There it is again. That undercurrent of something deeper, something almost painful.
It resonates with me more than I want to admit. He reminds me of Wraith in his early days with our family. The wariness. The expectation of betrayal. The walls built so high and thick that nothing could get through.
"Trust is earned," I say finally. "On both sides."
Valek studies me, his expression unreadable. Then he uncrosses his legs and stands in one fluid motion. "Well. This has beenenlightening, Captain, but I believe I'll retire to my room. The doctor demands rest, after all."
I stand as well, ignoring the pain in my ribs. "Of course."
He moves toward the hallway that leads to the stairs, pausing at the bottom to look back at me. "And could you open the windows? The smell of fresh paint isn't doing my concussion any favors."
My blood freezes in my veins, but I keep my expression neutral. "Sure."
He climbs the stairs without looking back, his footsteps fading down the hallway overhead. I stand rooted to the spot, my pulse pounding in my ears.
He knows.
Maybe not everything, but enough to be dangerous. Enough to keep poking, prodding, looking for weaknesses in our defenses.
I pull out my phone and send a quick message to the group chat, deliberately vague.
THANE
V suspects something. Be extra careful.
Fuck, I hate that stupid emoji Whiskey stuck to my name.
I slip the phone back into my pocket, wincing as I ease myself down onto the couch. The pain in my ribs is nothing compared to the pounding in my head.
Between Wraith going rogue, Ivy hiding in the loft, and now Valek circling like a shark scenting blood, I'm starting to wonderif it's possible for an alpha to spontaneously combust from stress.
Chapter
Thirty-Eight
PLAGUE
Istare warily at the bright pastel storefront with its flowing script sign readingOmega's Touch.Butterflies and flowers frame the name, because of course they do. The display windows feature mannequins in loungewear and lingerie, and what appears to be a nest-building demonstration area with various fabrics and pillows.
It's the omega equivalent of a Victoria's Secret, and I'm going to have to walk in there with Whiskey of all people. An absolute barbarian.
"Oh, don't get your designer panties in a twist," Whiskey says, slamming the passenger door of my car with enough force to make me wince. "You act like you've never been in an omega supply store before."
"I haven't," I reply curtly, locking the car with a press of the key fob. "There's never been a reason."
Whiskey's eyebrows shoot up as he falls into step beside me. "Seriously? Not even for a hookup?"
"Unlike you, I don't keep a stockpile of heat supplies on the off chance I might get lucky."
He grins like I've just paid him a compliment instead of insulting him. "You think I get that lucky, huh?"
"I think you're delusional if that's what you took from my statement."
The automatic doors slide open, releasing a wave of artificial scents so concentrated I have to pause to adjust. They're clearly not meant for alphas. Smells like vanilla cake. Vanilla cake that was microwaved long enough to go nuclear.
I should've worn my mask. That would help. Unfortunately, it's such a normal part of my attire that I'm instantly recognizable with it on, even at a distance.
"Looks like the order's not ready yet," Whiskey says, studying his phone. "They just sent a notification. Fifteen minutes."
