Chapter Thirty-Four

Micah

Fractured ankle. Ruptured ear drum. Fists grazed half down to the bone.

Faith's taking it like a trooper, of course. The way she shifts in her wheelchair, like she's ready to leap out of it at any moment, you'd hardly even know she's hurt.

She finally gives up on pushing herself down the hospital corridor, letting Caleb take over, so she can pick up her notepad.

TAKE ME TO AXE, she writes.

I shoot Caleb a wary look. Jaxon grits his teeth. I only caught a glimpse of the guy before Faith was discharged, but that was more than enough to note the damage she wreaked.

Correction, I chide myself, wryly, the damage Maverick wreaked.

"Not now," Caleb answers, "he's still in recovery."

"So are you," Jaxon reminds her.

Faith's expression sours. WILL YOU KEEP HIM AT HQ?

"He'll be detained," I assure her. "Thanks to your ID, we're able to send him straight to a remand facility."

Even as the words come out, I have to avoid her gaze. I'm sure Faith knows as well as I do that a positive ID won't be enough to get him sentenced. The only actual crime they caught this guy committing was wandering through the sewers. We can't prove where he came from, or where he was going, or who he's affiliated with. Not without more evidence.

"Sirena's working on the intel," Jaxon adds as we approach the elevator. "Obviously he's a rogue, like you said, but that only makes him harder to pin down."

Faith huffs. FINE. TAKE ME TO THE TUNNELS.

Jaxon presses the button to go downstairs. "Not happening, 'mega."

Infuriated, she starts to scribble her response when Caleb intervenes—"Maverick's already swept the area a dozen times, including the alcoves. It's clean."

THEN WHY WAS AXE THERE??

She makes a fair point. But then the elevator arrives, and Caleb wheels her in, and he says, "You've done your part. Let us handle things from here."

Faith's lip curls. MY PART IS TO SAVE FANG.

Gently, I put my hand on her shoulder, scenting her distress. She's done such a great job at staying in control—if she's finally going to break, better it be at the den. Where we can scent her, care for her, the way she deserves.

Faith's body flattens against the wheelchair. I know she wants to say something—there's that lingering edge to her scent—but when we get to the ground floor, Caleb stalks off, leaving the three of us by the main doors.

"Don't worry," Jaxon assures her, "he's just getting the car."

The pen trembles in Faith's hand. HE WON'T EVEN LOOK AT ME.

My heart twists. Jaxon grips the edge of the wheelchair.

"He doesn't want you to get hurt," I explain, gently. "Not again."

"Or worse," Jaxon says.

A dark expression crosses Faith's features. I'M NOT THE ONE STUCK IN RECOVERY.

"No-one's denying you're strong," I murmur. "Or that you're not helpful—"

"But you are hurt," Jaxon says. "And you're not fighting anyone, or helping anyone, until we get you better."

Faith's cheeks turn pink. At first I assume it's that rage, springing up to pay us another visit, but then I see the way she averts her gaze, her lips parting ever-so-slightly.

My inner alpha preens incessantly.

Smell that? he purrs. Omega smells sweet. She likes you. Wants you.

I swallow him back, trying to suppress a blush of my own.

***

I fall asleep quickly that night—quicker than I have in days—knowing Faith is asleep in the next room.

But it doesn't last long.

I spring up between my packmates, chest heaving, not even sure what dream I'm escaping. I've always been fortunate that way—for all my nightmares, I've never been able to remember them.

The only part I remember is screaming.

I clasp a hand over my mouth, just in case. Thankfully neither Caleb or Jaxon have stirred.

The room is dark, but I know the drill by now—shimmying to the very end of the bed until my feet find the floor. Tip-toeing into the living room, closing the door gently behind me.

I'm surprised to find the TV has been left on in the living room. And then I see her.

"Faith?" I whisper.

She's sitting with her legs tucked against her chest, watching the flashing screen. Her gaze flicks up.

If not for those eyes—weary, but sharp—I might have forgotten how formidable she truly is. She looks so soft, so small, wearing nothing but Caleb's shirt.

I swallow.

"Couldn't sleep?" I ask.

She turns back to the TV. It's playing some infomercial—primped-up actors showing off their vacuum extensions. She has it on mute, which makes sense, but even so, it can't be very entertaining.

I sit beside her. "Want me to show you how to turn on the subtitles?"

Her hand moves sluggishly. No. Then, after a moment, she adds, Thank you.

We watch the screen together. I wonder if she's trying to bore herself to sleep, so I do the same. But it's no use. Her shoulders don't release their tension, and my breathing remains uneven.

I'm about to suggest we change channels when Faith moves. She makes sure my eyes are on her before signing, slowly, You … okay?

I smile. "Yeah, angel. I'm okay."

You … rest.

