Chapter Twenty-Eight

Jaxon

The den is quiet when I get in. Faith's scent lingers—sweet, but stale.

Micah greets me at the door, his excitement dropping when he realizes I'm alone. "Oh, hey," he says glumly.

"Hey yourself," I sigh, unlacing my boots.

"Sorry. Welcome home." He offers to take my jacket, but I just shake my head, hanging it up myself. "How're things at HQ?"

"Dull," I grunt. "I hate sitting on my ass all day."

Micah frowns, following me into the kitchen. "Aren't you on case management?"

"Mm." I open up the fridge, grabbing myself a beer. "What's left to manage? All the rogues have been placed. I had a couple guys swing by to do the rounds, make sure everything's in order, but you know what these refuge hosts are like."

"Fiercely protective? Good at their jobs?"

"Exactly." I pop the lid and take a deep, long sip. Instantly, my body feels a little cooler, dousing the angry furnace inside. "They don't need us."

"Still." Micah leans against the counter. "It's important to keep an eye out. Make sure they're getting the help they need."

"I know, I know, it's just …" Just what, Jaxon? I know damn well how important rehab is to these rogues. It's what the RDF is for—keeping vulnerable alphas and omegas off the street, making sure they never fall back into risky situations.

But Faith is one of those vulnerable rogues. And today she's been back out on the streets, literally, risking her newfound livelihood.

Somehow Micah must read the conflict on my face, because he smiles, shifting a little closer.

"I'm sure Faith is okay," he tells me. "Caleb's with her."

I grunt. "And Maverick."

"I hate to state the obvious, Jax, but you did vouch for this. If Faith's going to be involved, it can't just be on your terms."

"I know that. And I'm sure Caleb will do a better job protecting her than I ever could. But it still feels wrong—her, out there, while I'm stuck behind a desk." I shake my head. "I just want to know she's safe."

It's only when I let myself meet Micah's look—those shrewd amber eyes—that I realize I'm full of shit. I don't just want to know she's safe. I want to know I'm the one keeping her safe. Strong as he is, Caleb won't even acknowledge himself as her alpha.

She deserves more than that.

With a couple more swigs, I've polished off my bottle. Micah gets me another, plus one for himself. We drink in silence for several moments.

Quietly, he asks, "Do you think we're being na?ve?"

I cough. "Please. You sound like Caleb."

"I'm serious. We're both so invested in this fantasy of courting Faith—making her an official part of Pack Wilder—but we've never stopped to ask her what she wants."

I grumble, " Fang is what she wants."

"That's another thing. Are we just assuming that, after we've courted her, her other mate will join Wilder?"

I don't like where this conversation is going, but I sense he's been stewing on it all day, so I answer, "I dunno. But that's all the more reason to prove to her we'd make a good pack."

Micah considers this for a moment, making me think I've won him over, before he blurts out, "I want to give her everything. This den. Our pack. Fang. Whatever she wants."

My heart warms at the words. "Amen."

He looks up at me sheepishly. "But that might be the most na?ve part of all."

I drink my beer, pretending to mull it over, wanting more than anything for these questions to end.

Faith is our omega. I'll do whatever it takes to make her see that.

Can't it be that simple?

***

Caleb briefs us on the expedition while Faith showers. She doesn't reek of sewerage quite as much as I expected, which is a nice surprise. Until Caleb explains.

"She froze?" I ask.

"It was a panic attack. Not violent, luckily, but the disassociation wasn't much better." His jaw tightens. "She's not going underground any time soon."

How did I not see this coming? Faith nearly shattered the windows when we first drove her into the garage. Of course she's not ready for the tunnels.

"I need to see her," I say, standing. Caleb grabs my shoulder.

"Let her wind down first. She's a little unsteady."

Micah frowns. "Want me to check in? Gauge how she's doing, medically?"

"She'll see right through you. Besides, we're keeping her strictly surface-level for the time being."

"She still needs to know how to manage her panic," Micah insists. "If it's as bad as you say, she could end up hurting someone. Or herself."

"And then we're back to square one," I mutter.

Caleb hesitates. He doesn't so much as a look at me, all of his attention pinned on Micah. I try to tune in to whatever psychic wavelength they're both on, but obviously it's not for my ears.

The bathroom door rattles, Faith emerging with a towel wrapped around her chest. The mere sight of her causes heat to rise in my pants. I swallow thickly.

She signs something I almost understand, but Micah is quicker.

"We're fine," he answers. "Sorry—dinner will be ready in five."

I don't loose my breath until she closes her bedroom door. Just standing there, I can scent my own arousal, floating out of me in swirling torrents, my inner alpha wanting so desperately for her to notice.

"Jaxon," Caleb says, hoarsely.

I blush.

My packmates disperse. I'm left waiting in the living room, my cock unrelenting hard, wondering if five minutes is enough time to get myself off to that perfect image.

My omega, hair still wet, coming out of the shower.