I nod, because she’s right. “I’m already scheming, I just haven’t figure out what helping omegas from here looks like yet.”
“Let me know if I can help,” Zora offers easily, and then looks to Seren. “And you’d be okay leaving this pack and Noa?”
Seren gives a shrug meant to pass for casual. It doesn’t. I see the tension threaded through her spine from across the island.
“Pack life isn’t really for me.”
Anymore.
I hear the rest of it even if she doesn’t say it.
I’ve watched Seren try to fold herself back into pack life, try to fall into step with this one because it’s mine. My birthplace. But this isn’t her home and it’s not where she belongs. Even if she wishes it were, even if staying would be easier on both of our hearts.
“And I’m notleavingNoa,” she continues, her voice steadier now. “Knowing her, she’ll be back often enough it’ll feel like she never really left. But we don’t need to worry about this now. Like I said, I’m not going to risk my daughter’s life by leaving this territory before that coven is dealt with.”
I’m about to agree with her when I feel it.
There’s a tug in my chest, sudden and unmistakable. Not pain. Not panic. The familiar yearning sensation that flashes whenever Rennick is close again.
He left before sunrise, easing himself out of bed with careful hands to avoid waking me. He kissed my temple before he went, a quiet promise that he’d be back pressed into skin. Then he was gone and I haven’t seen or heard from him since.
It’s nearly noon now.
Seren’s pale and knowing gaze slides to mine as her empath charmer gift picks up on the shift in me before I can contain it.
“He’s back, isn’t he?” she asks, restrained humor decorating the simple question.
I’m already leaving.
“Yep!” I toss over my shoulder as I walk through the kitchen’s archway.
I followthe pull through the house with an easy smile already in place, anticipation warming my chest with every step. He’s close, that familiar low hum guiding me down the hall toward his home office. I don’t bother knocking when I reach the half-open door. I push it open, eager, already stepping inside.
And then I stop dead.
Rennick is leaning over his desk, shoulders tense, one hand braced against the metal surface as he studies something on his computer screen. The collar of his fitted, gray long-sleeved shirt is torn, fabric stretched to the point of ruin as if someone had grabbed him there and yanked hard.
There are marks on his face. Angry, scraped lines dangerously close to his left eye, still a vivid red color that makes my stomach tighten. Human fingernails, not claws. Thank the Goddess. A fraction higher and a little deeper, and he could have lost his eye.
Once I see them, I can’t unsee the rest.
Similar scratches line his forearms where his shirt sleeves have been pushed up and trail up the side of his neck. His clothes are a mess, smudged with dirt and darker stains that look a lot like dried blood. His knuckles are split too and are already knitting themselves back together.
A fight, then. One he evidently didn’t walk away from clean.
Which doesn’t seem like him…
“What the hell happened to you?” My blurted question formally announces my presence before I’m slamming the door shut and crossing the room in a rush.
He turns fully then, attention tearing away from the screen as his head snaps up. The moment his eyes land on me andregister my expression, the tension in him shifts. Not gone, just redirected. Just enough for his face to soften into deliberately careful. Like he already knows I’m upset and is bracing for what I might say. Straightening to his full height, he tries to steady me before I reach him, his hands lifting in a calming gesture.
“Noa, sweetheart, I’m fine,” he starts, voice deliberately gentle and reassuring. “It’s nothing serious.”
I’m already in front of him, rising onto my bare toes so I can try to get a good look of the damage up close. He’s still too damn tall for that, but still, I hover my fingers for half a second before brushing the marks near his eyes.
My breath catches as my wolf surges hard against my skin, harder than she ever has. The response is pure instinct, a fierce wave of protest at the sight of our mate injured. For a single heartbeat I freeze. Fear that this is the moment she decided to punch her way to freedom holds me there. The moment passes with nothing happening except being left slightly lightheaded and shaky.
I drag my focus back to him.
