Page 83 of Rot In Knotty Pieces

Merle stands up and rushes towards Raven. She grabs her hand and holds on. Kestrel joins them.

“Always safe with us. No more nightmares, Dove,” Sage purrs.

Jay gets up and joins the others. Then Raptor.

I stand up and take a step and pause, not quite willing to trust it.

“You have a spell a princess gave you, and it brought you love and family. Be brave, little warrior. Your family will look after you now.”

I close the distance, and for the first time since we discovered ourselves, we’re completely in sync, completely in awe. Something deep healing within us. A fire burns. Something new, something scary.

“We’re a Nightingale,” Kestrel says. “But I don’t know what that means.”

“Yes,” Raven concedes. “You don’t know what it means…yet.”

It’s hope, I realise.

We’ve got hope.

Rolly

Ituck the stuffed rabbit in closer to her and pull the blanket up to just under her chin. Pix watches me from where he’s laying beside her. His eyes promise death to anyone who hurts her. I wonder if his connection with the omega is now as strong as his connection to us alphas.

Perhaps it’s stronger.

I find I don’t disapprove of the idea.

The pull I feel towards him is as strong as it is to Merle, which is different but no less powerful in the way I feel about the alphas. It’s a sticky, complex web of connections and feelings that are growing and changing, but it feels like our pack is finding its footing.

Finally finding a common ground and space to become this potential that howls in the depths of our dark souls.

Pix does not need us in the way Merle does. He’s a fully formed human with a trauma history but a chosen family that healed over most of those scars. He’s a mess, but he’s got foundations and an understanding of himself that means he’s not going to show his weakness until he feels completely comfortable. I can’t help but get the feeling he’s just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

He still doesn’t trust us, even with bonds on him.

I roll out of bed and pace through the house, pulling on a long-sleeved top and stepping out onto the porch. The day is shaping up to be grey clouds and threatening rain. Exactly my favourite kind of day.

I don’t know, but I always feel more alive on days like today. Before I can think better of it, I take off jogging down the street. The small town is alive with older people going about their business, walking dogs, getting their morning gossip, recovering from yesterday’s activities.

In a world where all I have seen is dark, it’s places like this, the other side of the reflecting pool, that show what life could be like.

I gamble on a hunch, and it pays off. I spot the older lady chatting with a woman with a pram as they walk along the street. The two are so involved in their conversation that they don’t notice me following.

No self awareness, no idea of the threat or danger. No idea that they need to be careful.

What was it about this woman that freaked Dove out?

Do I kill her? Should I?

Yes, if she upset Dove that much, she is clearly a threat and a danger. I follow them through the town and back to the spot across the street from the grocer. They separate, and I follow the older lady through the streets to a little house that she enters, humming a tune that is somewhat familiar.

With determined ease, I slip over her fence and land lightly in the backyard, walking up to the windows. The first one I try is unlocked. It doesn’t take much to wedge it open and gain entry, and this is all ridiculously easy. The house smells like cake and coffee. I wonder if I can steal some on my way out.

The room I’m in must be her bedroom, it’s got floral everything, everywhere. The only interruption to the vomit of flowers are about a thousand little knickknacks of ballerinas and dancing cats. They perch on every surface, allowing no room for anything else.

There’s a single bed covered in a deep fuchsia bedspread and more lace. I’m beginning to think this lady might be dangerous. Death by lace, I wonder if it’s a thing? I might have to watch myself with this one.

Still, my humour vanishes when I think of the terror in Dove’s eyes. I take a step towards the door when I’m pulled up against a hard chest. The scent of omega fills my nose and lungs.