I give Fiona what she’s owed, nothing more and nothing less. “Good, Fiona.”
It’s simple, but it’s the truth. And more importantly, it’s exactly what she needs to build confidence, not dependence.
Relief flashes across her face, bright and innocent, then she turns back to her opponent with renewed focus.
I don’t linger there. Moving forward, I intend to continue my circuit around the clearing, but I only make it halfway this time before resisting the pull in my chest becomes too much to ignore. My attention shifts to where it matters most.
Noa.
She’s sitting on an extra mat, bundled up in one of my hoodies and the corduroy jacket she stole last week. A beanie pulled low over her dark, near-hip-length hair. Knit mittens in a shade of rust orange so unholy, I mocked it relentlessly on the drive over until she told me one of the coven’s crones made them just for her.
I wasn’t dumb enough to comment further.
I hadn’t expected her to want to come today. Not with how she’s been feeling and with her omega instincts a little haywire. But she’d insisted on being here after she learned that both Siggy and Hattie would be starting their self-defense training. She’s proud of her girls, but she understands how easily this kind of training can stir old wounds for the Nightingales—wounds the omegas are still learning to live with. Noa wouldn’t stay away knowing that.
She needs to be here, within reach, in case either of them needs her particular kind of care.
When I draw nearer, I realize she isn’t watching me at all. Her pretty eyes are trained past me, locked intently on something off to my right. I track it easily and find Siggy working through a defensive hold with Cerys. The alpha female’s purple faux-hawk stands out against the snow-coated ground. Hattie stands off to the side of the mat, chewing nervously on her thumbnail as she waits her turn. I don’t know if Cerys volunteered for the role, aware a male partner may be too much for the Nightingales, or if Noa personally asked her to step in. If I know my mate at all, it wasn’t something she’d tolerate being left up to chance.
The faint prickle running up my spine has my awareness sharpening and head turning slightly.
Noa and I aren’t the only ones watching the pair spar.
Rook stands in the middle of the clearing, positioned perfectly amongst the mats so he can track the progress everyone is making after the initial demonstration he made at the beginning of today’s lesson.
The other alpha male is just shy of my height, his build lean and defined instead of bulky. Sun-bleached strands thread through his blond-brown hair, pulled back into a messy knot at the base of his skull, loose pieces slipping free to fall into his face.Where I keep my dominance quiet and contained, Rook wears his with a swagger that borders on careless. Most people mistake it for playboy charm and arrogance. They’re only half wrong. The arrogance is a performance; the playboy part is very real.
The moment he realizes he’s being watched, his light amber eyes meet mine. I give a barely perceptible shake of my head, my gaze narrowing just enough to reinforce the warning I gave him days ago—the one I made sure he understood. His jaw is set, tension flashing, before he looks away from Hattie, Siggy, and Cerys and down at his boots. Whatever he’s thinking, he keeps it contained. Good.
With that handled, I close the distance to Noa and then lower myself into a squat before her. I want us to be eye level so I can try to read her, to see past that carefully crafted strength she wears so well. She’s too good at hiding the cracks, at holding herself together so no one else has to worry.
She smiles at me, the tip of her nose bright red, her cheeks flushed pink from the cold.
“How are you doing, sweet one?” I ask, brushing my knuckles down the side of her face.
She leans into the touch without thinking, and I flip my hand to cup her cheek fully. She nuzzles into my palm, soaking up the warmth.
“I’m okay.”
I don’t love‘okay’. It’s just another way of saying‘please don’t look too close’. It sits right up there with‘I’m fine’—polite lies people use when the truth feels too heavy to hand over or they want to end the conversation before someone can ask the wrong thing.
Her nose wrinkles as she exhales, and when she speaks again, there’s a trace of apology in her tone. “But I think I’ll need to head back home soon.” Guilt crosses her face. “I’m sorry. Iknow your pack needs you here. This training is important for everyone, and I hate the idea of you leaving early because of me.”
I shake my head before she can spiral any further, my fingers flexing against her cheek to make sure she’s really listening. “Never apologize for needing me. I’m your mate and it’s not a burden to care for you—it’s my privilege.” I hold her gaze, letting the truth settle between us. “And don’t ever feel guilty for being someone’s priority, Noa. Least of all mine. You’ve given so much of yourself to everyone around you. Please let me be the one to return the favor.”
Her teeth catch her bottom lip, worrying it as she tries to accept my words. After a heartbeat, she nods, eyes shining. She draws a breath like she’s about say something, but then her focus shifts over my shoulder. Her face goes bloodless.
“Something’s wrong,” she says on an exhale.
I shift closer on instinct, angling my body in front of her as I turn to see what’s suddenly made her smell of acrid anxiety.
Amara strides into the clearing, two of her more powerful coven members flanking her. Her expression is grim.
Behind me, Noa’s voice floats through the wind. “Someone’s breached her wards.
I look back at her sharply. “How do you know?”
“She just told me.” She taps at her temple when she sees my confusion. “In my head.”
