Chapter Twenty-Nine

Silas

The air is thin as I climb higher north, carving my way to the top of the mountain. Two weeks of living off the wilds’ not-so-bountiful resources has started to take its toll.

Kane was right. Us village alphas can’t hunt for shit.

I lunge, missing my prey by a full second. I could chase after it, but better to conserve my energy.

For what? my inner alpha challenges. Reminding me of the only reason I’m up here at all.

Willow .

She must be tired. Kane’s her on her feet for two days. God knows where he’s taking her.

Or why I’m trailing after them.

All I wanted to know was if she’d drunk the tea—and if she’d survived it. But I haven’t been able to get safely into earshot. Haven’t even been able to scent her at all over Kane’s dominating pheromones.

I’ll wait until they’re sleeping. And then, assuming the medicinal scent is still in her bloodstream, I’ll have my answer.

Night falls. I follow Kane and Willow’s trail until it disappears into a rocky alcove. From this distance, I can just see the glow of a fire.

He’d better be keeping omega warm.

I wait another hour, giving them time to get settled, before creeping closer. Two figures huddle before the fire—Willow lying with her head in Kane’s lap, draped in his cloak. He strokes her hair, though his eyes are on the trees.

Searching, no doubt, for me.

Like it or not, I’m outmatched. Kane knows these wilds. Knows what belongs, and what doesn’t. If he catches so much as a whiff of my scent …

Well, he won’t kill me. But he’ll try.

And terrify our poor omega in the process.

I kneel down, my knees suddenly feeling weak. My heart thuds like it’s trying to tell me something.

Our omega.

I put a hand on my chest. Keep it together, Silas. It’s only sensible I’d want to ensure Willow isn’t left stranded. If she is, well … pregnant with my pups, I’m entitled to a certain degree of responsibility.

And if she isn’t, we can always try again.

I shove my inner alpha back down. Willow’s not in heat anymore. For all intents and purposes, I don’t need him.

Yet, for some reason, he’s never been louder.

***

Kane doesn’t sleep. Not a fucking wink. I want to snarl at him—how does he expect to keep Willow safe, going two nights without rest?

More importantly, how am I expected to get close to her?

The next couple days are hell. Willow must catch on to Kane’s sleeplessness, because they start to take it in shifts. Maybe this is my opportunity to approach—Kane out cold, Willow glaring over the fire. Late the third night, her eyes start to droop.

I stand, shifting one tree closer. A twig snaps beneath me.

Willow’s head jerks up.

It’s no use. Neither of them are dropping their guard. I’d be better off rushing the campfire, getting a good breath of Willow’s scent—her pregnant, or, hopefully, not -pregnant pheromones—and disappearing into the night.

I slump against the tree, my own eyes heavy.

“I said,” she whispers, “get out . ”

Those words—Willow’s white, hard face—startle me awake. I swear, every time I close my eyes, she’s there. Crying at me. Coming for me.

What the hell is wrong with me ?

When I abandoned the sentinels, I had a plan to disappear deep into the wilds and, ultimately, cross the border. Enemy territory, technically. I figured, really, what can they be doing that’s so much worse than us? Murder any newborn pups lately?

That’s when it hits me.

My last conversation with Willow. She was furious. Terrified. But it all started when …

When she realized I was a sentinel.

I knew someone must’ve hurt her, or she wouldn’t have taken such drastic measures to escape. It couldn’t have been one of the sentinels, I reasoned. Not before she’d even been assigned.

“Do you have any idea how bad you have to fuck up to be stripped of your rank?”

It’s like a brick wall slams down before my thoughts can continue. Protecting myself from everything they might’ve done to her.

And all the reasons she pushed me away.

She doesn’t want me anywhere near her, and likely for good reason.

So why can’t I just let her go ?

***

“Chief! Come quick.”

I stand from my desk, not missing the urgency in Friedan’s voice. As soon as he flung the door open, I could hear it—over in the courtyard.

Sounds of a fight.

I follow Friedan outside, where a group of sentinels have crowded around two brawling alphas I recognize instantly as Pierson and Frederik. The pair of them were recently assigned as sires. I can’t imagine what they’re so furious about—the midwife just confirmed their omega is expecting.

I shove the other sentinels aside, grabbing Pierson and Frederik by the scruffs of their tunics. Instantly the shouting dies down.

“Someone want to explain to me what’s going on?” I growl.

Their eyes widen. The bystanders shuffle their feet like they’re waiting for an opportunity to bolt.

“Now!” I snap.

Frederik gulps. “I was just playing around, Chief. Didn’t think I was gonna get my head knocked in.”

I look at Pierson. His expression darkens. “He was being vulgar.”

“She’s our ward, Pier!” Frederik argues. “You’re not the only one who gets to be ‘vulgar’.”

I shoot Frederik a silencing glare, then return to Pierson. “Vulgar how?”

“Y’know … touching her. Talking about her.”

Behind me, someone snickers. Someone else hisses at him to shut up.

I study Pierson more closely. “Anything else?”

“I don’t need anything else.” His eyes flash. “She’s mine.”

More snickering from the crowd. I bark at them to return to their quarters. As they hastily disperse, my gaze returns to Pierson. Then Frederik, who puts his hands up in mock innocence.

“Pierson,” I say, lowly, “I trust I don’t need to remind you how the mother program works.”

He grits his teeth. “Things are different now.”

“Here we go,” Frederik drawls.

“Explain to me,” I demand. “What’s different?”

Pierson goes quiet. I cling to hope that this is only a temporary lapse of sanity—his inner alpha becoming extra possessive now his ward is pregnant. But there’s something resolute in his presence.

Finally, in a choked voice, he says, “She’s my mate.”

I sigh. “You know the rules, sentinel. Mothers can’t be bonded.”

“No, I mean—” color rises to his ears. “ My mate.”

Frederik groans, and at last I realize what he’s telling me. He’s not just talking about a bond mark, or pack certificate.

He’s talking about imprinting.

It’s a one in a hundred—no, one in a thousand —phenomena. Five times that for an omega randomly assigned to be his ward.

“Frederik,” I grunt, “wait for me in my office.”

Frederik stiffens. “Chief?”

“Now.”

He bristles, but doesn’t dare argue, still sneering at his fellow sire as he walks away.

“Alright,” I say, focusing on Pierson. “Let me make something very clear to you.”

He stares at me, hanging onto every word.

“What you’re feeling is completely natural. Your ward is pregnant, and, if these new instincts are any indication, the pup is probably yours.”

I swear, the poor alpha’s eyes sparkle.

“But that’s all this is,” I press on. “If you had imprinted on her … you would’ve known it instantly.”

He seems unconvinced. “How can you be sure?”

I can’t. But that’s not the point. Our newest mother needs all three of her sires, and she needs them to cooperate.

“Listen,” I level with him. “If I think you’re going to snap at the other sires, or do anything to put stress on your ward, I’ll have no choice but to remove you.”

His pheromones sour.

“No-one wants that,” I assure him. “So let’s keep things civil form now on. Looking after a pregnant omega is a group effort. You want her and the pup healthy, don’t you?”

This much, we agree on. He nods vehemently.

“Good.” I clap his shoulder. “Now go take a cold shower. You have the rest of the afternoon off to tend to your ward.”

His remaining anger transforms into delight. Dismissed, he darts across the courtyard. I watch him go.

Imprinting . I suppress a scoff. Really . What’re the odds?

***

I wake with a start. My heart hammering. My mind reeling.

Well …

Fuck.