it to all pay off, when I had that bastard scientist right where I wanted him, he made us and I snapped before I could get anything useful out of him.

Me. The one who lectures everyone else about keeping a level head. I'm no better than the others.

Not even Whiskey. At least his reckless blundering usually has a way of working out. Lucky bastard.

Fucking useless.

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