Wings nods and gets out of the shower, soap bubbles still clinging to his arms. When Pitt follows him, I look up at Ark, tears on my lashes. “Fuck. I broke him.”
“He’s just frightened and hurt.” Ark says, looks down at me with strain lines on his face and water clinging to his beard. “It’s all or nothing, Abbie. We can’t exist without you, and Wings thought we might have to.” I suck in a pained breath, but Ark catches my chin. “I love you, Abbie. Pitt and Bluff love you. And Wings loves you so much, it’s nearly tearing him apart. You’re everything to us, sweet girl, and without you, the world might as well burn.”
Chapter Twenty-Six: ARK
Bluff sneaks into the room just before dawn, smelling like smoke, blood, and wet leaves. He’s removed his flannel shirt, but his tee is damp against his chest, and he peels it off with a sucking sound. When he’s done, he balls it into a fist and moves closer to the bed, peering down at Abbie. “Is she okay? What did Patch say?”
I squeeze my hand into a fist, feeling a tremor of rage echo in the bones. “Seems she was injected with a chemo drug. Something painful. Patch has drawn some blood to check for side effects.”
“Fuck.” His eyes flash, his scent taking on a feral edge. “If I’d known that, I’d have pulled out his nails as well as his teeth.”
I tuck my arms behind my head and sigh. I should be asleep, but every time I close my eyes, I’m back in that clearing, wondering if Abbie is dead or alive. “It’s done? He’s gone?”
“Down to the last skin cell.”
I nod, because that’s exactly what we promised Abbie. Nothing would be left of her attacker, not just to avoid incriminating us, but because she doesn’t need another fuckingghost following her around.
“I’m gonna shower then pass out,” Bluff says, scratching at his blood-streaked chest. “I wanna be back in my skin when she wakes up.”
It’s an odd phrase, unless he’s told you about his wolf. It’s how he describes the trauma of his violent upbringing, churning inside him like a wild animal. “If it’s too much to ask you to do stuff like tonight…”
“Never.” He peers down at me, more wolfish than ever. “I like watching fuckers like that burn. Maybe it’s screwed up, but I think of my old man. I wasn’t big enough to take care of him myself, but it’s what I wished I’d done.”
“Vengeance is fine. Just don’t let it eat you up.”
“Nah, I’ll save that pleasure for our omegas.” He grins as he stalks to the bathroom, bloody tee still in hand. Another piece of evidence to bag up for Dusty, so he can dispose of it during his next shift. We’ve been working him overtime lately, but he seems happiest in the bowels of the morgue, dishing out justice one incinerator blast at a time.
I roll onto my side, studying our omegas’ faces on their pillows. Or pillow in the singular, since they’re wound together so tight, it’s hard to tell which limb belongs to which body. The easiest way, of course, is by tracking Wings’ ink, but my gaze keeps skipping back to the fresh bandage on Abbie’s arm.
My pulse beats in my throat as I feather a finger over the edge of the gauze. I’d contemplated telling Patch to put a tracker in the wound before he stitched her up. She’s been unusually submissive since Wings chewed her out, and she might have even let me. Or she might have kicked me in the balls and told me to go sleep on the couch. Either way, it would’ve been worth it if it kept her safe.
Not that it really matters from a logistical standpoint. I’ve already put the fear of the unholy in the Hub, and I doubt she’llstep foot out of the compound again without at least a dozen eyes tracking her. I smile as I watch Wings clutch her tighter, her bottom lip jutting out as his fingers dig into her waist.Serves you right, brat.
Her eyelashes flutter, glossy on her pale cheeks. “Ark?”
“I’m here.”
“Why are you awake?” She strokes her hand across my chest, following the happy trail to the waistband of my boxers. “Is it morning already?”
I catch her hand, trapping it against my abs. “How do you feel? Any side effects? Do I need to call Patch?”
She blinks at the abrupt questions. “If you mean do I have demon drug nerve damage, then no. If you’re asking about my bumps and bruises, I’m pissed that he got close enough to take me down in the first place.”
“Then I’d go back to sleep, butterfly, unless you want your bottom to hurt as much as your pride.” She narrows her eyes, but there’s no mistaking the wisp of omega arousal in the air. “Or maybe you do. Maybe you want me to paddle your naughty ass, so Wings will stop trying to strangle you in your sleep.”
She huffs out a breath. “He’s practicing the octopus grip.” Her eyes dip back to his sleeping face, her mouth twisting with remorse. “I can’t blame him. He’s hurt, and I deserve every bruise he gives me.”
“My hands are bigger,” I tell her, placing one on her soft rump and giving it a warning squeeze. “And they land a lot harder.”
“Is that what you want?” She licks her lips, but there’s a hint of something in her eyes. Hurt, maybe, or confusion. “Will it make you stop hating me if you get to hit me?”
I cock a brow at her, insulted on several fronts. “Hitting is different to a spanking, Abbie. Anything I do to you will always be well within your tolerance limits. And I could never hate you, no matter how much of a brat you are.”
Her fingers flutter against my abs. “Then what’s with the cold shoulder?”
I raise my brows, since she’s still missing the point. “I’m pissed that you were hurt and want you to stop being so reckless with your safety.”
I watch the arguments and excuses flash across her face, but she finally bites her lip and nods. “Yeah. I fucked up. I get that.”
