Page 37 of Deadly Ties

Piece by piece, body by body, I will make this world a haven for my omegas.

But there are some hurts I cannot protect them from. I feel it with Elvana’s first waking breath, when she inhales the scents around her and realizes where she is and what she must do today. I’d considered packing up her home for her, but too much has happened under this roof not to give her the chance for closure. It will make her cry, it will cut her soul, but I hope when we leave this place, she will be able to remember it for what it is. Bricks and mortar, and not a cage for her memories.

I cook her a breakfast to make her smile – curling, crackling slices of bacon and thick, Turkish coffee – then pack what she points at and label the things she wants to leave behind. She works quickly, with only a few tears and sighs, until we reach her mother’s room. It’s already agreed we will take everything in her own bedroom and move it to the Ferrier Estate, but there’s nothing of her mother left in the stark, clinical space. It smells of a wolf in deathly decline, and I feel my usual wave of frustrated admiration when I think of Dori Ferrier. For while she lived by Bisha’s name, she was never more than a spoil of war to him. A living, breathing reminder that he was the biggest predator in the pack.

“I don’t get it,” Elvana says as she stands at the foot of her mother’s hospital bed. The room is the opposite of an omega’s haven, all sharp surfaces and antiseptic scents. She’s quickly cleared the few things she wants to keep, and is now staring out the small window at the gray morning. “Why did she stay? If she had Ferrier, and he really loved her, why didn’t she just run away with him?”

I don’t answer, because it will only cause her more pain. No matter what I told Dori – or the many messages I passed to her from Lucas once his father passed – she never believed her daughter would survive Bisha’s wrath. Not because he loved her, or wanted her for himself, but because she was valuable. As a symbol. As property to one day trade.

“Fucking fathers,” she mutters under her breath, staring down at the small, stripped bed. “She never had a chance, did she?”

I can’t bear the tears trickling down her already swollen cheeks. All I can give her are my arms and the comfort of my purr. But it feels so little against the deep well of her grief, and my chest throbs as she lets me guide her out of her mother’s soulless room and back to her own nest. “We’ve done enough,” I tell her, lowering her onto her messy pile of blankets. I can’t look at them without thinking of the day I found her bloody and broken on the living room floor. I stole one of those green blankets, the color of old forest moss, as a selfish reminder of the girl who I couldn’t – shouldn’t – ever touch again. But I gave it back to her during her second heat, when I also handed over my heart and soul.

“Thank you, Arben,” she whispers, her fingers tracing the line of my mouth. “You’re always coming to my rescue.”

“You rescued me a long time ago, princeshë. Now we simply hold each other up.”

“I like that,” she murmurs, already half asleep. “But sometimes I wonder… what happens if one of us falls?”

I pull away from her as she drifts off, although it hurts that she takes her uncertainty into her dreams. The answer, of course, is simple. If she falls, then so does the world, quickly followed by myself. And if I fall, she will be picked up by others. Served by the pack she deserves.

I watch her for a while – until afternoon shadows fade into dusk - then text Cam, and he says he’ll meet me at the townhouse in ten minutes. Which means he’s either lurking around the corner, or plans to break the land speed record to get here. I open the door before he can ring the bell and usher him as far as the small foyer. I don’t want him out in the street, but he hasn’t earned the right to cross the threshold yet.

“You have it?” He looks almost as bad as he did at Ferrier’s. His tanned skin still has a gray tint, and I can tell he’s favoring his good leg. But it’s the lost look in his eyes that makes me frown. “You look weak, wolfling.”

“Thanks,” he mutters, but his gaze drifts past me to the hall. And that lost look only deepens as he no doubt scents the grief-soaked rooms beyond. “Is she okay?”

“No.” I hold out a hand for her duffel bag and he lets it go with obvious reluctance.

“Everything’s there, including her mom’s urn. I wasn’t sure if she wanted me to take it to Ferrier’s…”

“Here is good,” I tell him, then narrow my eyes. “Weak wolves can’t serve, soldier. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

A faint smile touches his mouth, but it doesn’t reach his pale eyes. “You just might be the best head-twister out there, Marku.”

Perhaps he expects me to strike him, but when I lift my hand, it’s only to caress the line of his throat. He might dress like a beach boy, but the soldier still lurks close to the surface. It’s in his blood to protect and heal, but his real strength is his mind. I need him sharp. Cunning. Manipulating his way back into my mate’s good graces.

“Then listen closely.” I caress his pulse, letting him remember how it felt to have my cock straining these muscles. He wasn’t as enthusiastic as Rory, but he was intense, and that appealed to the beast in me. I let some of that show in my eyes as I watch him scent my arousal. “You belong with us, Cameron.”

He swallows, his throat bobbing under my touch. “She can’t forgive me.”

“If you’ve taken something from her, give it back. With interest.”

He stares at me, then steps in closer, not touching me back until he is pressing his mouth to my neck. He’s the only one tall enough to do it with ease, and I like that as much as I like the feel of his lips. The wolf in him probably wants to nip, but he doesn’t try to mark me, and I take it for what it is. Gratitude. Surrender. And perhaps a promise. For a moment he leans his cheek against mine, then retreats. “Okay. I’ll think of something. But is there anything I can do right now?”

I smirk. A shortcut might be to simply lead him upstairs and into her nest, but I respect them both too much for that. “You can follow the instructions you’ve been given for this evening and don’t be late.”

His brow furrows, and he shoves his hands into his pockets. “Yeah, I’ll be there, and I’ll try to get Link to play along…”

“Don’ttry, wolfling. Bend him to your will, or he really will be left behind.”

He steps away, but not before I can see the cogs turning in his head. The threat is clear: Lincoln Hila will be there, or I will hunt him down myself.

“You lying, sneaky assholes,” Elvana hisses as the driver pulls up outside the VIP entrance to The Looking Glass. It’s a restored theater in midtown, and while it still has the graceful curves of the old art deco façade, the inside is now devoted to a different kind of dance. Her outraged eyes swing over all of us. “You said we were going out for ice cream! If I’d known we were coming here, I would have worn something different. Like a freaking hood!”

“You don’t need to worry about that,” our prince assures her. He and Rory met us at the townhouse so we could all travel together, and while Rory is in a suit, the omegas are both in casual attire. “My friend is one of the dancers. She’s got a whole costume department we can use.”

“Use?” Unease is creeping over her, souring her scent. “What does that mean?”

---