Chapter Forty-Six

Baxter

The sheer nerve of this woman to leave my omega waiting for two goddamn hours, six months pregnant, worrying .

"I have tried to be amenable," I tell Lucille, "by giving you the week to settle in. But it is clear to me now that all you're really doing is wasting our time."

"Bax …" Eve starts.

"Your feelings toward myself and my packmates are none of my concern," I push on. "Ignore us, if you want to ignore us, but do not for one second think you'll get away with that shit with our omega. Eve has done nothing but dote on you her entire life. She deserved better then, and she sure as hell deserves better now."

Those icy blue eyes stare up at me, blinking at long, even intervals. Bold, but insipid in equal measure. I remind myself this is just the way she's been raised. God only knows the archaic ‘etiquette training' Pack Carson put her through.

But it doesn't excuse the way she's treating my mate.

"Now." I fold my arms. "Did you have something to say, or will I have to say it for you?"

Lucille frowns, weighing up my words. I'm sure she's used to alphas speaking for her by now. The question is, will she continue to stand for it?

At last, she turns to acknowledges her youngest sister.

"I—" she sighs. "I'm ready to meet with whoever it is you want me to meet with."

Eve's eyes light up. "Pack Deakin?"

"If that's what you want."

Eve practically buzzes with excitement, looking between me and Lucille as if to make sure we're not about to change our minds.

No. I promised I would find her sister a pack. And the sooner we can end this little ‘den guest' nightmare, the better.

"Well, then l–let's set up a meeting," Eve suggests. "Unless—do you want to know more about them first?"

"Not particularly."

Only now do I remember my sympathy, or what's left of it. Lucille isn't just a cold and pretty face. Hers is the face of someone who's been groomed, rejected, and betrayed by nearly everyone in her life. The face of an omega who's lost all hope for her future prospects.

She's resigned to her fate. No matter how distasteful, or regional , that fate may be.

***

I thought my days of courting meetings were finally behind me. I guess I thought wrong.

For Thorn at least, this is his first time. He sits in the passenger seat, stiff as a board, glaring out at the road. I know he's none too happy about having Eve in the backseat, considering the possibility we're being followed, but she was always going to be a part of this.

And though Lucille will never admit it, I'm sure she appreciates her sister's support.

I keep my hands steady on the wheel. Bishop Den is only ninety minutes away from Maddox, but that's quite a trek for people who are either paranoid, pregnant, or passive aggressive.

In a weird way, this moment feels like a glimpse of what's to come. If our pup really is an omega, it'll be up to me, Thorn, and Eve to make sure they're courted into a respectable pack one day.

Not happening, my inner alpha growls. Our pup isn't being courted anywhere.

Eve pipes up from the backseat. "Alpha?"

Both Thorn and I snap around. "Yes?" I respond.

Even before she says anything, I turn on my indicator. We've endured enough long car drives for me to recognize the signs.

Lucille scowls. "Why are we stopping?"

The second I pull off to the side of the road, Thorn leaps out of the car, opening up Eve's door. She hooks her legs over the edge, reclining forward.

My girl knows the drill.

"That's it." Thorn rubs between her shoulder blades. "Deep breaths."

"Oh." Lucille recoils. "Are you about to be sick?"

I shoot her a stern look as I approach Thorn and Eve. She seems to be hanging in there so far, taking those big breaths. I force myself to do the same, making sure my pheromones are steady and soothing.

"Doing well, little one," I tell her.

"Mm." Eve closes her eyes, brow pinched with focus. "Sorry. Might've been a false alarm."

I smile. "Better safe than sorry."

"We said twelve. We should really—keep moving."

"We move when you're ready," Thorn says.

"I don't want to be rude—"

Thorn growls. "When. You're. Ready ."

There's no arguing this—not even from Lucille, who seems characteristically unimpressed by the whole situation. She folds her arms, staring out the window, while Thorn and I make sure Eve is stable.

Suddenly she speaks up, "Huh. Guess you're not quite as rural as I thought."

I sigh. "What are you talking about?"

Thorn reacts, his black eyes flash across the freeway. "Baxter," he says.

I hear it then. See it, too—a black, unmarked van barreling towards us. It's going maybe two-thirds the speed limit. Pretty uncommon way out here, where—as Lucille so graciously alluded—we don't get a lot of traffic.

No doubt spotting us, the driver slows down, but doesn't seem to be coming to a stop.

"Baxter," Thorn says again. I know that tone of voice. He's requesting my permission.

Is this just a regular old van? Could it be the van he saw three months ago ? Are we being tailed ? Whatever the case, he must feel there's ample suspicion to act.

I nod. "Say nothing about the omegas."

"Understood."

He leaves Eve with me. She's craning her neck, trying to see what we can see. "Alphas? What is it?"

Fuck. She can scent our stress. Or, in Thorn's case, bloodlust.

"Everything's fine," I assure her. "Thorn's just checking out this van."

"What? Why?"

Lucille glares across at me, equally perturbed. Someone probably should've mentioned to her that Pack Maddox has been having a paparazzi issue of late, but then, she hasn't exactly given us many chances to chat.

I'm glad Eve doesn't see the way Thorn all but launches himself into the middle of the road, forcing the van's driver to either veer recklessly or pull over. Thankfully they choose the latter.

Thirty, maybe forty feet down, they come to a stop. I don't realize I've put my hand on Eve's stomach as I keep my eye out, standing beside her open door, until she gives the cutest little omega growl.

"Baxter," she says, firmly, "tell me what's going on."

The van's window rolls down. Thorn takes all of two seconds to assess its driver.

I know from the way he bristles, then gestures sharply, exactly what he's telling me.

Get Eve the fuck out of here.

"Seatbelt," I command, strapping Eve in. I slam the door before she can argue.

No hesitation. No looking back. Thorn is my second-in-command for a reason—if he's determined that Eve needs to be removed from this situation, that's exactly what I'm going to do.

"Hey!" Eve cries. "Thorn—you can't just leave him!"

"Thorn's a big alpha." I return to the driver's seat. "He can take care of himself."

She protests, her pheromones so potent that I might be convinced to turn around if the situation weren't so dire. But Thorn wouldn't have made that signal if he wasn't prepared to be deserted.

And if he didn't know he could handle it.

"What the hell?" Lucille shrills. "Is someone trying to kill you guys?"

I don't like the way Eve's breathing. Choppy. Shallow. I almost reach for her inhaler in the dash, but think better of it.

This isn't asthma. It's pure panic.

It was stupid to come all the way out here with only Thorn. Now he's gone, there's no-one left to take care of Eve while I drive.

As if suddenly realizing the effect this is having on her sister, Lucille awkwardly reaches out her hand. She pats Eve's thigh, the gesture so stilted it's almost comical. No words pass between them. Their connection is frayed, but … instant. Like something not even I can hope to touch.

Two omegas, bonded by blood, and by trauma.

At last, Eve takes a breath.