I’d spent most of my life feeling useless.
A chorus of critical voices followed me every waking moment, just as they had since I was a child.
Pathetic excuse of an alpha.
Not strong enough to protect your pack.
Weak.
But nothing could compare to watching my omega, my mate, the love of my fucking life, fade away in front of me. In the six days since the Designation Center, she had barely spoken, barely eaten. She wore a haunted, vacant expression, not even crying except in her nightmares.
I tapped my pen against my desk, the steady rhythm forming the soundtrack to my anxious thoughts. Whenever my guilt became too much to handle, I slunk away to my office to throw myself into Alliance work. But even that felt hopeless. Amirah’s encrypted message sat open on my laptop, confirming she and her pack had made it to a safe house after the threat of her arrest. Whoever tipped her off hadn’t bothered to warn us of Glen’s plans, and resentment burned in my chest at the injustice. Our pack had poured countless hours, energy, and money into the Alliance. Weren’t they supposed to return the favor? Protect us?
I threw the pen across the room, holding in a scream as I had a flashback of Josie being dragged by Glen and Dr. Bishop, agony rolling off her in waves of burnt, acrid scent so warped it was nearly unrecognizable to me. I could spend all day blaming others for what happened, but deep down, the blame was all mine. I should have protected my omega, my pack. This was my failure.
When we first got the call to bring Josie in, I had been so fucking convinced the Designation Center would play by the rules. If we just prepared enough, researched enough, we would come out unscathed. I didn’t know how evil they could be. Or maybe I just wasn’t paying attention.
But Josie had known.
I should have protected her, protected our entire pack from this pain. I could have organized a safe house, whisked us away in the dead of night. But what did I do instead? Played nice in a bloody interview while my omega was being tortured.
Now she had shut down completely, and I didn’t know how to get her back.
The need to see her, to confirm she was still safe, burned in my chest and urged me out of the office. Soft voices came from the kitchen, and I hid in the shadows of the doorway.
“How about some potato soup?” Ben asked, his voice soft. “I was feeling inspired since it’s getting a little colder out.”
Josie shook her head, her lower lip trembling.
“Please, precious, tell me what to do. How can I make it better?” Ben pleaded, his voice low and desperate.
Josie opened her mouth as if she were going to say something, but no words came out.
Ben tried a different approach. “Want to go sit outside? We can cozy up under a blanket and drink some hot chocolate.”
For a split second, I thought Josie would agree. Her eyes sparked with interest, and I caught a hint of sweetness in her scent. But then the mask came over her face again as she clenched her fists. Why was she holding herself back from something she wanted?
“Just want to lie down,” she whispered, reaching up as if to touch her bandaged arm before abruptly dropping her hand again.
Her wound was healing well. I’d put another bandage on it this morning, partly to protect the scab and the sensitive new skin growing there. But mostly, I wanted an excuse to be close to her and trail my fingers down her arm.
I didn’t deserve to touch her, but I couldn’t stop myself.
We were all coping—or not coping—in our unique fucked-up ways. I was sure Cam was back in the gym, pummeling whatever he could get his hands on since he couldn’t eviscerate the ones who really deserved it.
At least not yet. Because if I was certain of one fucking thing, it was that we would end Glen Jacoby, Dr. Bishop, Jericho, Richard, and the entire fucking government.
Ben tried one more time to get Josie to come outside with him, sighing when she refused again. I turned away, unable to bear the devastation on both their faces. I retreated into my office again, like a coward.
It fucking killed me that we couldn’t give Josie everything she needed. That I couldn’t. As I stared at the stack of books I’d been reading to figure out how to help my omega, I realized I had to get my head out of my ass and accept that we needed more support. Cam, Ben, and I had isolated ourselves after leaving our community, but our omega was braver than we’d ever been. She’d made friends, gotten a job, and started a fucking illegal self-defense class, all while being scared, traumatized, and alone.
I thought back to how happy she had been after I picked her up from class. It felt like a lifetime ago. I knew she’d ignored the many calls and messages her friends were sending. Should I just invite them over?
I tore at my hair, uncertain of what to do. And then it hit me. Sam. Why the fuck hadn’t I thought to reach out to him? He’d been the one to help her after she got the first device. Maybe he could help her now.
I pulled out my phone and dialed, hoping he would work a miracle.
