He flinches slightly at my tone, and I immediately feel guilty. He's been nothing but kind to me, bringing me medicine and food when I was sick, cuddling me all fucking night, standing guard while I was most vulnerable, fighting his team's own winger to keep me safe.
He points to himself, then signsH-I-D-E,and points back to me.
"You're going to hide me in a pack house full of alphas," I say dryly, unable to keep the disbelief out of my tone.
He nods.
I feel like I'm going to be sick all over again. The idea of going to the pack house—of willingly walking into a den of alphas—makes my skin crawl. I've spent the last two months hiding from everyone.
On the other hand, I've been discovered. The Ghosts' new winger knows I'm here now. It's only a matter of time before he tells the others. And if word spreads beyond the team, it could reach Wade. The thought of my ex finding me makes me want to throw up.
After leaving Wade, I promised myself I would never ignore my gut instincts again. When every alarm in my body had screamed that he wasn't right, I'd silenced them with excuses and rationalizations. I won't make that mistake again.
And right now, despite everything logic is telling me about alphas and danger, my instincts are whispering that it's safe to go with Wraith. He's had multiple chances to hurt me, to use his strength against me, and instead he's brought me medicine, food, stood guard, and fought to protect me from another alpha. His own teammate, even.
Maybe I'm crazy, but the quiet voice inside me that's been my compass since escaping Wade is telling me to trust this scarred, silent alpha.
Valek groans again, louder this time. His eyelids flutter as he tries to regain consciousness. We're running out of time.
And I'm running out of options.
I'm still not feeling great, either. The shower helped clear my head, but I'm weak from days of fever and inadequate nutrition. My legs are already shaking from the effort of standing for this long, and my stomach is a hollow, gnawing pit. I'm in no condition to run, to find a new hiding place, to start all over again.
Not yet.
But soon.
"Okay," I say finally, the word sticking in my throat. "I'll go."
Wraith's eyes soften with relief, though the rest of his expression remains hidden behind his mask. He nods once, then gestures—without looking directly at my body, I notice—to my towel-clad figure and vaguely mimes putting on clothes.
"Right," I mumble, heat rushing to my face as I suddenly remember I'm standing here practically naked in front of an alpha I don't even know. An alpha who just protected me from one lurking outside the shower room, but still. "I should… get dressed."
I duck back into the locker room, closing the door behind me with trembling hands. My few meager clothes are folded neatly on a bench. The same navy maintenance uniform I've been wearing for weeks, washed in the industrial machines late at night when no one else is around.
I have to sit down halfway through dressing, my head swimming and limbs heavy with lingering fatigue. The illness has taken more out of me than I realized. My body is still fighting off the last of whatever virus knocked me down.
Apparently, knocking out an alpha with a fire extinguisher took every last drop of the tiny amount of energy I'd recovered. Whatever adrenaline that had given me, it's more than worn off by now.
I finish getting dressed and take a deep breath, steeling myself for whatever comes next. When I open the door, I find Wraith standing over Valek's still-prone form, watching him with allthe wary intensity of a predator monitoring an interloper on his territory.
"I'm ready," I say hoarsely, my voice catching in my throat. Feels like I'm saying I'm ready to jump out of a plane. Without a parachute.
He turns at the sound of my voice with a resigned sigh and pulls his black hooded sweatshirt over his head in one fluid motion, revealing his muscled upper body.
Holy fucking shit.
My breath catches in my throat again, but for an entirely different reason this time. I can't help it. I knew he was strong—that much was obvious—but seeing him like this, the raw power evident in every line of his body, is something else entirely.
Wraith is built like a god carved from stone. Broad shoulders and massive arms that could carry the world, his toned waist tapering down to a perfect V-shape. His chest and abdomen are sculpted and hard even at rest, flexing subtly with each still slightly ragged breath.
When I manage to drag my gaze away from his muscled torso, I notice the webbed scars spreading down from beneath the fabric covering his throat, covering his collarbone and upper chest. The scars are a pale pinkish tan near his throat where they're the most severe, but as they span outward like a lightning strike, they turn pearly, almost iridescent in the dim light where they're thin enough to show hints of the muscle beneath.
The moment he realizes I'm staring at him, something changes. Those mountain-like shoulders curl inward slightly, and he raises a hand to his chest, fingers brushing self-consciously over the scarred skin. His blue eyes flick away from mine.
Oh gods. He thinks I'm staring because I'm disgusted by his scars rather than struck speechless by his beauty.
As if anything could detract from… well,that.
