I consider letting it go for now—the talk about her mother, the questions clawing at the back of my skull since I woke. She looks like she’s barely holding herself together, and maybe I’ve already pushed her far enough for one day. But if we’re ever going to move forward, to rebuild what was lost, we can’t keep hiding behind silence. At some point, we both have to start laying our truths down, piece by piece, until there’s enough trust to stand on. All I can do is keep offering mine, hoping she’ll see it for what it is and eventually meet me halfway.
So, I take the risk, and ask, “Do you think your mother could’ve left me messages? Through dreams?”
The reaction is immediate. Her chin jerks up, eyes widening in that small, telling way that gives her away completely. She doesn’t need to speak. Her silence has already spoken for her.
“You’ve dreamed of her too,” I say quietly, not accusing, not even surprised. Just... certain. Certain that I’m not crazy in believing this to be possible. “Thalassa.” The name still feels strange in my mouth after all these years. “I don’t understandwhat’s happening, Noa. Why would your mother be leaving us messages? What did she do?”
That’s the question that won’t leave me.
WhatdidThalassa Alderwood do to us? How deep does her interference run?
I already know she tore us apart once by taking Noa away, by severing something sacred before it ever had the chance to grow, but Thalassa’s warning in my dream tells me there’s more. I just don’t know how much damage she left behind, or if it can ever be undone.
Noa stands there, shifting on her feet, worrying her cracked lip between her straight front teeth. She’s staring like she’s caught in some silent argument with herself. Her hands fidget with the too long sleeves of her top, and I’m now paying attention to the fact it’s not the one she’d been wearing outside.
The purple sweatshirt is gone.
In its place is a warm charcoal knit sweater.Mine. The one I left hanging over the banister before patrol, half on purpose, half on a stupid, boyish hope she’d find it and‘steal’it. She must’ve grabbed it on her way upstairs. Now, it hangs loose on her small frame and seeing her in it makes something deep inside me settle. A quiet hum of alpha satisfaction runs through both me and my wolf. The sight hits every possessive instinct I have. My scent now clings to her, wrapped around her, marking her as mine without having to declare it in words. It’s a silent claim, one she doesn’t even realize she’s made by wearing it.
This is how it’s supposed to be—an alpha providing for his omega, seeing to her comfort in whatever small ways he can.If soft fabric and a familiar scent bring her comfort, she can have every damn piece of clothing I own. I’ll rip the shirt off my back if it means it’ll help her breathe a little easier.
A slow exhale leaves her, the kind that sounds like surrender. Whatever argument she’s been fighting with herself finally ends,and she lifts one small hand from the safety of her sleeve. Only half of it shows as she extends it toward me. “Will you go somewhere with me?”
For a second, I just stare, caught off guard by the offering. She’s never reached out for me like this, never silently asked for my touch. My hand finds hers, wrapping around it easily, my heat bleeding into her cold skin.I give her fingers a soft, lingering squeeze.
“Sweet one,” I murmur. “Haven’t you figured it out yet? I’ll follow you anywhere.”
She turns away, head ducking as she pulls us toward the door, but I catch it. A tiny pull at the edge of her mouth, a flicker of something soft and unguarded.
Something real.
Chapter 15
Rennick
When Noa told me she wanted to take me somewhere, this is the last place I thought she’d lead us.
The creek.
It used to be easier to get down here. There’d been a narrow trail once, marked and worn from years of pack footsteps, but it was erased when my father had the small general store and pack café built. What’s left now is a steep slope covered in moss-slick rock. I end up half carrying Noa the whole way down, one careful step at a time, guiding her until we reach the stream below.
The water runs higher and faster than it did a couple of weeks ago, fed by the melt from the last light snowfall. The sound of it fills the silence that now sits heavy between us as we stand at the water’s edge. I find I don’t so much mind the quiet, not when she’s here with me and close enough to touch.
Somewhere along the walk, Noa had let go of my hand, but she hadn’t drifted far. Her arm brushing mine every so often, a fleeting touch that was enough to settle the restless humming beneath my skin. Each time it happens, calm and craving twist together inside me.
She stands with her face tilted toward the autumn sun, soaking up whatever warmth it still offers this late in the season. We’re only weeks away from shorter days and earlier sunsets, and gray skies being a frequent companion. Even now, there’s a bite to the air. My own body runs hot enough that I barely feel it, but it’s enough to make me glance at the sweater Noa’s wearing. It’s warm—I know that firsthand—but not enough to keep thechill off for long. If she plans for us to linger out here for a while, I’ll need to find her something heavier. Or hell, strip off my Henley and pull it over her myself.
I hold my tongue, watching her like she’s the only thing worth my attention, waiting for her to finally give me the reason she’s brought me out here.
“Do you remember ditching school and coming here?” she finally asks.
Her question has my brows pulling together before I can stop them. “Here? I don’t under?—”
“Humor me.” She gives a small shrug, a faint curve of amusement tugging at her mouth.
I let out a slow breath and let my gaze follow the curve of the creek while I dig for whatever memory she’s trying to pull out of me.
“Yeah,” I murmur, half to her, half to myself. “Maybe once or twice.”
