Chapter Twenty-Six

Caleb

"Faith?" I call out from the foyer. "You ready?"

She emerges from the kitchen, thrusting a piece of toast into my chest. I'm guessing it's courtesy of Micah.

And I don't need to guess why he's not giving it to me himself.

Faith, Jaxon, and I get in the elevator. No-one speaks the whole way down.

So that makes two packmates who are still pissed with me.

My nose wrinkles, noting Faith's pheromones. Lavender. Chocolate. Lemon. They've been scent-marking her. The only reason I haven't called them out yet is because Faith must've consented, though somehow I doubt she knows what she's signing up for.

" She needs us, Caleb," Micah's words circle my head from last night. " And we need her."

I sighed and told him that wasn't his decision to make.

" Faith has made incredible progress. She's communicating. She's trusting us more and more. All signs suggest she wants this, wants us —"

I cut him off. So he chose a different track.

" Listen ," he said, " I've worked with a lot of rogue omegas. Most of them were squashed down to nothing, forced to be completely dependent on their alphas. When they were rejected, the biggest shock was simply learning how to walk on their own two feet ."

I remember his expert pause, giving me a chance to process, before he continued.

" But Faith depends on no-one. Not even her own mate."

I understood then what he was doing. Whatever way you slice it, he was telling me—personally, professionally, or otherwise—this is the best outcome for everyone.

I wanted to let him down gently. But that's not how the words came out.

" You of all alphas are not ready to be courting anyone. Let alone Faith ."

The look on his face—the hurt—made me want to gut myself.

This morning, before he got up to take a shower, I tried to tell him I was sorry. All I meant to say was that I didn't want to see his heart broken. Not again. This puppy love might be enough to erase his memories of the feral omega who tore him apart, but it sure as hell doesn't erase mine.

Jaxon helps Faith into the car. His wrist lingers on her sleeve, pumping out more of that thick, possessive scent.

"Stay safe," he grunts.

She nods.

With that, he shuts the door and puts on his motorcycle helmet.

Speeding up the driveway like he doesn't trust himself to stick around a single second longer.

***

Maverick is already waiting for us on the corner of Harris and Burbank when I put the SUV into park.

"Good morning, kitten," he greets Faith first, offering her a hand she pointedly ignores. He turns to me. "Boss."

"You bring the list?" I ask.

He reaches into one of his utility pockets. "Sirena marked all our possible hotspots." He spreads his map out on the hood of my car, gesturing to the big red Xs. "Kinda feels like we're on a treasure hunt, huh?"

Next to me, Faith is already on full alert, scouring the street.

"See anything familiar?" I prod.

She just scowls.

"Alright." I glance around. "Let's sweep the block, then circle back to the sewer grate."

Maverick nods. "Works for me."

Faith strides ahead.

Thankfully it's pretty quiet. Most people have probably driven into the inner city for work, and, apart from a convenience store a few buildings down, nothing much is open.

Faith runs her fingers along fences, bushes, bricks, getting a feel for her surroundings. I start to wonder what exactly she's looking for, when it occurs to me … this is the first time she's been outside, properly, in years. No wonder she's curious.

"Careful," Maverick calls, "don't want you getting a splinter."

She ignores him, picking at the bark on a tree trunk. Suddenly she yanks away.

Maverick clucks his tongue. "What'd I tell you?"

I shoot him a glare, approaching Faith to examine the wound. "Hold still …" I pinch her forefinger. "There. Got it."

Her gaze is oddly soft when she looks up at me. My heart skips a beat.

"Let's double back," I get out. "See if there's a way into that grate."

No-one argues. In fact, only Maverick speaks—asking Faith question after un-answered question about her likes, dislikes, and fighting style.

We hover over the sewer grate—a big metal drain at the end of the block—and shine a light inside.

"I can see a ladder," I announce. "And this side's a little uneven."

"Hm," Maverick crouches down, grabbing the bars. "Wonder if we can get it to budge."

The grate slides off without a hitch. Maverick grunts, leveraging it against the pavement.

He looks up. "Ladies first?"

I start to growl—there's no way in hell I'm letting Faith down there on her own—before I realize he's pushing my buttons. Or hers. Either way, Faith doesn't hesitate. She nudges past me, dropping to her knees.

"Hey." I hold her arm. "Slow down. Maverick's our scout—he goes first."

She reaches for her notepad, normally tucked under her shoulder, but it's not there. Maybe she left it in the car.

Maverick starts climbing. "Ugh—reeks down here. Can you hold the light?"

I angle my flashlight, making sure the rungs are visible. He continues down—maybe seven, eight feet—his boots squelching when he hits the bottom.

"Coast is clear!"

I look at Faith. "You ready?"

She quirks her eyebrow at me like she's offended by the question.

Just like last time, I hold the light, watching her descend rung by rung.

"That's it, kitten," Maverick coaches. "Nice and slow."

About halfway down, she pauses. I worry she might've seen something, or heard something, so I ask, "What is it?"

Faith is silent—though what did I expect? Surely she hasn't picked up one of the ringleaders' scents already ? This is the first location of nearly fifty—there's no way we're that lucky.

Suddenly my inner alpha snaps to attention. Warning me.

Something is wrong.

"You alright up there?" Maverick asks, a hint of concern in his voice.

That's when I see Faith's shoulders shaking. Her hands close around the ladder in a white-knuckled grip. She's staring down, chin against her chest, hair curtaining her face. I have to get her attention.

"Hey," I call. "Look at me. Faith ."

She looks up, squinting against the flashlight. Those big blue eyes fill with terror and she bares her teeth like a cornered animal.

Fuck. Fuck. How could I have been this stupid? She had the same reaction when we tried to drive her into the garage. That panic. That crushing, debilitating dread—threatening to undo all the progress we've made in the last two weeks.

"I'm coming up," Maverick asserts.

"Don't!" I snap.

She's communicating, Micah's voice echoes in my head. Trusting us more and more. I wanted so badly to believe him.

And now I'm going to find out.