His eyes meet mine, and just for a moment he lets me see the utter fucking misery that Nico’s story has dragged up. The memories that haunt him. And ithurts.
I’m two seconds away from launching across the table and pulling him into the tightest fucking hug when he blinks and locks everything back down tight. He gives me a slight shake of his head, and as much as I want to grab him, to tell him he doesn’t have to hide anything, especially not from me, I let it go.
He’s not ready.
He might never be, and that’s okay.
Because every fucker in this room will be here when he is.
“Did you see Mosely with anyone else?” Callum asks, and Nico’s hand twitches on the table. I don’t miss the way he leansinto Jet. They’re sat so close their arms touch from shoulder to elbow, and he visibly relaxes. But there’s no trace of arousal, no sense of attraction between them. Jet’s fierce protectiveness is almost... familial.
Like a brother.
Who would’ve thought my most surly beta and club enforcer would be Nico’s sole source of comfort? Maybe I should’ve seen that coming a mile off, because now I think about it, it makes perfect fucking sense. Jet makes him feel safe.
“There were others there who he spoke to, but they never came close enough for me to see their faces.” Nico shrugs and kind of shrinks in on himself. “I don’t... I don’t think I’d recognise their scents either.”
Because he has no fucking idea how to be a shifter.
Something else we’ll need to talk about later, because there’s no way we’re leaving him like this. I don’t care how long it takes, we’re gonna help him be his best fucking self.
“Doesn’t matter,” I tell him, making sure no alpha power seeps out. I have no idea how it would affect him, and I have no desire to find out right now. “Just describe what you did see.”
“They were from around here, the Midlands,” he adds like I don’t know where we are. Forgetting that he’s probably not from around here. Just because we found him in this area doesn’t mean they didn’t snatch him from somewhere miles away. He offers a rare, if a little self-deprecating, smile. “I might be shit with scents, but I can recognise accents easily enough.”
“What else?”
His gaze travels around the room, quick enough that it doesn’t linger on anyone, except maybe Flint, but that could be my imagination. “They were big.” He spreads his hands wide. “Like you all are.”
No.
Just because they were built doesn’t mean they wereexactlylike us. Shifters wouldn’t be involved with the fucking fight rings. Not even the Feral Beasts would sink that low. “You mean like bodyguards?” Would make sense for them to have some muscle on the payroll.
“I guess?”
Callum asks the question no other fucker wants to. “Could they have been shifters?”
It’d be an easy question for anyone else at this table.
Except Morgan.
And apparently Nico too, because there’s no mistaking the shame that makes him curl in on himself that little bit more.
“I don’t know,” he whispers, the air thick with the scent of defeat.
Jet growls, low and nasty, fierce green eyes daring anyone to have a problem with that.
“It’s okay,” I whisper, directing my glare at Jet because he’s raging at the wrong people.
He doesn’t apologise, but he does school his features into something a little less murderous.
Silence fills the room, the implications of everything we’ve learnt today settling heavily on everyone.
“What’s the plan?” Morgan asks, surprising me enough that I speak without engaging my brain first.
“Well, the first thing we need to do is get you as far away from here as fucking possible.” I catch Flint’s wince and subtle head shake before Morgan unleashes.
“Says who?” He turns in his seat to face me, and I can’t say I’m a fan of the sneer directed at me. “You?” He scoffs, and I’m not a fan of that either. “I don’t fucking think so.”
