Page 91 of Storm
"She threatened to burn the whole system down if I touched you," I admit, remembering our confrontation in the kitchen.
Rook laughs at that, a genuine sound that transforms his face. "Sounds like her. Fierce Little Storm, always ready to take on the world."
Despite myself, I find my lips quirking upward. "She's certainly... unique."
"That's one word for it," Rook agrees. He holds out his hand, the gesture catching me off guard. "So? Truce?"
I look at his extended hand for a long moment, weighing decades of elite conditioning against the strange new reality I find myself in. Finally, I take his hand, his grip firm against mine. "Truce," I agree. "For now."
"For Storm," he amends.
"For Storm," I echo, releasing his hand.
A companionable silence falls between us, less tense than before. I find myself reassessing Rook Holloway—not as a rival, but as a potential ally. An alpha who loves Storm enough to put her needs above his own. A fighter who's been battling the same system I was born into.
"I scent-marked her," he says suddenly, breaking the silence. "I couldn't help myself after I scented you on her. I'm possessive too, even knowing I should be better than that."
"It's instinct," I say, surprised to find myself defending him. "Hard to fight, especially with a scent like hers."
He nods, understanding passing between us. "I'm going to follow her lead on this. Whatever she wants, whoever she chooses—I'll support her. As long as they don't hurt her."
"Agreed." The word comes out before I can stop it, a pledge I hadn't intended to make. But I find I mean it. Whatever happens next, Storm's well-being is the priority.
"You might not be part of the pack officially," I hear myself saying, "but you can stay. With us. Until we figure out our next move."
Rook looks at me, surprise evident in his expression. "Thank you," he says simply.
"Don't thank me yet," I warn him. "Jonathan still has final say, and he's not exactly known for his hospitality."
"Jonathan will come around," Rook says with unexpected confidence. "He cares about Storm, too, even if he's too stubborn to admit it."
I snort at that. "You think you have Jonathan figured out?"
"No," Rook admits. "But I know what it looks like when an alpha is trying to pretend they're not affected by an omega."
Before I can respond, the sound of laughter drifts up from downstairs. Storm's voice, distinctive and bright, accompanied by Fox's deeper tone and Frankie's quiet laugh. Rook and I both turn toward the sound, drawn to it instinctively.
"They're back," Rook says, already moving toward the door.
"Rook," I call after him, stopping him in his tracks. He turns, waiting. "This conversation isn't over."
He nods once, understanding the unspoken message. Our truce is conditional on Storm's safety and happiness. The moment either is compromised, all bets are off.
I follow him downstairs, my mind still processing everything that's been said. The house is filled with the scents of the returning group—Fox's honey and chamomile, Frankie's cinnamon and toasted marshmallows, Alexander's warm vanilla, and strongest of all, Storm's rich dark chocolate.
But there's something else in her scent, something that makes me pause on the stairs.
Cold. She's cold.
I enter the kitchen to find Storm wrapped in Rook's arms, her small frame shivering slightly despite the warmth of the house. Her wild curls are damp, clinging to her face, and her lips have a faint blue tinge.
"What happened?" I demand, my gaze snapping to Alexander.
"She fell in the stream," Fox explains before Alex can answer, his expression a mixture of concern and amusement. "She was trying to catch a fish with her bare hands."
"It was slippery," Storm protests, her teeth chattering slightly. "And I almost had it."
"You weren't even close," Frankie teases, earning himself a glare from Storm that quickly dissolves into another shiver.
