Chapter Forty-Nine

Caleb

Six years on the RDF. Five years in Pack Wilder.

And Jaxon has never fucked up quite like this.

I want to pin the blame on Faith—if he weren't so fixated on courting her, or, like Micah, telling her he loves her, this wouldn't be happening. We'd have uprooted the ring by now. We'd be driving back to Wilder Den, happy.

Instead, he's disobeying my direct orders.

But I meant what I said last night—this isn't about Faith. It's about my packmates. What they need … and what, or who , they don't.

"You're lucky I don't suspend you," I tell Jaxon after dragging him into my office. "If the defense minister gets wind of your insubordination—"

"Suspend me, then." His eyes flash. "Don't want to be accused of favoritism."

"I'm not talking to you as my packmate right now," I growl, "you know that. You're my second , Jaxon. When I tell you to do something, or be somewhere—that's where you should fucking be."

Jaxon stares at a spot above my head. "Understood." His lip twists. "Captain."

I sit back in my chair. "Alright. Good. Now, as your head alpha, I think there's another conversation we need to be having." My eyes harden , willing him to look at me. "I know you're angry. I know you're upset. If there's something else you want to say to me—"

"Where is she?"

His voice is dark. Quiet. Too quiet, for Jaxon.

I sigh. "Somewhere safe."

"Safe where ?"

"Jaxon. We're not doing this."

"You asked if there's anything I want to say to you," he growls. "Well, I don't. The only person I've got shit to say to right now is Faith—and you took her away. If I find out she's in some random refuge, or prison, then yeah, maybe then I'll have something to say to you."

I rub my temples. "She's not in prison."

"How can I know that? All you said was ‘safe house'."

"You were there," I remind him, "when she asked to be taken away."

"You didn't exactly give her much choice." He bristles. "Or try to convince her to stay."

We're going in circles. It was bad enough coming home last night to my packmates' hysterics … so I guess there's only one clear way out of this.

"Maverick," I grit out.

Jaxon scowls. "What about him?"

"He's not in today. Didn't report for the mission."

Jaxon pauses, not picking up what I'm putting down. "So what? You got him on something else?"

"Yeah." I stare meaningfully. "I do."

It takes another moment before he straightens, his pheromones turning acidic. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Jax," I growl.

He's already moving, turning for the door. "I'm clocking out."

I stand. "Get back here. Now. "

He must realize I'm not talking to him as head alpha anymore, but as his captain, because he begrudgingly looks at me over his shoulder.

"That's your safe house ?" he rumbles. "Feeding our omega to the horny wolves?"

"Maverick is good at his job. He'll protect her. And Jaxon …" I take a breath. "She's not ours. I don't know how many times I have to say it."

"Then maybe you should stop saying it, and actually be honest about what you want. This martyr bullshit is getting old."

Without being dismissed, he shows himself out, the door slamming behind him. I could chase after him, but the thought alone gives me a migraine.

I sink into my chair, my inner alpha roaring incoherently. He wants me to put Jaxon in his place. At the same time, he wants me to beg both my packmates' forgiveness … and convince Faith to come back to us.

Assuming she'd ever have us.

***

Jaxon is gone before I leave headquarters. A part of me hopes I'll find him at the den, but the stronger, pragmatic part of me knows I won't.

"I'm home," I call, dropping my keys in the bowl.

Silence greets me.

Poking around the empty kitchen and living room, I call out, "Micah?"

No-one answers. Dread creeps in, cold and solid as ice.

I open the door to our bedroom. The bed is still unmade—practically unheard of, even before Micah took his leave of absence. My heart thunders as I check the bathroom and then, still not finding him, dare to stick my head into the guest room.

Faith's room.

I heave a sigh of relief, finding him there, curled up in her sheets.

He stirs, his bleary eyes taking me in. I can tell at once he's been crying. Maybe for hours. Probably all day. My every blood cell cringes at the sight, wanting nothing more than to take his pain away.

Slowly, I approach, sitting on the edge of the bed. My inner alpha whines when he recognizes Faith's lavender scent—overpowered by Micah's despair.

"Hey," I murmur, "you eaten?"

Stupid question. Of course he hasn't eaten.

"What time is it?" he croaks. "I was going to cook." He rolls over, checking his phone. "Shoot. I'm sorry—I'll do it now."

I put a hand on his shoulder. "It's alright. No cooking today. Just … rest."

I can barely stand to see him like this. Broken. Small. Nothing like the alpha he's become in the last few weeks—finally starting to trust himself again, to feel connected to something. After everything that happened with the feral omega patient who took her own life, I swore I'd never let him get hurt again. I'd protect him—take his pain, however I could.

Isn't that what I'm doing now? Or … trying to do?

I realize I've stopped moderating my own pheromones when Micah sniffles, curling in on himself.

Fuck.

Cautiously, I start to rub his back, making slow, broad circles between his shoulder blades.

"I'm sorry," I whisper. Two words I promised myself I wouldn't say, yet they come so naturally as my packmate trembles before me.

"Caleb." Micah looks up. "I–I love you, and I respect you." He takes a breath. "But I don't think I can do this right now."

The words go straight to my heart, making it swell and shatter. I retract my hand.

As I get up to leave, fear takes over. "Just tell me it's not like before. You don't want to … hurt yourself. Promise me that."

Micah smiles weakly. "Do you think, if I did, she'd come back?"

"Micah—"

"I know." He pulls the blanket up. "I promise."

I want to believe him. Just like I want to believe Jaxon is going to forgive me, and come back to the den in his own good time. Or that I'll ever forgive myself for hurting my family so severely. For letting Faith go.

But as I walk out into the living room, shutting the door behind me, I start to feel it creeping in. Eating away at me.

Doubt.