It's Wraith.
Shirtless.
With an unconscious alpha with platinum hair slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
My brain short-circuits for a second, trying to process too many things at once. First, our feral alpha's bare-chested in public, which is unprecedented. Second, our brand-new teammate is bleeding from the head. Third, the scars are... intense.
I knew Wraith had scars. We all did. The one through his eye is impossible to miss. But seeing the extent of the damage, the web of silver and tan scars spreading over his collarbone and upper chest like someone fucking dumped a bucket of acid on him, is something else.
No wonder he never changes in front of us.
Wraith storms straight past us into the locker room, not making eye contact with anyone. We follow, watching as he unceremoniously dumps Valek onto a bench. The new guy groans but doesn't wake up.
"He breathing?" I ask, even as I see Valek's chest rise and fall.
Thane nods, then turns to Wraith, who's standing there like some warrior after battle, all bruised-up rippling muscle and battle scars, looking everywhere but at us.
"What. The. Fuck. Happened?"
Wraith's hands move in a flurry of signs too fast for me to catch. I've learned some sign language since he joined the team, but when he gets worked up, I can't follow for shit.
"Slow down," Thane growls.
"You can't tell me you don't think this is suspicious as hell," I say, gesturing to Valek's unconscious form. "He was supposed to replace Daniels, not join him in the graveyard of wingers you've demolished. Were you put on this earth specifically to hunt wingers? Are you like some kind of cursed vampire slayer with a very specific target demographic?"
Wraith's intense blue eyes lock onto mine, and I swear the temperature drops ten degrees. But I don't back down. That's not my style.
"What happened to your shirt?" Plague asks, moving closer to examine Valek's head wound while keeping a suspicious eye on Wraith.
Wraith's hands move more deliberately now. Torn. Fight.
"Gathered that much," I say, waving at Valek's unconscious form. "Question is, why were you fighting our new teammate before he even stepped on the ice?"
Wraith's jaw works beneath his mask, a sure sign he's pissed. He signs again, too fast for me to follow properly.
"Valek was sneaking in the tunnels?" Thane translates. "Making what up?"
Wraith hesitates, then signs back to him, fingerspelling this time.
O-M-E-G-A.
Every cell in my body goes on high alert. The dream. The fucking dream Plague and I both had. About an omega in the maintenance tunnels. With red hair and honeysuckle scent.
"What do you mean?" I push off the wall, taking a step closer.
Wraith's eyes narrow, his massive frame tensing defensively. He signs emphatically. Too fast again to catch all the signs. But I catch just enough to understand he's saying that Valek is seeing shit because he hit his head, and that there's nothing down there in the tunnels.
"And how would you know?" I challenge.
"Because he spends half his time down there," Thane cuts in, his tone making it clear the subject is closed. "If anyone would know what's down there, it's Wraith."
I glance at Plague, catching his eye. His surgical mask hides most of his expression, but I know he's thinking the same thing I am.
This is way too much of a coincidence.
Wraith signs again. Something about needing a new shirt and going back to the pack house.
"You have clothes here," I point out, gesturing to his locker. "You always keep spares."
