Page 47 of Storm
Reed's jaw tightens, but he pulls his phone from his pocket, scrolling through it for a moment before sliding it across the table to Storm.
She grabs it, her movements almost desperate. I lean over slightly, then immediately think better of it and straighten up again. Still, I catch a glimpse of what looks like security footage on the screen. Storm's breath catches audibly.
"This is from this morning," Reed says, his voice carefully neutral. "Outside his apartment building."
Storm stares at the screen, her fingers white-knuckled around the phone. I can see the play of emotions across her face—relief, longing, pain.
"He looks... okay," she says finally, her voice small.
"He is okay," Jonathan says. "As long as he doesn't do anything stupid, he'll stay that way."
The threat is implicit. As long as Rook doesn't try to find her, doesn't challenge Pack Kingsley's claim, he'll be allowed to live.
Storm slides the phone back to Reed, her expression composed once more, though her scent still carries notes of distress. "Fine. Three days. I'll be the perfect omega, or whatever passes for one in this hell."
Jonathan nods once, accepting her compliance. "Frankie will help you prepare."
All eyes turn to me, and I feel my face flush crimson under the sudden attention. I nearly drop my fork. "I-I will?"
"Yes," Jonathan says. "You'll teach her the proper protocols, the expected behaviors. Make sure she knows how to address my fathers, how to respond to direct questions, when to speak and when to remain silent."
Becoming Storm's etiquette coach wasn't exactly what I signed up for, but I nod jerkily. "I'll... I'll do my best." My voice comes out higher than normal.
"Good luck with that, beta boy," Storm teases me.
Dinner continues in strained silence after that, the tension thick enough to cut with one of the many forks laid out before us. I keep my head down, focusing intensely on my plate, only occasionally daring quick glances at the others. By the time the meal finally ends, my shoulders ache from being held rigid for so long.
As we rise from the table, Jonathan catches my arm. "A word," he says, nodding toward his study.
My stomach drops. I look at Storm with wide eyes but try to give her what I hope is a reassuring smile, though it feels more like a grimace. "Go ahead. I'll catch up with you later." My voice only shakes a little.
I follow Jonathan into his study, a room that perfectly matches his personality—dominating, precise, every item in its place. He gestures for me to take a seat in one of the leather chairs facing his desk. I perch on the edge, hands clasped tightly in my lap, to hide their trembling.
"You understand your position here," he says once he's settled behind the desk, the statement more command than question.
"I think so." I try to keep my voice steady, but it wavers slightly. "I'm the pack beta. I'm supposed to help Storm adjust, teach her what's expected of her at the dinner with your fathers."
"Yes." Jonathan studies me, his green eyes assessing. I resist the urge to squirm under his gaze. "But there's more to it than that."
I wait, my heart rate picking up again, a bead of sweat forming at my temple.
"Storm trusts you," he continues. "She listens to you, in her way. That makes you valuable."
"To control her, you mean." The words slip out before I can stop them. I immediately bite my lip, horrified at my own boldness.
Jonathan's eyes narrow fractionally. "To keep her safe."
That's not the answer I expected. "Safe from what?" I ask quietly, my voice barely audible.
"From herself." Jonathan leans back in his chair, his fingers steepled in front of him. "Storm has a tendency to act first and consider consequences later. That sort of behavior might have been merely inconvenient at the Omega House, but here? In my world? It could get her killed."
A chill runs down my spine at the matter-of-fact way he says it. "Your fathers," I whisper, remembering the tension during dinner.
Jonathan nods once. "Among others. The political situation in Crescent City is... delicate right now. Storm's actions at Choosing Day have made things worse. There are those who would use her to further their own agendas, regardless of the cost to her personally."
I process this, turning it over in my mind. Jonathan doesn't strike me as someone who cares about Storm's welfare—not after everything she's told me about him, not after seeing how he reacted when she pulled his name at Choosing Day.
"Why do you care?" I ask, immediately ducking my head, unable to believe I just questioned him so directly.
