I keep climbing until I spot the OCB crime scene tape across the top of a concrete circle nine feet wide. Zack grabs the back of my shirt as I lean over to look down into the silo I once crawled out of.
Dizziness swamps me as the distance yaws; the bottom further down than I thought.
“I climbed up there once,” I murmur before stepping back into Zack’s safe embrace. And as the words cross my lips, I realize that Doc Leanne’s ravine metaphor is quite literal. I climbed out of this hole only to be dragged back down before climbing out another way.
I clear my throat and turn away from the gaping opening. Without the alpha who abused me sitting on the rocks smoking, the mountainside seems rather peaceful. Birds twitter in the trees, singing an alert of our presence that’s more curious than alarmed. In this patch of clearing, the summer breeze finds us, lifting strands of the hair escaping my braided up-do.
It won’t ever truly be a place of peace for me, but I’m glad nature goes on up here. In time, it might break through into the complex below ground, roots dragging down ceilings and animals digging up walls.
I pop one hand on my hip and turn, catching the serious expressions of my three alphas. Right, I came here with a purpose.
Dragging in a deep breath, I open the wooden case and set it on a rock. Ten glass vials in rows of five nestle in indented foam, the gold liquid inside sloshing when I touch them. Haze; my haze.
It’s only a small sample taken from dozens of crates raided from the mechanics’ garage. The OCB tested every single vial and declared it all mine, and they’re holding it on my behalf until I decide what to do with it.
Well, that’s not a hard choice; I’ll follow Rose’s example and get it registered so I can sell it legally. That’ll completely fund Callisto’s planned rehabilitation facility.
But these ten? They’re for me. One for each year those bastards trapped me in the hell below my feet.
Zack senses my sadness in the bond and takes my hand. He lifts one vial out, studying the glow in the sunlight. “This is ohm-ee-ga’s scent, taken from you?”
“Yeah,” I answer simply.
He releases my hand to trail his fingertips along my collarbone. “Should not do,” he says, eyes tightening with pain. His words might be clumsy, but the bond feeds me his true meaning. These terrible things should never have happened to me, but they did, and he’s sorry for that.
I reach up and pat his cheek. “At least they brought me to you.”
My prime alpha nods and places the vial in my hand. “Thanks, maybe.”
I’m not sure it’s possible to be thankful for my pain, but at least I don’t want to carry it with me from here on. My alphas came for me. Every single trafficker we remember has been caught. And I broke free.
With a tip of my wrist, I tilt the vial over and let my haze oil pour onto the ground. An offering to appease the omega pretending to be insane, or a libation to wish for a more peaceful future; I’m not sure which.
The brown earth soaks up the oil instantly. Born from pain and suffering, it returns to nature to nourish and disintegrate. I cap the lid.
Rickon hands me the next vial, and Callisto the one after that. The haze, infused into carrier almond oil, clings to my fingers as I pour out all ten vials, marking the stolen years. They tried to take everything, but I endured, and now I’ve taken it all back.
And gained three wonderful men and a family besides.
I close my eyes, the powerful scent of honey and nuts filling my nose. This time the wind snatches the traces away, racing off among the pines to sway the needled-branches—ones that will never hurt me.
Rickon clears his throat. “We’re so proud of you, Red,” he says.
I turn and bury myself in his hug. He tries to twist his body away to hide his hard on, but even that makes me happy. This time my haze is being used how nature designed it, to bring pleasure to my pack.
“It’s fine,” I tell him, bumping my knee between his legs. “Don’t hide, alpha.”
Ricky flushes and drops a gentle kiss on my lips. When he pulls back, he smiles a little bashfully. “Um, I don’t know if now’s the right moment, but Calli and I talked about it, and we wanted to give you something. There’s this old-fashioned practice of alphas giving their omega a name.”
I stiffen, staring at him. Yeah, every omega’s heard of that, but I never gave it much thought after naming myself.
“We wanted to give you something symbolic, not your legal name or anything, but just think of it as a tradition.” He pulls a document tube out from behind his back and offers it to me.
My heart speeds up as I take the cardboard roll and uncap it. A black poster pops out, and when I unfurl it, the page shows a star map.
“Since you already have a wonderful name, we named a star after you,” Callisto says. “Because you’re our star in so many ways.”
I read the name in big letters at the bottom: Scarlet Wren Jones.
