Of course, he notices the quivering in my fingers. I don’t even need to look to know it, but when I do, the confirmation sinks into me. His dark brows are pulled tight, eyes flashing with something sharp and tense. It’s alarm. He doesn’t speak, but the heaviness of his silence feels louder than words. His gaze darts from my hands to my face, once, then again.
Terrified he’ll break the quiet with questions I’m not ready to answer, I force my grip steady and take the cup from him. “Thank you.” My throat is still tender from my earlier coughing fit and the two words scrape out in a hoarse whisper.
His body now rigid stone beside me, Rennick dips his chin in quiet acknowledgment, but his gaze lingers on me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle.It’s as if he’s trying to dissect me with his eyes and uncover where else I may be fraying. He’s hunting for the cracks I’m trying to hide, cataloging them so he can smooth them over, fix them, repair me piece by piece himself.It’s overwhelming, the force of his unwavering attention. Part of me wants to lean into it, to let him really see, but the other half isn’t ready to risk it.
It’s the latter that ultimately ends up winning the internal battle.
Biting my lip, I pivot smoothly on socked feet and cross to the breakfast nook. I take one of the chairs across the metal table from the three omegas. Siggy greets me with a small smile, and beside her Hattie and Elio sit shoulder to shoulder, close enough their arms nearly brush. Their eyes track me as I move, watchful but not wary. Neither tenses when I sit,which feels like progress, however fragile. Good.
Last night they’d seemed in surprisingly good spirits, all things considered, when I showed them to the two bedrooms tucked into Rennick’s finished basement. Though, calling it a basement feels misleading with its doors that open straight onto the back patio and the wide panes of windows stretchingfloor to ceiling just like the rest of the house.Most people would appreciate the natural light, but I’d winced inwardly when I’d seen them. Omegas thrive in confined spaces with soft lighting. An environment that mirrors a true wolf’s den dug into the earth. I’d made a mental note to order blackout window coverings for the Nightingale’s bedrooms.
The two new Nightingales had looked almost bewildered when I told them they’d each have their own room. Their own private space to nest. I haven’t had the chance to speak with them in depth about their pasts yet, but Goddess only knows how long it’s been since either of them had a place of their own. If they ever were allowed one at all. Still, beneath the confusion something softer bloomed. Tentative excitement. As it should. Their very designation, who they are at their core, drives them to build safe spaces, to tuck themselves away in warmth and comfort. To have that instinct withheld, twisted into something shameful or denied entirely, is abuse. And just like with every one of my Nightingales before them, I’m simply grateful I can give them back a small piece of what never should have been stolen in the first place.
Their hesitant delight only grew when Seren and Rhosyn had helped lug down the bins and oversized totes full of the nesting supplies I’d salvaged from the sanctuary. Clean and saturated with scent-neutralizing spray to get out any remaining hints of smoke, we’d encouraged them to take whatever they wanted. It wasn’t much, not even close to the normal amount I usually had to offer, but with our coaxing, the pair had reached timid hands into the various pillows and blankets. Ending up with arms full of carefully selected soft fabrics, the omegas had offered quiet thank-yous before ducking into their assigned rooms.
“How are you guys this morning?” I manage a smile that I hope looks convincing while my insides are still twisted in too many emotions to name. “Do you need anything? I packedeverything I could think of, but the last couple days have been…a lot. Things probably got left behind. I promise I’m usually more on top of things.”
I don’t just look at Hattie and Elio, I look at Siggy too. This is her territory, her pack, but home or not, it doesn’t erase the fact that she’s mine—my Nightingale. Still adamant about staying in my orbit, she’d refused to go home with her mother last night. I saw the debate rise in Yrsa Eklund’s eyes before she swallowed it down and reluctantly left her daughter in my care again. It’d been an obvious tug-of-war between wanting her child close and knowing she couldn’t force her.I’d given Yrsa the best reassuring smile I could manage, knowing Siggy would eventually find her way back to her mother’s house. She just needs to reclaim the sense of safety she used to feel here before she can. But for now, she still needs me.
It’s Hattie who carries the most nerves now, the skin around her thumbnail already red and angry from chewing on it. After what she and Elio went through, being treated like objects, like they didn’t deserve even the smallest comfort,the idea of asking for something must feel like walking willfully into a trap. Like the moment she speaks up, punishment is sure to follow.
