Chapter 11

11

W ynter's mind began to shut down again as he was rushed toward several waiting cars. There was a third beta outside, pulling a huge black bag from the back of a big, black vehicle. He dropped it on the ground just outside the path they were walking. The unzippered edge of the bag fell back and long, silver-white hair fell out from the hole. Wynter froze, transfixed by the hair so like his own. He bent down and pulled the bag open a bit more—and came face to face with a corpse.

An omega who looked like him.

He stumbled back, falling on his bottom again.

"You're so pathetic," his papa admonished, shaking his head. "I tried to make you strong, but you fought me the entire way."

"I'd rather be pathetic than like you," Wynter muttered.

His papa glared at him. "If I hadn't birthed you myself, I'd say you weren't mine."

Wynter eyed his papa—there was no denying they were related. They looked near identical. As identical as the dead omega in the bag. Fortunately, the outside was where the resemblance ended.

Didn't it?

"Come. Let's get in the car."

Wynter stared at the dead copycat. "Did you have him killed for this purpose?"

"Yes. I did."

Wynter eyed his papa. How he could still have room to be stunned, he wasn't sure.

If he'd killed some stranger, he'd kill Cavanaugh without another thought.

His papa scowled at him. "Let's go. Before that alpha awakens."

"Who is this?"

His papa sighed. "He was dying. He had months, perhaps only weeks, to live. He wanted his family to be taken care of and didn't want to suffer in agony before he died. What I offered him was a mercy."

Wynter eyed his papa, again assured the man was teetering on the edge of madness. "You've had a couple of days to plan this. How in the hell did you find him—and convince him of that in such short time?"

"He's a distant cousin," his papa replied. "It was fortunate to learn of his cancer days before I heard about the train attack." His papa eyed the corpse. "That omega understood self-sacrifice. You could learn a thing or two from him. His alpha and children won't wish for anything." His papa chuckled. "And if all goes well, your Cavanaugh will assume it's you and move on with his life. It will be safer for him if he does."

"You promised you wouldn't harm him."

"If he finds you and refuses to back down… I might not have a choice, Wynter."

Wynter eyed his papa. "You promised."

"Do as you're told, and I'll do everything in my power to keep him breathing. If he finds you, renounce him and send him on his way—or else I'll be forced to take matters into my own hands."

Wynter knew he couldn't trust his papa, but what choice did he have? For all he knew that warning shot had been more, and Cavanaugh lay bleeding out in the snow. That thought brought a fresh wave of tears.

"Get up, wipe your face, and get your ass in the car. Now!"

Wynter rose on wobbly legs, shaking from the cold. He stumbled through the snow to the waiting limo and slipped inside the door his papa opened for him. It was warm inside, but he barely noticed. The cold wouldn't abate, no matter how warm the temperature rose. The car slipped away from the cabin. Farther down the mountain, he turned and noticed a massive, dark plume rising above.

"There should be little for him to find in the wreckage."

"This is insanity," Wynter whispered, more to himself than his papa.

"Be that as it may, you won't have to worry about Wilder Cavanaugh again." His papa pulled a bag out from his own tote that had been resting inside the limo and handed it over to Wynter.

Wynter eyed it. Inside was a bottle of pills and a small spray bottle. "What's this?"

"The spray you need to use daily for the next three months. It will mask the scent of that alpha on you, so Warden doesn't realize you've cuckolded him. The other is medication that will fake a heat. In case you're pregnant with the writer's baby."

"I don't understand."

"Damn it, Wynter. You've had heat cycles and a pregnancy. You know how this works now."

Wynter eyed him, clueless. "I know little more than I did at that first heat."

His papa sighed dramatically. "If you return home and don't have a heat next cycle, your alpha will know you were another alpha's whore. He'll know you carry another's baby. We can't have that. You'll take one of those pills two days before your next heat is scheduled to arrive, and then another every single day for the remainder of what should be your heat. It will cause a false heat and trigger Warden's rut. After, you can tell Warden the baby is his, if you're pregnant."

He eyed the pills. "You can fake a heat?"

"If you have enough money and know who to ask, you can."

Wynter ran a hand over his flat stomach. "Will the pills hurt the baby?"

"I wish it would."

Wynter frowned, placing a protective hand on his stomach—as if he was pregnant.

"It's safe for the child. If there is one."

"You're sure?"

"If it could cause harm, I'd shove one down your throat this very minute," his papa snapped.

