Page 45 of Wanted By the Wolves

My eyes feel as if they’re about to bug out of my head. “Okay, Mr. Cryptic, I need more thanit’s the attic.”

There are piles of furs, stacks of fabrics and pillows, and overflowing chests of sheets, blankets, and quilts. Eager to roll around in the piles, my omega wolf pushes me to explore. The instinct to dive in headfirst wars with my curiosity about why this is here.

“This place was given to me in exchange for being the groundskeeper and healer. It was built as a safe harbor before our people were at war, back when we thought we could change the tide.”

The hollow sound of Gage’s voice rips my eyes away from the treasure trove. He looks like I must have when I saw myself in the mirror—haunted and stuck somewhere in the past.

“Who did you harbor?” I ask, though I think I’ve already guessed the answer.

Gage takes his time answering, looking past me without seeing. “Pregnant omegas and their packs. The attic was built as a place for storage for when an omega arrived. It’s got everything needed to build a proper nest.”

How often has he said that to an omega standing where I am? An irrational surge of jealousy travels through my heart. I don’t have any right to his past, but that doesn’t seem to matter.

“Is this—" The question dies on my lips. I can’t ask, but I also can’t take their things, even if it would be impractical not to.

Gage makes a pained sound. “No. Never.”

“What happened to them?” I almost whisper the words, afraid of what he might say and equally afraid he won’t confide in me.

He balls his fists, shooting off tiny green sparks.“All of them came here bonded. None of them survived. Maybe we can spare ourselves the details.”

The sadness and grief in his scent knock me in the chest. I know what happened to my kind. My grandmother was a healer, just like Gage, and I saw the toll it took on her. My jealousy feels stupid and immature in the stark light of reality. “Just one question and then I’ll leave it.”

He gives me a sharp nod.

“How many did you try to heal here, Gage?”

The turn of his head doesn’t save him. His pain is as clear in his voice as it would be in his eyes. “Eight omegas. Eight packs.”

No wonder he’s the way he is. How could you survive losing so many without taking on some of their sadness? My heart hurts for this healer who has seen so much death. Tears threaten to spill, but I instinctively know they’ll make it harder for him.

Gage takes one step, then another, until I’m in his arms. Against his stronghold, my tears don’t stand a chance. They breach the dam.

“Don’t cry for me, star,” he murmurs.

I can’t help it. Thinking about him trying to save them annihilates me. This is why he fears our future—he’s seen it play out.

I hug him back, pulling him to me as though if I just hold on, we can slay our demons together. All the odds are stacked against us, but here in this moment, I wish I could promise him I’ll be his lucky number nine, that I’m the survivor he thinks I am.

The promise won’t leave my lips because I can’t lie. Not to him or about this.

He hums, rocking me in his arms, his voice thick with emotion. “I know, little star. I know.”

That storm crackles between us; this time, it’s full of rain. Gage purrs for me while I cry for both of us. I don’t know how long we stand there hanging on, but eventually, the tears let up. The wood beneath my feet turns solid again. Even though nothing has changed, it hurts a little less when we hold the pain between the two of us.

Gage wipes under my eye with his knuckle and kisses my nose. “I can’t promise you the future, but let me give you this. You deserve a home and a nest. Let’s see if we can find some things together.”

“I like my nest,” I say through a watery smile.

Gage’s lips quirk up. “Humor me.” He spins me around, caging me in from behind and covering my eyes. “Your omega needs to settle. A real den will allow you to solidify bonds with your mates. Listen to your instincts.”

“And if my instincts say we should spend all day in bed?” I ask, trying to bring back some lightness after so much heaviness between us.

“Then I guess you should listen.” With a steady hand, Gage leads me around the room.

He keeps one hand over my eyes, telling me in rough rasps against my neck to touch. He guides my hand through soft silk and warm fur, each time asking me what I like. Next, he asks about colors and textures. He teases me with feathers along my arm or soft cotton that he drapes around me. It’s a tour of touch. My omega purrs through it. I get lost in the experience, the sadness from our earlier conversation fading.

His hands roam my skin, and his scent dampens the outside world. It mixes with Dex’s sweater, and I swear I get hints of Briggs. My wolf loves the combination, and I feel my legs gettingslick the longer I think about being in my nest, surrounded by their scents.

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