And I know I’ll do it all again, as many times as it takes.
CHAPTER 18
Ranier
The sittingroom of Everhart Manor has always been a prison, but today it’s a sick joke. There’s no light outside—just the deep gray of early morning, the kind that makes the window glass go cold and the brass fixtures look like they’ve gone untouched for decades. I sit in my usual chair, feet propped on the ottoman, hands squeezed tight enough around a water glass that I can feel the grooves from the cut crystal.
It’s been hours, maybe days, since I slept.
Emery’s scent is everywhere. Last night, it was the faintest drift of spun sugar, a kid’s carnival memory. But now? Now it’s weaponized. It’s so sweet it could stop your heart, like drinking a bottle of syrup and trying not to choke. I can taste it on the back of my tongue, and there’s no part of me that isn’t aware of the omega in the walls.
I see it in Bastion’s posture, the way his arms are folded so tight it looks like he’s holding himself together. I see it in Wyatt’s pacing—he’s already lapped the grand piano three times and is about to go for a fourth. We’re all doing the math, trying to figure out how many more hours of this before one of us snaps.
Wyatt is the first to break. He drops onto the couch, knees wide, elbows on thighs, and glares at the rug like it personally insulted him.
“Are we just going to sit here?” His voice is tight, raw, the edge of a guy who’s been holding it in for way too long. “She’s in heat. You can smell that, right? She’s been up there since yesterday all alone.”
Bastion doesn’t look up. He’s chewing on a thumbnail, which means he’s about three seconds from saying something regrettable.
“I can hear her,” he says, voice flat.
Wyatt snorts. “I can hear her too. I’m not deaf.” He looks at me, green eyes sharp under the flop of his hair. “What do we do?”
I stare at the water in my glass, the way it shakes with every pulse in my hand. I could tell them to deal with it. I could tell them to take rut suppressants and get over themselves. I could do what my father did and pretend omegas are just a Council regulation, nothing more. Instead, I say nothing. Let the silence do the work for me.
Bastion pushes off the wall and paces to the window. He’s vibrating with something—anger, frustration, I don’t know. “We could at least check if she’s okay. I mean, fuck, she’s alone in there.”
“Shewantsto be alone.” Even I can hear the doubt in my voice.
Wyatt shoots me a look. “Are you sure? Because she sounds like she’s dying.”
I hear it, too. The whimpers, soft at first but growing louder as the hours go by. The creak of her bed frame as she shifts. Sometimes, if I’m unlucky, I catch a sliver of her voice—just a gasp, or a broken little word, but enough to lodge in my spine and stay there.
“She’s got to work through it herself. It’s her first heat in a new pack. She needs to figure out where she stands.”
Wyatt laughs harshly. “She’s figuring it out, all right. We’ve left her up there for since yesterday.”
“Would you rather go in there and risk fucking up everything?” I snap. “The Council is just waiting for us to screw this up.”
Bastion turns from the window, face tight with disgust. “The Council doesn’t give a shit about us unless there’s a PR hit. I think Grey is actually hurting. And it’s not like she’s a monster, Ranier. She’s… nice.”
“She’s more than nice,” Wyatt says. “You know she’s been making breakfast every morning? Even when she can’t eat. She makes enough for the whole house and then just leaves it on the counter.”
I remember. I remember the pancakes in the shape of wolves, the pastries with the weird swirls of color. Even the way she’d line up three mugs for the three of us even though she knew nobody would come down until noon.
I hated it, then. But now? Now it’s just another thing I can’t get rid of.
“She’s here for a reason,” I say, voice low. “We can’t let her get comfortable. The whole point is to make her want out.”
Wyatt blinks. “You really believe that?”
I grit my teeth. “That’s the plan. She leaves, the Council backs off, and we can go back to our lives. That’s what we agreed.”
Bastion snorts, but it’s not funny. “You know, for someone who hates the Council, you’re sure good at following orders.”
I slam the glass down on the table. “We didn’t pick her. We didn’t ask for this. So why pretend?”
“Because she’s part of the pack now,” Bastion says. “You can’t just—” He shakes his head, words failing him. “Whatever. I’mgoing to get some air. This whole room smells like a bakery gone rotten.”