Wynter stared down at his stomach, hoping he was pregnant. He'd have a little piece of Wilder Cavanaugh all to himself.

A reminder of what could've been.

"Stop your sobbing. You've made this mess, now you have to clean it up."

Wynter hadn't even realized he wept again. He wiped the fresh tears from his face and stared out the window so he didn't have to look at his papa.

"Warden is aware that you were in the attack. We've told him you were found in a nearby abandoned house and taken to the spa. Other than a little bump in the road, he believes everything went according to plan. He'll be awaiting your return."

They pulled up to the back door of the Blacksburg Plaza Hotel. A beta awaited him with a cart full of luggage. It appeared to be some of his suitcases. "You found my bags?"

"The train was looted. Your belongings were replaced as best as I could. I doubt Warden will notice any difference. Alphas don't pay attention to things like that."

Wynter's stomach roiled. He turned his head and vomited again on the floor of the limo, most of it dry heaves, given the fact he'd eaten little the previous days.

"You need to toughen up, Wynter. You're too soft. Always have been."

Wynter took the handkerchief his papa handed over, a thin piece of linen with the family crest upon it. He wiped the remnants of bile from his lips and handed it back.

"Keep it. I don't need your filth." His papa pointed at the door. "The beta will be your chaperone home and ensure you arrive. I've secured a room upstairs. Go. Take a long, hot shower. Rinse the alpha's scent off you as best you can. Clean and braid your hair. Put on one of the outfits from your new luggage, eat, and rest. This evening, there's a helicopter reserved to take you home."

"The train would be cheaper," Wynter said. Not that he cared other than it would also take longer to return. He needed more time to grieve his losses before he had to face Warden again.

"The trains aren't running and from the sounds of it, they might never again. It's too dangerous," his papa said. "This is your only way home."

Home? Home was wherever Cavanaugh was. Not where Warden loomed.

"Don't forget to use the spray before you board and the pills next cycle."

Wynter sat silently, waiting for the second he could leave.

"Now, get out and prepare to go back to Warden and your son. Where you belong."

Wynter's hand shook as he reached out to grasp the door handle. "I wish you'd used my body in that fire. Dying would be better than this."

"Kill yourself and our agreement is off. I'll send your lover to meet you in Hell."

Wynter cringed, no more tears left to fall. His eyes burned from all he'd already shed. He opened the door and placed one bare foot out onto the sidewalk.

"Just so you're aware, I will have men watching. If my spies notify me of one step out of line, Cavanaugh dies. For once, you'll live up to expectation and be the perfect omega, lifting your alpha higher in society as intended. You'll make me and your father proud. You will make Warden proud. No scandals. No missteps. You will be perfect. You will raise your children to be perfect little angels. You will play the doting omega or the alpha dies. Do you understand me?"

Wynter nodded, staring down at the puddle of bile beside his feet. "Can I go now?"

"I do this for you, your family— our family. Think what you might of me, but I'm doing what's right for us all. One of these days, you'll understand and thank me."

"Don't hold your breath," Wynter muttered.

"Now, smile for me."

Wynter lifted his gaze, scowling.

"Smile for me."

Wynter offered an anemic smile.

"You'd best use the hours between here and home to work on that. If I hear one mention of moping or tears in my reports, I won't be pleased."

Wynter put a little oomph into his next fake smile, shaking like a leaf as he did it. His lips trembled, more tears threatening. He turned away from his papa, his stomach rioting again—only there was nothing left to vomit.

"Better, but it still needs work."

Wynter climbed out of the limo, happy to be away from the malevolence inside the car.

The window lowered. "Oh, and Wynter?"

Wynter turned to eye his papa.

"Once you fly out, you're no longer welcome in this province. This is not your home, nor will it ever be again. You're not to contact me, your father, or your brothers ever again. Your family here no longer exists. Do you understand me?"

"Don't worry." Wynter missed his brothers, but seeing them meant seeing his papa. After the things said, he never wanted to lay eyes on the man again. His papa had turned the meaning of family into something vile and twisted. "I won't ever come back here."

"Good," his papa said, smiling. The window rose without another word.

Wynter forced one foot in front of the other when his legs wanted to do nothing more than buckle under him. The beta who greeted him was somewhat wide-eyed, likely over his disheveled appearance, but said nothing about it.

"I have your room key and bags. You can follow me up." The beta rolled the cart with suitcases in.

Wynter passed dozens of people on his way inside—mostly servants and kitchen staff and felt the weight of their stares, but he didn't care.

