He’s feeling the same way, judging from the way he’s looking at everythingbutme. His hand comes up to brush against the scars on his chest like he has any chance of covering them. In spite of his obvious self-consciousness where his scars are concerned, I guess he was in such a hurry to get back to me, he didn’t even stop to put on another shirt.
"Do you want your shirt back?" I offer. "I have a coat…"
He shakes his head and fingerspellsC-O-V-E-R-S,then points to me and spells out,S-C-E-N-T.
"Right," I murmur, feeling a twinge of guilt. “I have some Ghosts merch in here if you want.”
He glances past me to my makeshift nest, then shakes his head and points to me, signing again.S-C-E-N-T.
“They smell like me?” I translate.
He nods, then signs,R-E-A-D-Y?
"Yep," I say, swallowing the growing lump in my throat. "As ready as I'll ever be." I grab my bag, slinging it over one shoulder, and follow him out into the hall.
Every shadow looks like a threat. Every corner seems to hide danger. The rational part of my brain knows Wade isn't here, but trauma doesn't listen to reason, and right now, my nerves are frayed as fuck. Even though Wraith could probably twist and fold Wade into a pretzel.
Wraith tilts his head, signing again. Asking if I'm okay.
"Yeah, sorry," I mutter, gripping the strap of my bag tighter. "Just nervous about going with a..." I trail off, suddenly aware of how my words might sound.
Wraith's shoulders slump slightly. His hands move slowly, deliberately, spelling out a word that makes my heart sink.
M-O-N-S-T-E-R. He nods with a soft sigh, then adds,I know.
"What? No!" I say quickly, surprising myself with how much I need him to understand. "It's not that. You're an alpha and I..." I take a deep breath, steadying myself. "You'renota monster, Wraith. You're actually the only alpha I've ever met who isn't one."
The irony doesn't escape me.
The alpha everyone else is terrified of is the only one I'mnotafraid of.
Wraith stares at me like I've just punched him in the chest. His blue eyes are wide, almost vulnerable, scanning my face for signs of deception. His hands are frozen, like he doesn't know what to do with them anymore. The scar that cuts through his right eyebrow and pulls at his lower eyelid is more pronounced in this lighting, but it doesn't harden the sadness in his gaze.
I've learned to read people. Had to, to survive. And what I'm reading in Wraith now is a lifetime of rejection. Of being seen as something less than human.
I know something about that.
After what feels like an eternity, Wraith's hands finally move. Slow, deliberate signs that I can tell he's making as simple as possible for me to understand. Asking if we can go now.
I nod, adjusting the strap on my shoulder. "Lead the way."
He hesitates, then holds out his hand, offering to take my bag. I’m not usually one to allow chivalry when it comes to alphas, but Wraith is so different, I don’t mind.
And I’m tired as fuck.
Shouldering my bag like it weighs nothing, Wraith leads the way through the maintenance tunnels and outside in his usual silence. I’m right beside him, hanging back just a step or two so he can intercept if we run into anyone else.
The midday sun is blinding after weeks underground, and the arena complex stretches further than I realized. Beyond the arena itself lies a sprawling network of parking lots, training facilities, and administrative buildings. Up on a hill at the outeredge sits the pack house, surrounded by manicured grounds and dense woods that provide privacy from the rest of the property.
Halfway into the woods, my legs start feeling like overcooked noodles. I stumble over an exposed root and would faceplant into the dirt if it weren’t for Wraith catching me. He holds my shoulders just long enough for me to get my feet back under myself before he releases his grip like I burned him.
“Thanks," I mutter, forcing myself upright and leaning on a tree for support. “Sorry. Still not feeling too hot from the flu or whatever this is.”
He studies me for a moment, those blue eyes soft with worry, then makes a decision. He points to himself, then to me, then mimescarryingme.
"No, I can walk," I protest weakly. "We're almost there, right?"
He hesitates, then nods, but stays close as we continue. The trees thin out as we approach the edge of the woods, and the pack house looms before us like a glass castle.
