Page 25 of Feral: Part Two
"Knowing them, they've already started," Kael says grimly.
Kael
The chaos has finally settled down, darkness and quiet easing the house into a peace we rarely have. An hour ago, I was wrapped around my mates in Slate and Preston’s den, before I woke up, the helplessness of being unable to do something weighing on me. It was a chore untangling myself from my mates before I headed to the office to stare at the board I spent years putting together.
Every photograph, every document, every connection we thought we'd discovered—It's all spread out before me like a monument to our own ignorance. Everything I worked for, every choice I thought I was making, every step I took that I believed was bringing us closer to justice—it was all curated. Every move was anticipated, planned for, guided by hands we never even knew existed.
The fury that's been simmering all day finally boils over. A roar tears from my throat, reverberating through the room as I sweep my arm across the desk, sending all the papers flying to the ground. Documents scatter, our carefully organized research reduced to chaos on the floor.
I know I should be in the den. After Slate invited me in earlier, Preston was adamant that that's where they were sleeping. It took a little bit of work to widen the space, moving furniture and rearranging blankets until we had something that could accommodate all of us. Now it's a perfect little piece of darkness, exactly what our Omegas need for the final stages of their pregnancies.
But I can't stop thinking. Not that I know why, exactly. My body is exhausted, my mind is running in circles, and every instinct I have is telling me to be with my pack. Yet here I am, dragging a hand through my hair and staring at the remnants of years of pointless investigation.
I keep thinking about the call with Jules, about his warning that it's a shitshow outside Wolfscorge. How bad would it really be to stay in here? Yes, we're being monitored, yes, we're part of some sick experiment, but we've been afforded a luxury we would have never gotten in jail. And as long as my Omegas and the babies are protected, I can't see a better alternative.
Trying to get out won't work. Even if we could somehow escape the compound, where would we go?The Collectivehas reach we're only beginning to understand, connections that span government and medical institutions. All of my careful plans and that house we would have escaped to in order to stay under the radar would have done fuck all now. There would be a spotlight on our back becauseThe Collectivewouldn’t let their experiment just run wild.
At least here, we have some measure of safety. A roof over our heads, food, and medical care when we need it. The devil we know versus the one we don't.
I move toward the pool house, grimacing at the torn-down fence in the courtyard. The plaster is twisted and broken where the bear forced his way through, a stark reminder that evenThe Collective'scontrol isn't absolute. Something about that gives me a small measure of hope.
Stepping inside the pool house, I look around the space that Slate claimed as his original sanctuary. That's when I see him, curled up in the corner right beside the phone. My chest tightens with concern as I move closer and crouch down beside him.
"Slate, when did you come out here? You should be sleeping with the others."
He sits up a little, his dark eyes reflecting the same worry I’m feeling. "I could say the same thing for you."
Fair point. Neither of us are where we're supposed to be, both of us apparently unable to find peace in the safety of the den.
"Why are you out here?" I ask, keeping my voice gentle. "Are we making you feel uncomfortable?"
Slate shakes his head, but there's something broken in his expression. "My friend at Veltmoor, she said she would call back, but she never has. So, I called and she said she couldn't talk anymore, and then I called again and they said she doesn't work there anymore." His voice gets smaller with each word, fear building in his eyes. "I think they did something to her. I just... I need something to be real."
I sit down beside him, offering him a smile to help settle him. At least, I hope it does. "This is real. I don't mean the chaos or getting stuck in Wolfscorge. I mean that this pack is real, you're real, the babies you're carrying are real. The bond is real."
Slate's dark eyes search my face, looking for the anger I gave him when he first came to us. "Is it though? I have your bite in my shoulder, but..."
He trails off, but I can hear the unspoken doubt in his voice. After six false bonds, six surgical removals, six rejections, how could he believe that this time was different? How could he trust that what we have isn't just another elaborate setup designed to break him down further?
"I know we called a truce before, but I think we need something a little different," I say, softening my voice.
Slate continues staring at me with those wide eyes, and in that moment, I see something that stops me cold. I see a version of myself that existed before Preston, before this pack, before I learned that being wanted was more important than being feared. The version that used to hate his life and everything he'd done up until that point.
"We don't know each other and I've never given you the chance to know who I am past the pack Alpha," I offer.
"We don't need to do a heart-to-heart," Slate says quickly, his defensive walls slamming back into place. "I don't need that."
"And I think you're wrong. Slate, I know you're guarding your heart. I would be too in your situation. But the walls you keep putting up and the ones I keep up won't go anywhere if we don't try, so I'm making the first move."
I stick my hand out toward him, the gesture feeling foreign and vulnerable in ways that make my skin crawl. But this is what he needs; not another Alpha trying to dominate him, not another pack member treating him like a responsibility. He needs to know who I am as a person, not just as a role.
"Hi, I'm Kael, one of the Alphas who was supposed to be a successor of aCollectiveseat before my brother was chosen instead."
Slate frowns as he clasps my hand. "Are you mad at him?"
I don’t expect that question from him. "I'm not mad at my brother. It was a dog-eat-dog world, but I was always second best. And in a world that teaches Alphas are better than Betas, I used to think I just wasn't enough. My Beta brother got everything and I had to fight for what was mine."
Growing up in the shadow of someone who was everything I was told I should be but could never become, it left scars that never fully healed. My brother was smarter, more diplomatic, better at reading people and situations. Everything an heir toThe Collectiveshould be, while I was just the spare with anger issues and control problems.