He was too numb to care.

They traveled up a freight elevator and somehow managed to get to his room without passing any of the other guests. He wondered if his papa had made that minor miracle happen. They entered a suite. Wynter froze near the entry, his body ready to shut down. He wasn't sure he could endure one more step.

The beta rolled the cart into the bedroom section before reappearing. "Your papa said you were to shower and change into fresh clothing in the luggage he provided. I'm to ensure you eat a little and get some rest before escorting you to the airfield later this evening." The beta scratched his head, smiling. "I couldn't get one sooner. With the train out of commission, I was lucky to book the flight I did manage to get us. It's not with one of the elite companies, but it'll get you home."

Wynter stared at him, in no way capable of small talk. He turned toward the bedroom and the relative safety behind a closed door.

"What would you like me to order you to eat?"

"I'm not hungry," he said as he marched forward. Where he found the strength, he didn't know. He entered the bedroom, closing and locking the door behind him. Finally alone, he allowed himself to fall apart. Collapsing against the back of the door, he sobbed—but there were no more tears left. Wynter had no idea how long he sat there on the fine carpet of the upscale hotel room, barely dressed, his feet filthy, and hair a tangled mess.

A knock sounded at the door. "I don't hear the water. Your papa said you must shower before we leave."

Wynter opened his mouth, ready to tell the beta to stick it where the sun didn't shine—but he remembered the threat his papa had made. One step out of place. "Going now," he forced from his lips. First, he crawled across the room, not trusting his legs to carry him upright. When he reached the window, he dragged himself up and peeked outside. Off in the distance, he saw the heavy, black smoke in the distance.

His eyes burned more. He dropped to his knees, sobbing.

Cavanaugh… please forgive me.

He mourned the man he already loved with every fiber of his being. He mourned the life he could've had.

Another knock sounded at the door.

"Go away!" he screamed.

"You need to shower. I was told to make you, if I had to. And eat."

Wynter hadn't eaten more than a few bites of a protein bar in days, but he had no appetite. He feared he'd vomit anything that went in. Glancing at his stomach, he realized a new life might be forming there. If he couldn't find the strength to take care of himself, he needed to find it for Cavanaugh's son. Forcing himself to his feet, he took a shower until the water turned lukewarm, washing his alpha's scent from his body. He haphazardly dried and braided his hair. It wasn't perfect, but under the circumstances, it was the best he could do.

Wynter opened one suitcase and picked the first outfit that he found, barely paying attention to the fit or if it even matched, but he was dressed and clean. It was better than his appearance when he'd walked into the hotel. Once he was clothed, he opened the door a crack.

"Is there food?"

"I haven't ordered it yet," the beta said, lowering the book in his hand.

"Is it possible to have a light meal ordered before we go?"

"Of course, Mr. Jaymes. We still have a few hours yet. I'll call something in."

"Thank you," he whispered before retreating back into the bedroom, locking the door, and lying across the bed.

He must've drifted off. Another knock awoke him. When Wynter opened the door, the man rolled a silver cart in with water, a sandwich, and a bowl of broth.

"Thank you."

"Of course, Mr. Jaymes."

Wynter sat down on the corner of the bed to eat what little his stomach would allow. The broth was okay, but he only managed a single bite of the sandwich. He drained one glass of water and sipped another before returning to bed. He wasn't sure how much time had passed before another knock awoke him. His belongings were collected, and he was driven to the airfield.

Remembering the spray, he dragged it out of his tote and spritzed himself, hoping the scent didn't cause his stomach to revolt and violently lose the little food he'd managed to force down. Once at the airfield, he boarded the helicopter with his beta babysitter as the sun set. He closed his eyes and feigned sleep so he'd not have to speak to any of them.

Nearly two hours later, they landed. A dark figure stood at near the landing zone. Likely their driver, awaiting his return.

"I'll have your bags taken to the car," the beta said before Wynter exited.

The slowing propellers cast his braided hair and wisps about. He focused on placing one foot in front of the other to get from under the currents of air. As he neared the waiting figure, he realized it was Warden. He'd have preferred the driver.

"I'm so glad you're safe." Warden drew Wynter into a firm hug, surprising him. He heard the man scenting him and hoped the spray did as his papa claimed. A part of him didn't care if Warden knew. End the ruse then and there.

Wynter frowned, thrown by the sincerity in Warden's voice. "You're glad?"