“Hattie,” I say softly, easing my hand across the table until it hovers near hers, but doesn’t touch. It’s a silent offering of support she can take or leave. I won’t cross that line before she does. “It’s on me to make sure you feel safe and settled. If there’s anything that would help, big or small, I want to give you that. All you have to do is be honest with me.”
She looks sideways at Elio, her eyes wide and searching, like she’s waiting for him to tell her it’s safe to speak. He doesn’t get the chance.
Siggy leans in, her tone firm but threaded with reassurance. “She means it. Noa only wants to help. If it’s something she can do for you, she’ll make it happen.”
I sent a private wink to Siggy, grateful for the backup.
Finally, Hattie caves, releasing her battered thumb from her teeth. She clears her throat twice like she’s amping up to make some grand declaration. What comes out is small but carries the edge of practiced bravado.Fake it till you make itseems to be her chosen philosophy, and I can respect the method. “I need a hairbrush.”
I was prepared for her to ask for something grand with the way she’s built it up, but in the end, she only wants to be able to comb her fucking hair.Goddess, this never gets easier…
Seemingly embolden by her honesty, Elio blurts his own confession in a rush, like if he doesn’t get the words out fast enough, he’ll lose his nerve. “I really appreciate that you packed shaving cream.” His hand rubs self-consciously along his chin, where stubble darkens his jaw. “But I’m actually allergic to that brand. I don’t want to be picky…never mind. I shouldn’t have complained. It’s fine. I can still use it.”
My heart arches for them. A hairbrush. Shaving cream. Toiletries anyone else would take for granted, yet the pair sits here braced for punishment just for voicing the need.
“Hairbrush. Different shaving cream.” Trying to show I mean what I say, I breeze past Elio’s self-deprecating rambling and repeat the items evenly, like we’re simply making a grocery list. But the truth hums beneath—how something so innocent and small has been corrupted by abuse. How cruelty has rewired them to brace for the worst. “That’s easy enough. If there’s anything else, just let me know. Later, we’ll sit down and put in an order for clothes, too, get you both some everyday basics. I’ll probably have to drive into Silverthorne to pick everything up, but that’s not a problem.”
I’m not reckless enough to think I—or anyone—should go into town alone when there’s a coven of dark witches circling. The thought of asking Rennick feels dangerously close to toeingthe line I’ve drawn in the sand between us. And yet, the ever-present, declining part of me knows what being trapped in a confined space with him would do. It would be like hooking myself to a power source—an IV drip of pain medicine straight into my bloodstream. What I don’t know is what that kind of alone time will do to the thin defenses I’m still desperately trying hold together.
Elio watches me for a long moment, muscles tense, like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. For me to tell him what I want in return for my generosity. When I stay silent, taking sips from my perfectly made latte, and let the silence stretch, he finally relaxes. His stiff shoulders fall a fraction, relief softening the tension in his haunted face.
He toys with the rim of his own coffee mug, then looks at me through the curls falling over his eyes. “What happened to Juno?”
I blink in surprise and sit up a little taller. Before I can voice the obvious, the air shifts with the weight of his arrival at my back. Rennick takes the chair at my right, his frame so broad it seems to consume not only his space but mine too. His thigh presses against my leg, solid and warm, and making my wolf practically purr. Logic urges me to lean away, to recover the inches he’s claimed, but instead I bite back a sigh, greedily soaking in the heat that seeps through every layer of fabric.
His advanced hearing having picked up on the male omega’s soft-spoken question, it’s Rennick who speaks first, cutting in with the question that had been balanced on the tip of my tongue. “Juno?”
Elio shifts, his expression tightening into a grimace. “The omega in the cage,” he clarifies quietly. “I knew her before…from a different club. Before we moved and she got stuck in her wolf form. That’s how I know her name.”
Juno. The feral she-wolf finally has a name. An identity—something more than the broken, caged creature I’d seen last night.
“She’s in one of the other bedrooms,” Rennick once again answers before I can. “We gave her another dose of the sedative when we brought her in last night. Figured it was safer. But we left the crate door open so if she woke, she wouldn’t be trapped.”
Elio winces, echoing the same concern I’d voiced last night when Rennick and I carried Juno into the remaining guest room in the far corner of the basement. “That might not have been smart. She can get…violent. She might tear the room apart.”
Rennick only shrugs, just as he has with me, utterly unfazed by the possibility of his home being damaged. “I’m not worried about it. Carpet and drywall are replaceable. So is furniture. What matters is she’s safe. Whatever else happens, we’ll deal with later.”
