Page 78 of Storm
To my surprise, no one argues. Even Alexander nods his agreement, his shoulders sagging with fatigue.
"Fox is right," he says, standing and holding out his hand to help me up. "I'll show everyone to their rooms. Fox, are you?—"
"I'm fine," I interrupt, knowing what he's asking. "Really. The medication is working. I'll help get everyone settled."
As the group begins to move toward the stairs, Reed remains at my side, watching me with those inscrutable stormy eyes. When we're the last two left in the living room, he finally speaks.
"You're not fine," he says quietly. "I can smell it on you."
I sigh, too tired to maintain the disguise. "No, I'm not. But I will be. This is just... a lot to process at once."
Reed nods, his gaze never leaving my face. "I should have been here sooner. It's been too long."
The admission surprises me. In all the years I've known Reed Howard, he's never once acknowledged that his absence might matter to me. "You had your reasons."
"Yes," he agrees, something complex and unreadable crossing his features. "But they weren't good enough."
Before I can ask what he means, he reaches out and brushes a strand of hair from my forehead, the touch so gentle it makes my breath catch. "Get some rest, Fox. I'll keep watch tonight."
As I climb the stairs to join Alexander, I can feel Reed's eyes on me, watchful, protective in a way they've never been before. Something has changed in Reed during the year since I last saw him. Something major.
And despite everything, the danger, the uncertainty, the strangers now sleeping under our roof. I find myself desperately curious to discover exactly what that change might mean.
For Reed. For me. For whatever future awaits us all in the aftermath of Storm's accidental trigger of a rebellion.
Chapter22
Storm
Morning light filters through the unfamiliar curtains, casting the room in a soft golden glow. I open my eyes, aware of my surroundings in this safe house. The solid warmth of Rook's body presses against my back, his arm draped protectively over my waist, a reassuring weight that confirms he’s here with me.
The events of last night remain crystal clear in my mind. The escape from the penthouse. The frantic drive through the night. Fox, the male omega that Pack Kingsley has been hiding.
I carefully disentangle myself from Rook's embrace, trying not to wake him. He stirs slightly, mumbling my name before settling back into sleep. The sight of him, peaceful and safe, brings a lump to my throat. After everything we've been through, we're finally together again.
But we're not free.Not yet.
I pause by the bed, allowing myself a moment to really look at him. Four years we were apart, and now here he is, his dark hair tousled across the pillow, his face relaxed in sleep in a way it never is when he's awake and constantly on guard.
My fingers hover just above his cheek, not quite touching. I don't want to wake him. He needs the rest. But I can't help the well of emotion that rises in my chest, the fierce protective love that is Rook. He’s been my constant thought for four years.
I slip on one of Rook's t-shirts, breathing in his scent of strawberries and cream as the fabric settles around me. A pair of sleep shorts I found in the dresser completes my makeshift outfit. The clothes in the dresser are obviously Fox's—too big for me but not as oversized as Rook's things.
Padding silently across the hardwood floor, I cast one last glance at Rook before slipping out the door. The house is quiet, dawn barely breaking over the mountains visible through the windows. Our room is on the second floor, overlooking the sprawling property that seems to extend for acres in every direction. The isolation should make me claustrophobic, but instead, it feels like the first real chance to breathe I've had in years.
The hallway is lined with photographs—Fox at various ages, often with a woman I assume is his mother, sometimes with Alexander. Reed and Jonathan when they were younger. All four of them as teens. I can see Reed never lost his scowl. Jonathan actually smiling in one with Reed.
As I make my way downstairs, my mind churns with everything that's happened in the past week. Choosing Pack Kingsley was supposed to be my ticket to freedom, not a one-way trip to some hidden mountain retreat with the very alphas I was trying to escape. The irony isn't lost on me.
The stairs creak slightly under my weight, and I freeze, not wanting to wake anyone else. But the house remains quiet, the only sound, a soft ticking of a grandfather clock in the foyer and the distant call of birds outside.
I catch a glimpse of movement in the kitchen. Through the doorway, I can see Frankie standing by the large picture window, staring out at the garden and the endless trees and mountains. His shoulders are hunched, tension evident in every line of his body, and my heart aches for him.
Of all of us, he had the least choice in this mess. At least Rook and I have each other. Frankie was torn from the only life he knew, wrapped up in my chaos with no warning.
For a moment, I just watch him. The morning light paints his profile in gold, highlighting the gentle curve of his nose, the slight furrow between his brows. He looks tired, the kind of bone-deep exhaustion that comes from carrying too many worries for too long.
I approach him quietly, drawing close enough to catch his familiar scent of toasted marshmallows and cinnamon. Without thinking, I wrap my arms around his waist from behind and rest my head between his shoulder blades. He stiffens in surprise before relaxing into the embrace.