Warden pulled away, what looked like real sorrow in his eyes. "Of course I'm glad, Wynter. Do you really think I'm that cruel?"

Yes. Yes, I do.

"How are you?" Warden asked as the helicopter's blades stilled. His body language and tone indicated sincerity. It was almost as frightening as his papa's malevolence.

"There's no one to hear your performance. You don't have to pretend on my account."

"It's one thing to be angry at one another. It's something else to think I lost you."

Wynter stared at the alpha, unimpressed. The beta walked past with his bags, giving an odd look.

One of papa's spies. He'd need to give a performance himself.

"I'm a bit shaken," Wynter replied. It wasn't a lie, though the shaking was more than a little. He'd glimpsed the future he should've had and had it yanked away. His heart was breaking. "I'll survive."

Would he?

"You look like you've been crying," Warden said, cradling the side of Wynter's cheek.

Wynter wanted to pull away but forced himself to remain still. "Allergies. Exhaustion. It's been a very trying few days, and I've slept little. Altogether, it's left me overwhelmed, to say the least."

"Of course." Warden searched his face again. "I can't believe you went through all you did and survived. Living through the train attack untouched was a miracle in itself. Getting away from the Wildlings and running through the woods, in the snow on top of that? Good thing you found that abandoned cabin, hmm?"

Wynter blinked a few times, forcing his expression to remain numb. "Fortune smiled on me," he said through clenched teeth.

"And then you had to deal with a heat—all alone—on the heels of all that. Although, it is good your papa was able to deliver you to the spa before it was completely over." Warden sighed. "I'm sorry I sent you away. I feel like this is all my fault."

It is all your fault. If you hadn't been there that night five years ago, I'd be free to love my alpha right now. Wynter closed his eyes. Yet had Warden not sent him away, he'd have never had one week in the arms of his alpha.

He'd returned to hell. Left to live his life with the wrong alpha.

"How was it? Did the spa help as they professed they would?"

Wynter toyed with the bottle of pills in his pocket. He hated the idea of using them, but he had little other choice. Hopefully, Warden wouldn't try to send him away again the following cycle. One more lie, added to the pile he'd been forced to tell. "It was fine."

Warden smiled wanly. "This trip—I unknowingly sent you into harm's way, but if there's a silver lining to it all?" He smiled, sliding his hands gently up and down Wynter's arms. "Fearing you'd been kidnapped, or worse? The panic of not knowing if you'd made it out alive?" He caressed the side of Wynter's cheek. "It made me realize how poorly I've treated you. None of this was your fault, yet I've blamed you from the start. We need to be kinder to one another, Wynter."

"I can't believe thinking me dead caused this massive shift in your opinion of me. It sure as hell didn't change it the last time I almost died."

Warden's mask slipped—just a little—and Wynter saw a hint of the usual disgust, but then it was gone so fast he wasn't sure if he'd imagined it. Warden was up to something; he was sure of it. What it was, he didn't know.

"I'd been angry when you'd come to me with your olive branch. The time apart was good. It made me realize you were right. We do need to find a middle ground, if only for Jamie's sake. He needs his papa. I need an omega I can rely on. You need a life that doesn't destroy your spirit. I think we can all find the things we need to exist together."

Did his papa have something over Warden, too? He couldn't explain the alpha's sudden change. Wynter wanted to scream. Rage. Force the man to show the face under the mask and admit it was all lies.

"That's nice to hear," he fibbed, forcing one of his practiced smiles onto his lips, in fear he was being watched.

Warden cupped the side of Wynter's face. Wynter stiffened.

"I know neither one of us was what the other wanted. Neither of us are at fault for what happened," Warden said. "It just is. Like you said, we can either spend the rest of our lives hating one another or try a different way. If not love, we can learn to be friends, can't we?"

Wynter wanted to tell the man to go fuck himself. "Friends would be… nice."

Warden pressed a brief, passionless kiss to his lips before leaning back. "Jamie can't wait to see his papa. Let's get you home."

During the limo ride home, Warden prattled on. Wynter barely heard a word of it, the shock of his day too soul consuming. The additional jolt of Warden's personality transformation was too unbelievable. He stared out of the window as the province rolled by, wondering how he was going to survive another minute, let alone another day.

Another month.

Another year.

Wynter glanced at the scars on the insides of his wrists.

I end it, and he kills Cavanaugh.

As soon as they entered the front door of their mansion, the servants took over. They removed Wynter's cloak, gathered the luggage, and ushered them all inside.

