"You sure?" I manage, my voice rougher than intended. "That's… the whole pack. Being with all four of your scent matches during your heat cycle would start cementing the bonds."
Shit. I sound like Plague.
"I know." She shifts closer, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from her skin. "But I'm tired of taking tiny steps. Of being afraid of what I want. And what I want is to help the way that feels right to me."
"Oh," I manage to croak, my heart hammering against my ribs, because apparently I'm not nearly as fucking smooth as I thought I was. Which isn't saying much. I amnotsmooth. "Wraith might not—" I start, but she cuts me off with a look.
"He will," she says with absolute certainty. "He needs this.Ineed it." She glances over me, at my furrowed brow, the tension in my shoulders, the dark circles under my eyes. "And I'm pretty sure you need it, too."
My entire body reacts to her words like she's just laid her hands on me. The way she sees through me, through all of us, is frankly terrifying.
"I do," I admit, the words feeling raw and rough in my throat.
Ivy's smile is soft but knowing as she reaches up to trace the bruise on my jaw from my brawl with Wraith. "You take care of everyone else, Thane. Who takes care of you?"
The question momentarily stuns me.
"I'm fine," I say automatically, the captain's answer.
"Liar," she whispers, but there's no accusation in it. Just understanding.
I watch her get up to order breakfast, my mind racing with what tonight might bring. Wraith will come back broken and hollow, whether she goes with him or not. And somehow, this fierce little omega thinks she can put him back together.
The hell of it is, I almost believe her.
Chapter
Fifty-Three
WHISKEY
I'm wedged with zero legroom behind the wheel of our compact rental SUV like a goddamn trout in a sardine can, watching the hospital entrance through binoculars I bought at a gas station twenty minutes ago. They're shit quality—everything looks like it's underwater—but at least I can see Valek when he finally emerges from those automatic doors.
And holy fuck, does he lookpissed.
His white hair catches the afternoon sun like a beacon, but there's a storm cloud hanging over him that's practically visible from here. He's arguing with some big brown-haired dude in a baker's apron who's following him out, gesturing with his hands like he's trying to calm down a rabid wolf.
"Is that his brother?" I mutter, adjusting the binoculars. "They look nothing alike. Talk about polar opposites."
Plague shifts in the passenger seat. "Adoption exists, Whiskey. Not everyone shares DNA with their family."
"Yeah, but look at them." I hand him the binoculars. "Valek's looking at baker bro like he wants to stab him to death and stuff him in a fucking pie. That's not exactly brotherly love."
Plague's nose wrinkles in disdain. He looks more irritated than usual without one of his trademark surgical masks. That's one part of the reason he's in a bad mood. He has to breathe inrental car germs.
"You really have a way with words," he mutters, taking the binoculars with his usual prissy precision like I might've contaminated them with my peasant germs. He adjusts them until they're perfect before finally focusing on our target.
"Their body language is... interesting," he admits. Interesting in Plague-speak meanswhat the fuck.
The brown-haired guy—a beta pastry chef named Caleb, according to the fan posts we've been stalking, who have declared him "Baker Daddy," whatever the fuck that means—throws his hands up in clear frustration and stalks toward a beat-up Honda that's seen better decades. Valek watches him go with those silver eyes narrowed to slits.
Caleb's Honda coughs to life and putters out of the parking lot, leaving Valek standing there like an ice statue. After a minute or so, he stalks off toward his own car, a sleek black sedan. A rental, judging from theCarl's Rentalsframe around the plate.
Call me fuckin' Sherlock Holmes.
"He's moving," I say unnecessarily, already starting our SUV. The engine turns over with a rental-car wheeze that makes me miss my bike. Poor Hogzilla, may she rest in pieces thanks to Thane and Wraith's parking garage WWE match.
"Stay back," Plague instructs, like I've never tailed someone before. "We don't want him to?—"
