“I’m here,” I tell her. She holds on like some part of her can’t help it. “I heard you call for me. In my head—clear as day—I heard you cry out to me for help.”
Her eyes widen. “You heard me?”
“I did. And I’ve never been so fucking scared, Noa. I didn’t know what was happening or if I’d make it back to you in time.”
“I don’t know how that happened—howI did it,” she admits with a broken whisper. “I was just…soafraid.” The word splinters something within her, a tear falling from the corner of her right eye. “They killed Lowri. Sliced her throat open. And they were taking the rest of us. I couldn’t stop myself from reaching out to you.”
It flashes across her face, the conflicted guilt and regret like she’s just now grasping what she did. Like she can’t wrap her head around the fact that, subconsciously or not, she still reached out to me during her worst moment. That a part of her, buried beneath the distrust I’d carved into her with my rejection,still believed I would come. That I would be the one to keep her safe. And that…fuck, that gives me something I didn’t realize I was starving for, and I’ll hold on to it with everything I have.
“I was already on my way back when I heard you,” I say quietly before exhaling a long breath. “Couldn’t handle being that far away from you. It was…killing me knowing you were here, and I wasn’t with you.”
That same distrust from before haunts her features as she stares up at me, but it fades into something else after a moment. Something cautious that makes the thread behind my ribs pulse. I leave it alone. For now. It’s not the time to push.
Instead, I give her something else to focus on. Something I know she needs to hear before anything else happens.
“The others are safe too. Rhosyn, Siggy, and…” I trail off, not remembering the young omega’s name for a beat, “Edie? They’re all here.”
Her eyes squeeze shut, a few more tears escaping. “Really?”
I nod. “Rhosyn’s pissed. Canaan’s barely keeping her back from going on a one-woman rampage. Edie went off with someone from the Craddock Pack. I didn’t get their name, but they’re both helping with the wounded. Getting a final head count.” I squeeze Noa’s fingers back when hers flex around mine, her jaw trembling as she listens. Appreciating the way more of the tension she’s carrying eases from her, I keep going. “Siggy was here just a few minutes ago. Her wolf is still running the show, but she’s close to finding her way back to us. Knowing that you’re finally awake will help with that.”
Noa sniffs and wipes her face.
“Once everyone’s cleaned up and taken a breath, we’ll figure out everything else.”
“Everything else?” she parrots.
Unable to resist the pull any longer, my free hand lifts and my fingertips trail across her jaw.
She stiffens but doesn’t pull away. I’ll take it.
“There’s a lot to decide after what happened. How to move forward and what steps should be taken next to ensure everyone’s safety.” I can see the questions flickering in her mind and I have no doubt they match what everyone else is thinking. I won’t let her drown in them yet. I pull my touch away from her face, but keep her hand in mine, giving it a small tug. “I’ve been trying to stay calm, but the smell of blood on you is driving me insane, baby. My instincts are shot to hell and it’s making my wolf homicidal. Let’s get you cleaned up before I lose whatever grip I have left.”
To my relief, she doesn’t argue when I help ease her legs off the side of her bed. She doesn’t tense up and resist. There’s just the exhausted compliance of someone who’s been through hell and back. Of someone who has the weight of others’ safety on her shoulders and needs to let go. If only for a moment.
Noa’s delicate hands wrapped in mine, I keep my grip firm but gentle as I guide her upright. I know the second her body protests the change in position. Her weight shifts, balance faltering, the fatigue in her muscles threatening to drag her back down. I catch her around the waist, anchoring her to me. I keep her there, close and steady. Another quiet apology woven into my touch, into the way I hold on longer than I need to.
It’s not just the kind of exhaustion that comes from running for your life bleeding her dry. Rejected mate syndrome is still eating away at her, leeching strength from her bones and muscles. It’s a wound I gave her and one I will find a way to fix. No matter what it takes, I’ll find a way to undo what I’ve done. The safety of her people is at the forefront of my mind right now, but at the end of the day,thisis my priority.
When I’m sure she’s stable, I release my hold on her hand to reach for the zipper of her hoodie. My fingers hesitate at the metal teeth as I meet her eyes.
“I can go get Seren.” I fight my alpha nature to tend and care for my omega, by offering again, “Or Rhosyn.”
She holds my gaze. Then, there’s a small shake of her head.
“Okay,” I breathe, pulling the zipper all the way down. The once well-worn fabric is stiff with mud, blood, and fuck knows what else. I ease it from her shoulders and then extract her arms.
Noa frowns when I ball it in my hand and toss it toward the bedroom’s open doorway. It lands in a forgotten heap against the baseboard.
“I’m sorry your sweatshirt was ruined. I did really like it.” Her voice is scratchy and stiff, like confessing this betrays some line she doesn’t want to cross.
I blink. This admission is a minor thing, but it hits harder than it should because it’s a surrender. Small, maybe even accidental, but a surrender all the same.
“Sweatshirts can be replaced.” The rest of the sentence—you can’t—stays lodged behind my teeth “And I’ve got more. You can take your pick.” She shifts on her bare feet, the tug-of-war in her eyes returning. I don’t give her time to dwell on it. I reach for the hem of her simple long-sleeved T-shirt, my touch careful as ever. “Arms up, baby.”
I don’t know if it’s timid trust or if she’s just too fucking tired to argue, but her arms lift, and I ease the top over her head. Her hair clings to the fabric, causing static to lift the already tangled strands.
“You shouldn’t call me that,” she mutters, teeth nibbling at her chapped bottom lip. I make a mental note to find her some water. She’s probably dehydrated on top of everything.
