Chapter Nine

Faith

"How many fingers am I holding up?"

I huff, mirroring the three fingers Fang is waving in front of my face. He relaxes.

"Good girl. You feelin' sick?"

I get why he's concerned—head trauma is no joke—but I know my body. That last fight left nothing but cuts and bruises.

Fang growls. He tears off his tank-top and presses the fabric to my bleeding eyebrow. "I'm gonna end that bitch."

I sigh. She didn't have a choice, Fang.

"She was trying to kill you."

Entirely possible. But still —Who could blame her?

Fang's glare is hard. "Is this a joke to you?"

Of course not, I sign . It wasn't a joke to her, either. She wanted to win.

"Yeah." He scoffs. "Look how that turned out for her."

Just thinking about it—not what she did to me, but what I did to her—makes me sick. I know I could make the same excuses for myself, say I didn't have a choice, but it doesn't take away from that feeling.

"Hey." Fang's voice quiets, the way it does when he doesn't want our fellow rogues to overhear. "She's gonna be fine. Stronger, probably, for what you showed her in the ring."

What I did to her, you mean.

"What you had to do."

He says the same thing nearly every time I win a fight. And, nearly every time, it makes me feel just a little bit better.

"You're a survivor, Faith," Fang murmurs, tucking my hair behind my ears. "There's no shame in that."

Even with my busted lip, I want him to kiss me. Want it more than anything.

He leans in, his breath cool and steady, and—

***

I startle awake.

There are voices behind the door—possibly in the kitchen.

" Shit ," Jaxon hisses.

Ceramic clatters. I listen closely, picking out three moving bodies. The whole pack must still be up.

I stand, my eyes quickly adjusting to the darkness. Apart from the queen-sized bed and dresser, there's not much to my room—though I was taken aback by just how many blankets and pillows Micah left me with.

" She's asleep," Caleb's voice trickles through. " It's alright ."

" You checked ?" Jaxon asks dubiously.

There's no answer. Someone sighs.

" Fuck, it's been a day ."

I can scent Jaxon through the door, those chocolatey pheromones turning sour. He's not holding back anymore, his inner alpha shining all the way through.

" You must be exhausted, " from Micah. " Both of you ."

Caleb chuffs, and Jaxon groans.

" I really hoped we could just spend the night getting drunk and celebrating ," he says, " but with those bastards still out there—not to mention all the rogues they took …"

My breath hitches. So they know about the other rogues ? I press my ear to the wood, listening closer.

" You saved a lot of alphas and omegas today, " Micah tells him. " That's something to be proud of ."

" Yes ," Caleb concedes, " i t is. But Jaxon's right—no-one's celebrating until this is done ."

There's a somber beat of silence. I hear running water, followed by tinkering cutlery, before Micah says, " Did Maverick have any luck with his informant ?"

Jaxon scoffs. " If he did, I wouldn't be here."

A low growl emanates from Caleb. " Yes," he says, knowingly, "you would."

Something shifts in the air. It's not just Jaxon's scent rolling under my door, but Caleb's too—earth and spice, like he's carved out of sandalwood. Just when I think my inner omega is going to melt, I catch a third scent. This one is tart. Almost lemony.

My body feels heavy. I lean against the door, fighting the urge to get closer.

" I don't know what you're talking about ," Jaxon says suddenly.

" It's okay, " Micah says, somewhat strained. " I … feel it too ."

Caleb takes a deep breath. " It's only natural your alphas are a little excited. As long as you remember ," his tone darkens, " that this is a strictly temporary arrangement. "

"Our alphas? " Jaxon laughs. " Come on, man ."

" I'll admit, it's a … unique situation. But let's not lose sight of what we're doing here ."

What are they doing here? And if they're all so uptight about my being at the den, they could've just shipped me off to be someone else's problem. I didn't ask for their charity.

" Fuck ," Jaxon blurts out. " I just realized something ."

His packmates are quiet, waiting.

" Faith ." My heart skips a beat. " She might be able to help us out. Maybe she could —"

" Absolutely not. " Caleb's voice is hard.

" She was with the ringleaders every goddamn day. She probably heard stuff. Saw stuff ."

Maybe I did. Maybe I didn't. Depends on what they're trying to do with that information—another botched rescue that sends the ringleaders even deeper underground? No fucking thank you.

" I think Caleb is right, " Micah says tentatively. " Faith is vulnerable right now. Just talking to her about her time in the arena could be dangerous ."

Defiance boils up inside of me. Vulnerable my ass .

I storm across the room, opening up the A3 notepad Micah left on the dresser.

This is probably a bad idea. The RDF have fucked things up before. There's every chance they'll fuck things up again. But judging on the way these alphas are talking, we have the same goal. Find the ringleaders. Save the rogues.

Except, I actually know what the hell I'm doing.

I burst out of the bedroom door, notepad in hand. Caleb, Jaxon, and Micah all spring up at the sight of me.

"Faith," Caleb says, cautiously. "Did we wake you?"

Gritting my teeth, I show them the notepad.

Micah's eyes widen. Jaxon's lips part. Caleb stiffens. They're quiet for so long, I almost worry they don't understand what I've written.

I'LL HELP YOU, the page reads.

IF YOU HELP ME SAVE FANG.