Page 58 of This Fate That Guides Us
My own mother stands outside of my concert in protest. My father and uncles beside her. Hand-painted signs in their hands defending their anti-pack beliefs. My heart breaks all over again in the face of their rejection. Even eight years after I left home to attend the Alpha Academy, they still haven’t changed. Their hatred is still volatile. A pestilence arcing from their darkened souls into everyone around them.
A small finger wraps itself around my pinky right after we exit our SUV. I blink several times as I peek down where Omen walks beside me. Her body carefully angled to hide the contact between our bodies.
Here the need to hide our connection doesn’t cut as deep. With those assholes outside watching our every move, I’m glad they won’t see this small glimmer of affection she’s showing me.
Blowing out a breath, I realize she’s probably right to keep our growing relationship private any time we’re out in public.Protesters aside, we have a slew of disgruntled omegas who somehow think they deserve a spot in our pack simply because of their designation. The press and jealous omegas will have a field day tearing her apart if they find out she is being courted by our pack.
Stepping into the air-conditioned venue, I fight the need to hold Omen’s hand fully. I don’t want to let her out of my sight. My fear too rampant from being back at the core of our youth. I have to trust Lex will take care of my firefly otherwise I’ll lose my mind before the night's out.
It helps to remember she will only be working from the stage and the wings tonight instead of from the crowd like she usually does. She’ll be further away from any potential danger that manages to find a way inside of the building.
As soon as we are inside, Brady is barking orders. He knows we all need a distraction from what’s happening outside. Orbital Somatic are taking the stage first for their sound check, so we head to wardrobe and make-up.
I try not to move as our traveling artist, Aurora, coats my face and neck in the sweat-resistant silver body paint we use for our shows, but I know by the furrow in her brows I’m not as successful as I hoped.
A soft knock sounds at the door before it opens. I can’t look behind me to see who it is, but I sense her there. Omen’s soft blue eyes meet mine in the mirror as she crosses the room. She’s careful not to smudge the paint on my neck as she crawls into my lap. Her purr rattles to life as she lays her head above my heart, listening to its rapid beat. “They told me what happened. Who those people were in the crowd by the entrance.”
I wait, not even breathing, as she lays wrapped around me. Accepting her comfort to soothe the pain still raging in my heart. The room is quiet. Only the sounds of my pack getting ready and Omen’s purr fill the space.
Moments pass. Omen’s stillness makes me think she might have fallen asleep curled on my lap, but then she speaks. Her words are barely a breath in the wind, but they fill the room as if she’s screamed them. “I know what it’s like to have the people who should love you hate everything about you. No one deserves to be treated that way.”
Her resistance to letting anyone close makes sense after hearing she’s been burned by someone in the past. I want to know more. To learn who shaped her into the scarred omega sitting with me, but I know now isn’t the time.
“I’m sorry, darlin’,” I whisper into her hair. “For the things I said after I kissed you in Louisville. I didn’t mean a single word. I convinced myself you were going to reject me and panicked.”
Omen hums, her arms squeezing me a little tighter. “I could see the hurt in your eyes, Alpha, so I didn’t hold your words against you.”
Relief wars with confusion. If she wasn’t upset with me for the things I said, why has she been avoiding my pack ever since? One day I’ll get answers to all of my questions. When we have time to sit and talk about everything and nothing. Then I will find a way to make this omega mine.
She already owns my heart.
Now I have to convince her to keep it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
NOW PLAYING: MINE- Sleep Token
I’m exhausted. Worn down in a way I’m not used to. Not from the tour or the protests–though the latter certainly doesn’t help. I’m tired of fighting against my instincts. Of ignoring the pull I feel toward Pack Graves.
Curling up on the couch with them last night after learning why they were all feeling so apprehensive about the show here in Nashville filled my heart like never before. Each moment I spend with one or all of them heals my battered soul. Somehow the pains of my past don’t seem so daunting with them at my side.
During our drive from the campsite to the venue, I’d sneakily sent them a message in the hopes of bringing them some joy to balance out the stress they were feeling. I doubt it worked as I planned since Brady pulled me aside shortly after we arrived to tell me Titan’s parents were in the crowd of protesters outside.
My heart broke knowing the anguish Titan must have felt seeing them there, hearing their harsh words shouted at our vehicles as we pulled into the parking lot. I couldn’t stop myself from going to him. My instinct to comfort my distressed alpha too strong to fight against. Honestly, I didn’t even try.
Sitting on his lap in their dressing room, a purr rumbling in my chest, I felt at home. I want to feel like that forever. Even if it means facing the thing I fear the most and allowing someone to get close enough to me to become a target of my birth family’s rage.
Tomorrow on the drive to Raleigh, I’m going to call Donovan and explain everything. Hopefully, he can help me find a way to safely reveal both my connection to their pack and my real identity.
The crowd screams in delight as the lights drop for the beginning of Primordial Covenant’s performance. While the amphitheater they’re playing in isn’t as packed as their other shows, the crowd is still massive. I let my plans for the future and worry for my Fate matched mates slip away as I focus on capturing the heart behind their performance.
Nexus growls out his usual greeting, the words holding just a bit more bite than they usually do. Their fans still eat it up, singing along. My camera tracks the various looks of rapture across their faces as they get lost in the music, able to avoid the struggles they face out in the world for a few hours.
This is what Nebula meant that day in the diner–their messages matter more than their names. Primordial Covenant’s music reaching those who are lost, trapped, or downtrodden, and lifting them up even a tiny bit would be the most magical thing in this entire world.
I focus on the band after a few songs, immediately pulled in by their energy. Their scents. A shudder runs down my spine and my eyes flutter closed.
One of their lower-tempo songs starts as I focus on Nebula. The neck of his sleek black bass wrapped in his hand. The letters tattooed on his knuckles stand out against his pale skin with the blue-gray lighting behind him. His head tilts back slightly, almost as if he’s as lost in the music as his fans are. I snap the shot then switch to video to capture the moment their song drops into a breakdown before Nebula’s solo. His body somehow gets looser, almost like his limbs are made of water as he moves. His fingers flying across the strings.
