I’m afraid to ask what he means by that, but I’m not given the opportunity to get any clarification.
A low sound in Rennick’s throat deepens as both of his arms lock around my body, pulling me fully into his chest and holding me there. He leaves absolutely no room to question who I belong to.
“Call my mate beautiful one more time, and I’ll feed you your foot.”
Rook isn’t deterred in the slightest. His brows, a shade darker than the blondish-brown hair on his head, wag in an exaggerated, suggestive motion. He’s almost impressive in his audacity. “Kinky. Didn’t think you had it in you, Saint Nick.”
Canaan huffs and folds his thick arms across his chest, taking a pointed step away from Rook, afraid to get caught in the possible crossfire. “You’re an idiot.”
Rennick’s friend just smiles.
And I take the opportunity to really look at him. Everything about this future Alpha reads as casual and unbothered. Even the confidence he wears is relaxed, but it doesn’t fool me. It’s a practiced façade. I can sense something underneath. Something darker, and far more authentic, just waiting for the moment it can be released.
Not interested in entertaining this alpha male pissing contest, I jab my elbow into Rennick’s ribs, forcing him to let go of me sooner than he’s ready.
I drift forward to the table, taking in the maps and printed pictures blanketing the surface. I scan them all slowly until one image stops me cold.
The triplets.
Malvina. Evara. Zephira.
It’s a grainy still pulled from a security feed, shadowed and imperfect, caught mid-motion. I don’t know where Rennick found it, and I don’t ask.
I lift my head, and with thin, foolish hope pressing against the back of my throat, I ask a question I already know the answer to before it leaves my mouth. “Do you really think they’ll come back?”
Rennick doesn’t let my question hover in the air for long.
“They will,” he answers, sounding matter-of-fact. “There’s no version of this where they don’t come, one way or another. Whether it’s them or an ally, someone will show up at our borders.”
My hands curl tight at my sides, nails biting into my palms, because he’s right. We’re going to have to face the very people my mom instinctively steered us away from. She sensed the malice in them, knew their darkness knew no bounds, long before we uncovered Tanith and her coven were behind the omega disappearances. Before she knew they were working with Merritt, she kept us out of their orbit. I think the thought of Merritt giving me over to them terrified her more than the idea of him killing me outright. Death is final. There’s no pain once your heart stops. What happens to the omegas once they’re auctioned off, behind closed and locked doors, is slow. Pain delivered systematically. Cruel enough to make death feel kind.
“I’m certain now,” Rennick says, stepping closer to my back. Close enough that I can now feel his body heat. “That even without the excuse of avenging their fallen sister, this was always their destination.”
But theywillwant revenge. Mom warned me herself that they will come to settle this debt.
“How do you know that?” I ask, eyes never looking away from the picture. Cold prickles along my spine, my body remembering the shock of hitting the ground after slipping in Lowri’s blood. Malvina’s wicked curved blade and the way it kept arcing toward Ivey’s vulnerable throat flashes in my head. They drew something from our fear, from the pain they caused, it sustained them. The memories of that day in Ashvale rise up all at once, settling in my chest with a weight that’s hard to breathe through.
My anxiety spikes hard enough that he must feel it because a second later, Rennick closes the remaining distance between us. His chest presses against my back, and his hands settle on my shoulders. He doesn’t spell it out, but I hear the silent message in his touch anyway. That he’s here. That he won’t allow what happened in Ashvale to repeat here.
“How do you know they were always planning on coming here?” I repeat, finally tearing my attention away from the picture and the memories and phantom pain it’s conjured up.
Rennick’s hands guide me to turn right as he says his friend’s name. “Rook.”
Understanding the rest of Rennick’s unsaid request, the man in question nods and crosses to the other side of the room where a rolling whiteboard has been brought in. The front looks like a schedule of sorts has been scribbled across it in green marker, but that’s not what Rennick wants to show me.
Rook flips it.
There are more photos, some are clear and professionally taken, and others are just as grainy as the one of the triplets.
Faces stares back at me, pinned haphazardly with names scrawled in dark ink beneath them along with their occupation within the pack. Some I recognize instantly, like the man on Gareth’s crew who Rennick had already questioned about theroom that smelled of bleach. Others require a longer look for my mind to connect the face to the name.
My pulse quickens and I spare a quick look at the closed door before moving closer, unease tightening with every step.
“Are these who you think could have been helping Merritt? The ones who were in on it?” I ask over my shoulder.
I knew Rennick had been working with Rook and Canaan. I knew they were helping him prepare, quietly reinforcing the pack and the territory for the worst. I just hadn’t realized that they’d been helping him with this, too. This list. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised he’d recruit them for this task—they’re among the few people he can trust completely, without having to wonder where their loyalties lie.
The images on the board hammer in a hard truth. Pack ties are no longer synonymous with blind trust.
