She’s the kid who once screamed at a substitute teacher for marking her absent when she was five minutes late.
Now she just shrugs and lets it go, and the change worries me.
“Mr. Finch asked why I’m wearing this stupid thing.” Lena cuts through the temporary peace. “I told him it was for safety, but Kaylie thinks I’m sleeping around. Wearing a nape guard at school is the same as hanging a sign around my neck that says ‘available but choosy.’”
I turn to her, knife still gripped in my hand. The cheap guard we got from the Omega Outreach Clinic encircles her neck, black straps stark against her pale skin. She keeps one hand near her throat when she talks about it. Not touching the guard. Just hovering.
The sight twists my insides, relief tangling with rage that she needs protection in the first place.
If I hadn’t been at work… If I’d picked up the phone sooner… If I’d walked her home as I used to when she was thirteen and small enough to hide behind me…
Would any of those have stopped what happened?
“Your safety matters more than what Kaylie thinks,” I tell her.
“Easy for you to say.” She flips a page in her textbook with enough force to tear the corner. “You’re not the one who has to explain to everyone why you’re suddenly wearing a chastity collar for your neck.”
I should get her someone to talk to.
Someone trained. Someone with the skill to untangle what that vile man tried to take from her.
The Omega Outreach Clinic gave us the guard. They can probably recommend someone.
But therapy costs money we don’t have.
“It’s not a chastity collar.” My free hand curls into a fist at my side. “It’s what keeps another Alpha from thinking they can sink their teeth into you whenever they want.”
Her chin tilts up in defiance. “So, why aren’t you wearing one?”
The question catches me off guard. “What?”
“If nape guards are so important, why don’t you have one on?” Her eyes narrow, a spark of triumph in them. “Especially now that you have a boyfriend.”
Heat creeps up my neck. “Rowan is not my boyfriend.”
“Right.” She drags out the word. “He’s some random guy who made us breakfast and gave me his number for emergencies.”
The knife in my hand trembles with the effort of restraint. “Giving you his number without asking me first is why he’s not welcome here anymore.”
Lena crosses her arms over her chest. “You’re avoiding him because of me, aren’t you? Because you think it’s dangerous to have an Alpha around.”
“I’m not avoiding anyone.” The lie, because why not? I’m already on a roll this morning. “And yes, Alphas are dangerous.”
“Not all of them.” She tugs at her nape guard, adjusting it where the plastic plate at the back covers where an Alpha’s Mark would still be if I hadn’t killed Danny.
She hadn’t asked any questions when she woke up Mark free, and I hadn’t volunteered the information, saving us both another lie. But now she’s acting as if nothing happened, pretending her anger is with the collar and not the reason why she’s wearing it, and I don’t know how to help her.
We’re not a family that discusses our traumas, and maybe that’s my fault too. The one time I tried to talk about our parents, she shut down, and I fear putting her back in that space again.
She stops fussing with the collar to glare at me. “And don’t change the subject. If I have to wear this stupid thing all the time, so should you.”
“That’s different.” My fingers tighten around the knife handle. “I’m older.”
“And an Omega, same as me.” She throws the words with the accuracy of a teenager who’s latched onto an idea and won’t give it up. “Who has beenspending time with an Alpha. Don’t think your turtle necks are hiding those hickies.”
My mouth opens, then closes, and I resist the urge to fuss with the high collar of my shirt. Lena stands her ground, her fingers wrapped around the edge of her chair, knuckles white with determination.
“You want me to be safe,” she continues, softer but no less intense. “I want the same for you.”
