Chapter Forty-Three

Caleb

"Here we are," Maverick says, putting the car in park. "Den sweet den."

I stare up at my apartment building with a cold mix of exhaustion, dread, and longing. "Thanks for the lift."

"Thanks for the promotion."

I cast him a look. "Keep up the good work, and we'll see."

We've been at it for hours, following up on some information Faith wrote out for my packmates yesterday. I promised I'd look into it, dig up any potential leads, but I'm really starting to hope she's already in bed by the time I walk through that door.

"Tell her it's good news," Maverick says, noting my stony expression. "Every spare NCPD unit is gonna be combing the streets at first light, staking out those manholes. No-one comes up or down without us knowing."

"Assuming their schedule hasn't changed," I mutter, "now they've lost Axe."

"Hey, even sewer rats have to come up sometime. Faith says the guards change over at dawn, so we wait for them at dawn."

Maverick's aggravating optimism is, well … aggravating. But I could stand to keep an open mind. Besides, half the reason I'm so pissed is because Faith went to my packmates with this information instead of me.

Should've listened to her, my inner alpha grumbles. Omega is smart.

"We gonna sit here all night?" Maverick asks. "Or are you gonna invite me up for pack cuddles?"

I roll my eyes, unbuckling my seatbelt. "Get some sleep. Want you out there with the cops tomorrow."

"You got it, boss."

He waves at me through the windshield before reversing out. I stand by the sliding glass doors for several moments after he's gone.

11.39, my phone reads. Late enough that Faith should be fast asleep.

The den is dark when I slip in through the front door. I make my way into the kitchen, finding a note on the fridge in Micah's handwriting—

Caleb,

Dinner in the fridge.

Jax — don't touch!

I smile to myself, sticking the plastic-wrapped plate in the microwave—yanking it out right when the timer hits '00:01'. Hunched over the kitchen counter, I eat quickly, quietly, not even bothering to turn on a light.

A rustling noise from Faith's bedroom makes me start. Her door creaks open, revealing a disheveled, half-clothed Micah.

My chest clenches. I can smell Faith on him from here.

"Caleb," he whispers. "It's late."

I try to go back to eating. "You making a habit of this?" He follows my accusatory look toward Faith's bedroom, his cheeks heating.

"She sleeps better with us there," he says.

"Us?"

"Yes, us. Me and Jaxon."

Well, I guess I shouldn't fault his tone. I did ask him to spell it out for me.

"Thanks for dinner," I say, pointing a fork down at my plate. "It's, uh … been a long day."

He nods, that characteristic softness finding its way back into his expression. A part of me wants to shout at him to stay angry. Angry is good. It's harder to get hurt—easier to keep your guard up.

Is that why you told him he wasn't ready to be courting ? A snide voice goes off in my head. Is that why you accused him of being selfish ?

"I'm sorry if this is a bad time," Micah says, cautiously, "but you promised we could talk."

I did promise that. I've been promising that, hoping that by the time he forced my hand, I'd know what to say.

I sigh. "It can't wait until morning?"

"You'll be gone by morning."

Yes, I almost tell him, by dawn, in fact. He's already seen right through me.

Suddenly Faith's door shifts again. This time it's Jaxon who emerges, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. "Hey, man," he greets me. Then, noting Micah's sober expression, he takes a breath. "Reckon we can move the D and M elsewhere? Faith needs her sleep."

The two of them are trudging into our bedroom before I can think of another excuse. I put my fork down, suddenly lost for appetite.

I close the door behind us and flip on the light. My packmates grimace, adjusting.

"Alright. Here I am." I fold my arms. "Talk."

Micah hugs his sides, like he's only now realizing that he's still topless. He casts a nervous eye to Jaxon, who grabs a couple shirts out of the closet. They both dress—seemingly deciding who's going to speak first.