"I will," I tell her. "As soon as I'm relaxed."

She signs something else—touching her chin, then her temple, with a short gesture between. It's not a word she's taught me before, or one I've taught myself.

"Where's your notepad?" I ask. "I'll get it for you."

She sighs, shaking her head like the very idea of that is exhausting. It must be a lot of work trying to communicate with all of us—almost always on our terms. Instead, I scan the coffee table. Faith points, indicating a regular ballpoint pen. I hand it to her.

"Do you have some pap—?" I start to ask before she uncaps the pen and crawls directly toward me.

I blush as she grabs my wrist. My inner alpha gets excited, wondering if she's about to let me scent her again, when instead she presses the pen to my skin.

"Oh." I blink, then flinch—she sure is digging it in hard. "Hello."

She keeps writing, finally pulling back to reveal a single word written across my pulse:

NIGHTMARE?

I soften. So that's what that sign meant. I'll have to commit to memory.

"Just a little one," I answer, quietly. "Nothing to worry about."

She bristles like I've called her out. I suppress a smile. Of course. Our brave, lethal omega doesn't worry about anything. If there's a problem, she simply acts, or she walks away.

I look around, realizing I haven't seen her crutches. "Hey," I chastise, "don't tell me you came all the way out here on that ankle?"

She chuffs.

"It's fractured, angel. Can't have you putting any weight on it."

She grabs my wrist, writing a little higher up, DOESN'T HURT. Then, before I can argue, she underlines the first word— NIGHTMARE —and glares at me demandingly.

Heat springs to my cheeks. "Really, it's no big deal. They're not as bad as they used to be."

Those eyes are unconvinced, flashing defiantly against the TV.

TELL ME, she writes.

I take a breath, once again not sure how much I want to say. How much she wants to hear. Just by being here, she's given me so much—reminded me who I am, who I want to be, and everything I want to leave behind. Put me back in touch with my alpha. Made me feel … like I want to be someone again.

Like I want to be hers.

She deserves my honesty. But at the same time, she deserves someone who can be strong—who won't fall apart after every bad dream.

I don't realize my eyes are stinging until Faith puts her hand on my cheek. Her eyes scan mine, like she's picking through my tears before they've even fallen.

My inner alpha lurches forward, making me press my forehead to hers. "I don't know what I dreamed," I say at last, so quiet I'm not even sure she can hear it. "I never do."

I can feel, rather than see, the tightness in Faith's brow.

"But—" my voice catches, "I know I was scared. Am scared, all the time."

To this, her eyes open. I read the question there: Scared of what ?

My head falls forward, wanting to pepper her in my scent. I know I must smell bitter, and pathetic—exactly how an alpha shouldn't smell—but she tilts her neck ever-so-slightly. Inviting me.

I nuzzle her pulse, calming myself just enough to finally answer, "I guess, right now, I'm scared of what I have to lose."

Faith finds her pen, writing on my bicep, YOUR PACKMATES ?

"Not exactly. Jaxon and Caleb—we're solid. Even if we don't always see eye-to-eye, I trust them. Implicitly."

THE RDF?

"Mm." I smile grimly. "I lost that a long time ago. Not exactly a good look when their head psychiatrist has a mental breakdown. Caleb keeps saying he'll bring me back in when I'm ready, but I'm sure he's getting heat from the higher- ups. It's only a matter of time before they find a permanent replacement."

Faith scowls. THAT'S BULLSHIT.

I suppress a laugh. "Oh yeah?"

She keeps writing, the pen digging deeper and deeper into my arm. YOU'RE SMART. KIND. YOU GET PEOPLE. She scoffs. THEY'D BE FUCKED WITHOUT YOU.

It feels surreal reading those words—words marked into my own skin. I haven't been able to look myself in a mirror and see any of these things for a long time.

But the next time I do, Faith's writing will be there. Reminding me.

"It's you," I say at last, the tremor gone from my voice.

She looks up, tilting her head in question.

Gently, I tuck her hair back, needing to see her face. A rush of lavender washes over me.

"If anything happened to you," I growl, "if I lost you …" I shudder. "Well, I guess that's what I'm scared of."

Faith's gaze hardens—a well-honed suspicion taking hold. But I'm not deterred. This is just who my omega is. Guarded, and stronger for it. If she needs time to figure me out, she can have it. All the time she needs.

She trails her hand down my arm, then down my chest, her fingers finding purchase in my shirt.

I still don't move as she props herself in my lap.

Nor as she dips her face to mine, studying my every blink.

Only when our lips finally touch do I shift, closing my arms around her, pulling her into me. I should be embarrassed by the pointed hardness in my pants, but I'm not. She feels it as well as I do. And she's not pulling away.

Faith kisses me, her body speaking to me in that silent, carnal voice I was born to hear.

You don't have to be scared anymore.