Page 82 of The Butcher

He’ll want to know, at the very least so he doesn’t lose his shit again. After I rolled up with a stranger in the driver’s seat, and a few new holes I didn’t have when I left, he made me promise that no matter how mad we were at each other, I let him know when I’m leaving, and turn on tracking in case I need them.

Before I realize it, I’m pulling into our driveway, a mix of unease and excitement running through me at the idea of seeing any of my mates right now. I put my truck in park and stare at the back of my house, hesitant about entering for the first time since we finished building it.

I take a deep breath and bail out before making my way inside with every intention of being the alpha I promised my alpha I would try to be but stop short when I see the spare room door is open.

Slowly walking toward what has become Indy’s room, I feel the tension start to build in my shoulders and neck, my stomach twisting when I hear laughter, flipping over any number of things I could possibly walk in on. But nothing prepared me for what I actually see.

Nothing.

I don’t see anything, or anyone.

The bed is perfectly made, the room is spotless, there isn’t shit going on.

I know what I heard, though.

I heard Indy laugh, I heard my beta laugh, too, but I don’t see them anywhere.

Which is the exact second I feel my stomach drop, and my hackles raise.

They’re in her nest.

My eyes dart toward the closet door, trying like hell to see through the goddamn wood but I don’t really need to. Their voices aren’t low, they aren’t trying to be secretive or some shit. I can hear every fucking thing going on in there, and I have never been so fucking split down the middle before.

A part of me, the part I keep ignoring and telling to fuck off, it’s almost… Excited? Proud? Satisfied, maybe? All because my scent match is getting along so well with my mates, that the three of them are building their own bonds that I can actually feel, and that means ours will only strengthen that, and our mate bites will?—

I shake my head and nearly growl as I hear something thump behind the door.

The rest of me is fucking pissed because it should be me.

I should be there with them, invited into her space, bathing in her scent, spending time with my pack the way it was meant to be, but I won’t allow it.

My dumbass refuses to allow myself that bit of happiness, that small slice of peace and comfort. I will not let my guard down, won’t let her in, and instead choose to continue hurting the only three people I’m damn near positive I can’t live without.

But I won’t do it.

It isn’t worth it.

Not when the loss is even more crippling than never having it at all would have been.

Being an omega in Obsidian Falls is like sitting on death row, and when you’re packed up, you end up planted in the electric chair before the mate bites are healed.

I’m depriving myself of the one thing that could truly make me happy, all because I know what kind of destruction it brings, and what kind of wound is left afterward.

A wound that never heals, and bleeds until your veins run dry.

And that is not fucking worth it.

I’m not going to bury another omega.

I’m not about to become Carlisle.

I won’t do that to Nash or Clayton, I won’t do that to my family.

I won’t do that to Indy.

I can’t.

With a growl, I spin away from the closet and blow out of the bedroom, punching my way through the back door then jump in my truck and burn rubber.

---