Page 23 of What We Don't Say: Part One

“Fuck,” Sloane drawls as he pulls back. “Jesus Christ.”

His back arches again, his eyes rolling into the back of his head before a shudder rolls through him. I glance down to see his face covered in my release, his eyes glazed over with desire but the feralness from yesterday is gone. Sloane starts pressing kisses along my thigh and stomach, a groan peeling out of him when Idris slowly pulls out of him, his knot softened, and steps back.

My gaze follows that too, hitching on my Alpha’s cock, still half-hard. He just chuckles. “Princess, put those eyes back in your head. As first impressions go, I’d like you being able to walk when we meet Theo.”

I can’t argue with that, Idris heading for the bathroom as Sloane drags me down onto the bed and into a full kiss. He rolls me onto his stomach, edging me down toward his cock seconds before Idris returns.

“Both of you needsleep. You can fuck each other later but right now? No more.” Idris comes to my side, gently wiping down my face and then my thighs. Then he does the same for Sloane. “Especially you. How are you feeling?”

“Like I could go another round or two.” He grins as Idris lightly slaps his chest. “The haze is gone. I don’t think it was a real rut or I’d have locked you both in this room, even with the pills.”

That seems to satisfy Idris as I climb off the bed and discard my ruined panties, Sloane immediately at my back, his lips running along the bite on my shoulder. “Don’t put that on,” Sloane mumbles into my neck. “Your scent is you, baby. It’s who you are. There’s no need to lessen it.”

“What about you? Would you use it?”

I twist to look up at him. Sloane nods. “Probably. Theo’s fear comes from being put in a box, from being pushed around, from Alphas acting like they can force an Omega to do what they want. I’d use it to show that I’m safe. But you already are, Callie. You’re safety and warmth and home.”

Theo

The Bellwether Center van smells like lavender disinfectant, warm plastic, and the sour edge of my own fear. I sit in the back with my hands tucked between my knees, pressing my fingers together until the joints ache. It helps keep them still. Mostly. The tremor still slips through in small uneven pulses, but if I keep my hands low enough, Andrea won't see them from the front seat, and maybe when the van door opens, I'll have enough control left to look like someone worth taking home.

Andrea has been talking from the front seat like the van is another room at Bellwether and I’m still sitting across from her practice desk. She’s barely taken a breath since we left, reading me all the rules as I nod and curl farther into myself.

She stops briefly and meets my gaze through the rearview window. “First visit only,” she reminds me, tapping something on the tablet balanced against her knee. “No final decision today. The Crane pack understands that, and you understand that too, right?” I nod because that answer is easy, and because she’s already told me twice.

“Communication cards are allowed,” she continues, turning enough to look at me over her shoulder. “They’re in your pocket?” My fingers move toward my cardigan before I stop them, but Andrea notices anyway. She notices everything.

“Yes,” I say, the word coming out thin enough that my face heats before she can smile at me.

“Good,” she says, too warm for one small word. “Verbal responses are encouraged, but they aren’t required. The Crane pack has been fully briefed on your communication history.”

Fully briefedsits wrong in my stomach. My eyes drop to her tablet, where my name is typed at the top of the screen in block letters above lines I’ve seen too many times this week.

Selective mutism. Verbal locking under direct Alpha attention. High scent sensitivity. Previous placement disruption.

Andrea scrolls with her thumb as the van turns into a quiet neighborhood where the houses sit too far apart, and I wonder if there’s a line farther down the page that tells them what to do when the real version of me doesn’t match the one they prepared for.

“Theo,” Andrea says gently, and I look up before she has to say it again. Her face has gone soft in that practiced way that means she’s about to ask me for something. “Practice greeting.”

My mouth dries at once. The words are ready because I made them ready in the mirror before breakfast, standing beside Andrea while she held a checklist and told me I was doing much better.Hello. Thank you for having me. I’m glad to be here.They should be simple, but my tongue already feels too heavy, and the back of my throat has started closing around the first sound.

It used to be so easy for me and then an Alpha punished me for my words. The next one punished me for not speaking. The last time I couldn’t force the word out, an Alpha gripped my shoulder so hard it left bruises, waiting until I could say the words he demanded of me.

No amount of tears or whimpers had saved me from that moment of humiliation, the rest of the pack laughing at me.

“Good Omegas use their words, Theodore. Or are you unwilling to obey me?”

I swallow nervously, trying to calm myself, counting through the memory that came after that, one I keep trying and failing to bury. “He-llo,” I push out.

Andrea’s smile flickers, then fixes itself. “A little clearer.”

My fingers curl against my knees. I try again, pushing more air behind it this time. “Hello.”

“Better,” she says, and I hate how fast relief moves through me, like I’ve been waiting for permission to keep sitting in the van. She glances back down at the tablet. “And what do you do if you lock up?”

“Cards,” I answer.

“And if you need a break?”