When I can’t withstand the distance anymore, I cross to her bed. My hand hovers before I let myself touch her, thumb brushing over the two thin, raised scratches on her cheekbone. They’re shallow, likely from tree branches tearing at her as she ran. The picture it paints—her fighting to outrun possible deathwith a wailing Ivey pressed against her—rips through me. My chest tightens, a low growl vibrating out of me before I can stop it.
Never again.
A scent reaches me before the faint scrape of claws on the hardwood stairs outside the room. The sound grows closer, the steps hesitant until they reach the threshold. My hand stays on Noa face, the stroke of the pad of my finger keeping its steady rhythm, as I glance toward the doorway.
Siggy, still on four paws, slinks into view. She keeps herself low to the ground, muscles taut and quivering, her ears pressed nearly flat to her head. Her attention cuts between me and the bed as she moves across the room. She freezes when her eyes meet mine. For a drawn-out moment, she doesn’t move, uncertainty keeping her rooted in place. That is until her gaze lands on Noa.
My palm drops from Noa when Siggy takes a few more tentative steps closer then springs soundlessly onto the mattress. Overly aware of the state my omega is in, each of her movements are gentle and thought out. Siggy pauses, examines Noa’s quiet face, before pressing her snout into her jaw. As if trying to will her awake, she softly nudges her, but when she’s met with more silence, she curls up at Noa’s side instead.
Siggy rests her head on Noa’s stomach and her deep blue-gray wolf eyes never leave me.
“You’re still not ready to give up control, huh?” It’s a soft observation more than a question since we both know why Siggy hasn’t returned to her human skin. Her only answer is a low whimper that grates against every instinct I have to protect the young she-wolf.
The pitiful sound takes on an abrupt sharp edge when my hand drifts toward Noa’s face again. Siggy’s head lifts fast, and her teeth snap just shy of my skin in warning. My own wolfsurges to meet the unexpected challenge, a snarl rattling my diaphragm. I don’t let it go too far, just enough to remind her who I am. Her pack Alpha. And she, or anyone else, will not stand between me and my mate. Not after what happened today.
She yields almost immediately, baring her throat until I stiffly nod once, releasing her. The remorse in her is easy to read as she lowers her head back to Noa’s middle.
My wolf may not have found the act of defiance acceptable, but my human side can appreciate the surprising bravery and steadfast loyalty she just displayed. Both things Noa’s kind heart has earned from Siggy.
I’m not sure if it’s the shifting of the mattress under Siggy’s weight, or the sudden influx in tension in the room, or both, but Noa begins to stir.
Her lashes flutter, dark brows pulling as a faint, fractured whine slips from her slightly parted lips. It’s a sound that is purely omega, and it rips into me like a jagged blade, making demands as it goes.Protect her. Keep her safe. Don’t fail her again.The words drum through my skull until I’m holding myself rigid because my knees are suddenly close to giving out from the distressed noise.
As if in silent acknowledgment, Siggy presses her nose to Noa’s face one more time before slipping off the bed and disappearing as silently as she entered.
I hardly notice her departure.
I’m too busy watching every faint shift of Noa’s expression as she fights her way back to consciousness. As if some subliminal part of me believes my touch might ease the transition, my fingers brush through the tangled strands of her rich brown hair.
When she finally breaks through the muddy surface, it’s all at once. Her eyes snap open and a sharp gasp echoes up to the exposed rafters of the room.
Giving her space, I drop my hand and take a step back as she bolts upright.
“Ivey!” she cries, voice hoarse. I can’t tell if it’s from disuse or from the possible screams and sobs I wasn’t there to stop or hear.
I reclaim the distance I just put between us without thinking, my hand half reaching for her before I stop myself. She’s awake now. Touching her while she was unconscious was one thing. Instinct. I’d needed to feel her warmth, to know she was still breathing, so I could quell my frayed nerves. But this is different. I’ve got a lot of ground to cover before I earn the right to touch Noa the way I want to. Instead, I shove both hands into the pockets of my borrowed sweats—my third damn pair today.
“The baby’s okay,” I tell her, forcing all the steadiness and reassurance I can into my tone. “Ivey’s safe. She’s with Seren.”
At this, her head snaps toward me. Those haunting, mismatched eyes cut straight through me. I resist the urge to rub my sternum as the invisible thread that connects us pulls taut under her direct focus.
“Seren and Ivey. They’rebothsafe,” I add, just in case she needs to hear the actual words to understand it.
Some of the tension in her frame visibly melts away, her shoulders dipping with relief as she releases a slow breath.
“I can…” The words catch because a selfish part of me doesn’t want to share her yet, wants to keep her here, away from everyone else, but still, I force myself to make the offer. “I can go get Seren for you, if you’d like? Last I heard, she took Ivey to her room to get cleaned up and take a moment to calm down.”
I can’t begin to fathom what it must have been like for Noa’s friend to have her infant daughter ripped away by people who seeped with cruelty. The thought alone has me certain that had it been my own child, there wouldn’t be a soul left standing.I’d paint the ground red, tearing everything down in my path. Without hesitation or mercy.
But Noa is still just staring. Silently. And the longer she does, the more my uncertainty digs itself under my skin. I shift until my thigh presses to her mattress.
“Noa?” My voice drops. “Talk to me, sweet one.” The term of endearment slips from me without thought. The ease of which it rolls off my tongue is like breathing. “Are you hurt? In pain?”
The damned hoodie, far too big and stained, conceals too much from me—hides whatever marks or bruises that could be marring her porcelain skin from my worried view.
Noa swallows, then shakes her head just a fraction. “You’re here…” she whispers. “Part of me thought I’d imagined it. Imaginedyou.”
I can’t hold back anymore. I reach for her hand instead of her face like I want to, threading out fingers.