"Have you had dinner, sir?" their butler asked. "Cook made a light meal, in case not."

Wynter eyed Warden. "I'm not very hungry. You?"

"I just told you that I've got to get back to the office," Warden said. "I'll pick up something in the city."

Wynter eyed the alpha. "It's almost nine now, Warden." Rushing back to the office as soon as I arrive? Yeah, he's trying really hard. "Whatever," he muttered, turning away. He didn't want the man's company, so what did it matter?

"I wasn't finished for the day when I had to leave to pick you up at the airfield. I shouldn't be too long." Warden leaned in and pressed a kiss to Wynter's cheek. "So glad you're home, my omega."

The fine hairs at the nape of Wynter's neck lifted, a shiver racing down his spine. "Of course, my…" Wynter clenched his jaw, his teeth aching. "Alpha."

Jamie ran into the foyer and wrapped his arms around Warden's legs. "Daddy!"

Warden leaned down and lifted Jamie into his arms, hugging their child.

Jamie rested his head on Warden's shoulder, just as he had countless times before. It reminded him of his early relationship with his own father. Wynter eyed the pair, the image before him suddenly twisted. How could his papa see that scene and think there was something perverse to it? Another wave of nausea hit him at the thought.

Warden kissed Jamie's cheek and lowered him to the floor. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

As soon as the door shut behind the alpha, Wynter looked down at his son—who watched him closely.

"Did you have fun, Papa?"

Wynter nodded. He searched the child's face. "Did you have fun while I was away?"

"Yes," Jamie said a little too enthusiastically. "We watched a movie and had popcorn. And Mr. Joel took me ice skating, too."

Wynter forced a smile. "It sounds like you had a lovely time without me."

"I like ice skating. I can show you how I did it if you take me again," Jamie said, nearly bouncing with excitement. "Mr. Joel said I was a good skater."

"Maybe," Wynter murmured. "Right now, I need to rest, okay?"

"Are you tired again, Papa?"

Wynter nodded, forcing another smile. His face already hurt from the weight of wearing his mask. "I'm very, very tired."

"You should go to bed," Jamie said earnestly.

Wynter nodded. "That's the plan. Let's get you to Mr. Joel so he can get you ready for bed, too."

"Okay."

Wynter urged Jamie toward the stairs. His son grasped his hand as they climbed, and he winced, not expecting the touch. Wynter stared down where their hands met. He wrapped his hand around Jamie's and held on, forcing a smile.

Joel awaited them on the second floor rising. Quickly, the manny stepped in and took Jamie toward the other end of the hallway where the child's rooms were. Jamie stood on the landing and watched the pair retreat. Joel was a better parent than he was, especially in that moment. He had nothing left to give. And feared he never would again. His son deserved better, but he was broken and shattered on the inside. He used every ounce of strength to put one foot in front of the other, which he did until he stood beside his bed.

One of the servants was unloading his suitcases when he arrived.

"Sir? These don't appear to be your belongings. Is it possible they were mixed up with another client of the spa?"

"Can you finish this up in the morning? I'm exhausted," Wynter murmured, not in the right headspace to come up with excuses.

"Of course, Mr. Jaymes. Do you need any help preparing for bed?"

"No," Wynter said. While he likely could've used the assistance, he needed to be alone before the staff witnessed his second break down.

"I'll see you in the morning. Pleasant dreams."

"Good night," Wynter said, his voice barely over a whisper.

When the door shut, he turned to eye the bedroom. It somehow looked foreign to him. He no longer belonged in that world. He belonged in Cavanaugh's. From the corner of his eye, he noticed his tote bag with his luggage. Lifting it, he searched through, finding what he wanted—the photograph he'd snatched on his way out. He sat down on the edge of the bed and eyed Cavanaugh's handsome face staring out at him.

Tears burned his eyes as he trailed his fingertips on top. He'd cried so much, he was amazed he had tears left to fall. Glancing down, he saw the corner of the book he'd brought peeking out from a front pocket. He hefted the massive volume and opened the back cover for another peek at Cavanaugh. He turned back to the first page and noticed his alpha had signed it at some point.

To one pain in the ass omega—hopefully we survive one another!

—Wilder Cavanaugh.

Wynter dragged the book to his chest, tears burning in his eyes. Great sobs wracked his body. He fell sideways onto the bed, the book and photograph clutched to him like a life preserver, only they wouldn't save him.

He was darkly adrift, floating on emptiness—and he'd never find solid land again.