"I know it's not what you want to hear," Jaxon grits out, "but the two of us—we're pretty damn serious about Faith. And I think, if you're being honest with yourself …" his gaze deepens. "You feel the same way."

Micah smiles, already trying to break the tension. "As Faith's ward, I appreciate the delicate moral situation that puts you in. But I promise—her omega is crying out for a pack, for our pack. She's just waiting on us to say the word." He hesitates. "Waiting on you, too."

I don't speak for several moments, my heart pounding so insistently I'm worried they'll interpret its urgent message: Of course I feel the same way. Of course I want her. Want us to be a pack.

But I guess that's why I'm Pack Wilder's head alpha. Of the three of us, only I have the level-headedness to make these hard calls. The ones even I don't want to make.

My fists tighten.

"Faith is not the omega for us. It's natural that having her here affects you. Us ," I correct, noting Jaxon's glare. "Our pack is primed to take a mate. And here she is, in our den. That was my mistake." I swallow hard. "I should've known better."

"All due respect, Caleb," Micah says tersely, "we're not animals. What I feel for Faith is more than biology."

"Maybe so, but your alpha is vulnerable. I knew that." My guilt spikes. "And I brought her in anyway. Someone for you to take care of, to protect—"

"What about me?" Jaxon demands. "I loved Faith the moment I laid eyes on her. You saw it happen."

"Stop." I hold my hand up. "You're both missing the point."

"Oh, I think you've made your point perfectly clear," Jaxon snarls. "You're saying Micah's a head case, and I'm, what? A pup?"

I see the way Micah shrinks at his words, insecurity tainting his scent. My inner alpha rumbles protectively.

"This isn't about Faith," I say, sternly. "It's about the two of you." I huff. "The three of us."

Micah's voice is hoarse. "Why? Why can't you ever put her first?"

"Because I'm your head alpha!"

All the frustration, the anger, the longing I've kept locked away escapes into my bloodstream and rages through my body. My packmates must sense the change in my pheromones, because they both pull back, eyes widening.

I ask, "Have you two actually thought about what it would mean if she joined our pack? Sure, there's the danger right now—the massive target on her back, not to mention the rogue she's already mated to—I'm sure he'll be perfectly stable—but let's look at this long-term." I throw my arms up. " Years of rehab. The constant possibility she'll go feral—hurt you, hurt herself." My eyes lock onto Micah. "I can't risk that. It would kill you."

Then I turn to Jaxon. "And you. You've wanted an omega since the day I took you in. Someone you can take care of, someone who'd have your pups ." I laugh humorlessly. "Do you really think Faith is that omega? Not just mentally, but physically—if she's even capable of it?"

Jaxon's throat bobs. "The estralide," he chokes out, "it's only tempor—"

"Then tell me—have you been using protection? Did she even ask?"

He stops, the colour draining from his cheeks.

Micah growls. "You're not being fair to her."

"I don't have to be fair. She's not my omega ." Then, before either of them can retaliate, I press on, "You two are my family." Finally, I take a breath, gathering myself. "And I protect my family."

The expressions on my packmates' faces … the acidity in their scents … I can't place it. I've never seen this complex side of them—a side that loves me, no matter how upset they get, but that could just as easily bare its teeth.

And maybe they would, if they had another couple seconds to react.

The bedroom door bursts open. Stark, distressed omega pheromones flood the room.

Faith stands in the doorway, half-dressed, breathing heavily. There's a sickly, feral gleam in her eye.

"Oh, god," Micah murmurs, "Faith. H–how much of that did you—?"

She starts singing before he can finish—sharp, violent motion in her hands I don't understand. Micah stumbles like he's been struck.

"No," he moans. "Hey, angel, please, let's just talk about this."

Faith signs something else. Something harsh and definitive.

"No," Jaxon blurts, "no fucking way."

She's glaring at me now, her lips parted like she wants so desperately to speak—to scream—as she signs more words I don't understand.

"What?" I demand. "I don't know what you're saying, omega."

