When Wraith leads me to a fire escape around back, I stop and eye the rusty metal ladder skeptically. The bottom rung is about four feet off the ground, and there’s no way I can pull myself up in my condition.
“I’m not sure I can do this,” I admit.
Wraith steps closer, his hands hovering near my waist, not quite touching yet. He looks down at me, a question in his eyes. Asking permission.
I groan and nod, too exhausted to maintain my dignity.
His hands close around my waist, and in one smooth motion, he lifts me like I weigh nothing at all. I brace my palms against his strong shoulders, startled by the unexpected contact. The residual scent on his bare skin hits me again and something in me responds to it. Something omega that I've been suppressing for so long, I almost don't recognize it.
What the hell?
He sets me carefully on the first platform of the fire escape, making sure I'm steady before letting go. Then he pulls himself up with incredible ease, muscles flexing beneath scarred skin. I look away, feeling heat rise to my cheeks. Right. Not the time to be noticing his physical... attributes.
I hope he doesn’t notice. Hope he doesn’t think I’m looking away because the sight of his scars bothers me. Because that isdefinitelynot what’s happening here.
Wraith lets me go ahead of him. When we reach the top of the fire escape, he unlocks a window with a hidden latch on the side and slides it open, gesturing for me to go through first. I hesitate, giving myself a moment to process the fact I’m about to climb into an alpha's den. Adarkden at that. There aren’t any lights on inside at all.
When that gut instinct pipes up again, telling me I’m safe, I shrug off any lingering fear and climb through the window into darkness.
Wraith follows. I hear him close the window behind us and move in the shadows. A lamp in the corner clicks on. It’s too dim to light the space, but it’s enough that I can see.
It’s an attic converted into a loft space, small and functional, with sloped ceilings that make the limited floor area feel evenmore cramped. There's a bed in one corner that doesn’t look large enough for an alpha like Wraith, a small kitchenette on the other side, and a couch facing an old TV. There’s a bathroom that’s pitch black inside. The walls are bare. No pictures, no personal touches outside of what might be comic books on a bookshelf.
Nothing that says this is someone's home.
"This is your place?" I can't help asking, though I immediately regret the note of surprise in my voice.
Wraith nods, his eyes scanning my face as if gauging my reaction. He signs something, then pauses, frustrated, before trying again with simpler gestures.
N-O… O-N-E… C-O-M-E-S… H-E-R-E.
"No one? Not even your packmates?"
He shakes his head, then signsT-H-A-N-E,followed by a shrugging gesture I interpret as "sometimes."
I take another look around, seeing the space with new eyes. The entire space feels designed to be functional but not comfortable, like he's created the minimum he needs to survive but nothing that might suggest he deserves more.
This is a glorified cave. A self-imposed exile. I can’t help but wonder how lonely it must be, to carve out this separate existence within your own pack's home. To live alongside your family, but notwiththem.
As my gaze travels around the room, I notice something strange about every potentially reflective surface from the microwave door to the screen of the unplugged TV. Everything that couldpossibly have a reflection is deliberately scuffed or scratched or has some kind of tint on it.
My heart sinks. The kindest alpha I've ever met hates his own reflection so much, he's gone to extreme lengths to avoid it. But his scars don't detract from his masculine beauty at all. Not to me. They make him more intimidating, sure, but…
My legs choose that moment to remind me that I've been pushing a fever-weakened body too hard. I sway slightly, vision blurring around the edges. Wraith is at my side instantly, one hand hovering near my elbow but not touching, ready to catch me if I fall.
"Sorry," I murmur. "Still a little shaky."
He guides me to the couch and I sink onto it gratefully. He sets my bag on the floor by my feet and hesitantly pulls a throw around my shoulders. Another blanket that smells like him.
Now that I'm actually here in the Ghosts' pack house, surrounded by alphas I don't know at all, reality comes crashing back. I’m safe from one predator, but potentially surrounded by others. My heart rate picks up as the thought takes hold and I draw my legs up onto the couch, pulling the throw tighter around my body like a cocoon. And not just because I’m shivering again.
Wraith must sense my sudden anxiety because he backs away, giving me space, and moves to a closet. He pulls out another hooded sweatshirt and quickly puts it on, covering his scarred torso. I try not to stare, worried he’ll misunderstand why.
My stomach chooses that moment to let out an embarrassingly loud growl. Heat rushes to my face all over again as Wraith turns to look at me, head tilted slightly.
H-U-N-G-R-Y?
“Starving,” I admit.