Shakily, Micah thrusts open one of the bedside drawers. He rummages frantically, pulling out a regular notepad and pen. "Here," he says, handing them to Faith. "Show us, angel. We're listening."

With an enraged hiss, Faith smacks the notepad clean out of his hands.

I grab Micah's shoulder and pull him behind me. All his grand talk about making Faith stable fizzles away the second anyone brings up her—

"Is this because I mentioned Fang?" I ask. "You heard that, didn't you?"

Faith snarls.

"She said she wants to leave," Micah says, his voice breaking. "She doesn't trust us."

"Guess what, omega?" I snap, my protective instincts on high alert. "I don't trust you a whole lot right now, either. You show your teeth in front of my packmates again, and I'll put you down myself."

Jaxon and Micah glare at me with horror. "Are you crazy?" Jaxon shoves past me. "She's not gonna hurt us!"

He's still covered in her , my inner alpha reminds me. No matter how feral Faith gets, all he'll smell is lavender.

I put my hand on Jaxon's chest. He vibrates against me, growling furiously. Before he can say something he'll regret, I speak, firmly, "She asked for space, didn't she?" I check her over my shoulder. "I think Faith knows as well as I do that she's not in full control right now."

"And whose fault is that?" Jaxon snaps. "Goddammit, Caleb—we were finally getting somewhere!"

At this, Faith scowls in question. She signs, making both Micah's and Jaxon's scents thicken with concentration. I don't know how much they can actually read before Micah steps forward.

Signing as he speaks, he tells her, "I … want … you. I love you." His hands fall. "Of course we want you to join our pack."

Her pheromones take a sharp drop. She starts to sign, then huffs, hastily retrieving the notepad off the floor. We all watch her with a laser-like focus as she scrawls—

YOU'RE NO DIFFERENT.

Micah and Jaxon share a frown. "No different from who?" Micah prods.

SPEAKING FOR ME, Faith goes on, LIKE I CAN'T DO IT MYSELF.

"Of course you can," Micah gushes. "I never meant to—"

YOU DON'T OWN ME. NO-ONE DOES.

"Wait." Jaxon shakes his head. "What are you saying? You don't want to be part of our pack?"

The room goes deadly silent. Faith just stares, blankly, those icy eyes answer enough.

It's as if all the frantic energy fueling my packmates suddenly hits a wall. Jaxon clutches Micah's arm like he doesn't trust either of them to stay standing. My inner alpha rumbles at me to go to them, or go to Faith—to do something to make this right.

But, once again, it's up to Faith to make the first move.

LET ME OUT, she writes. NOW.

"You're not ready," I declare. "Especially with that injury."

"Shit," Micah whispers, like he's just realizing something. "Your crutches …"

Faith ignores him. I'M NOT STAYING HERE.

A low, broken growl rips out of Jaxon's throat. I cross my arms.

"Fine," I say, the single word like a knife to the gut. "Get your things."

"Caleb—" Micah groans.

"I'll take her to a safe house," I announce. "Give everyone a chance to clear their heads."

Jaxon is still growling. Micah's face is drained of colour. Faith watches me for another moment, checking my face for insincerity, before limping out the way she came. I don't imagine it'll take her long to pack a bag … assuming she even has a bag.

My packmates' despair so potent, like toxic fumes, that we might as well be choking in it.

"Where are you taking her?" Jaxon gets out.

I clench my jaw. "Better if you don't know."

"The hell it is—"

"Jax." Micah squeezes his arm. "Don't." He swallows thickly. "Faith wanted this."

I expect Jaxon to bite back, but he must feel how heavily Micah is leaning on him … and I guess he can't bear to see his packmate hurt any worse than he already is.

Neither can I.

Which is why I grab the plastic bag out of Faith's hands and make sure she has her crutches before leading her to the front door.

Not daring to look back at my packmates' broken-hearted faces behind us.