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Because he’s a fucking dick.

I should have known he was just gonna pretend like nothing happened. It’s so fucking on brand for him. And all these centuries later, I still don’t know how to handle him when he gets like this. I want to fight; he wants to pretend like nothing’s wrong.

Well, fine. I guess neither of us is going to get what we fucking want.

If he thinks I’m going to give up or stop caring eventually, he’s delusional. I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to remind him every day just how bad he fucked up. In two hundred years, when Caelan and the wolven are living their perfect domestic lives with their pregnant Omega and six kids running around, baking cookies and making finger-paint ornaments for their perfect Christmas tree, I’ll still be here, making sure he never forgets.

Maybe crouched inside the tree itself, covered in tinsel, whispering “you were wrong” as Daxen tries to put the angel on top.

I’ll ruin Christmas, Thanksgiving, Arbor Day—hell, I’ll ruin every holiday until the end of time. It will be my legacy.

I’ll be Sad Uncle Vae who shows up drunk every holiday just to remind Uncle Dax the Bitter about that one really important time he was wrong.

I let out a pathetic groan and throw myself face-first onto my bed.

My future sucks.

* * *

I push through the door to Dax’s Command room, holding it open for the Beta wheeling in a cart full of food and drinks behind me. Daxen’s busy typing furiously, attention bouncing between three monitors, so I don’t bother asking before grabbing the largest thermos and popping it open. Steam wafts into the air as I take a deep inhale of perfectly brewed coffee.

Dax waits until the thermos is halfway to my mouth before, without even looking up from his monitor, he warns, “That’s decaf.”

I sigh and place it back on the cart. “Why do you hate me?”

“I haven’t slept yet. The last thing I need is more caffeine.”

“I’m failing to see how that’s my problem,” I grumble, loading a plate with frosted cookies instead. I don’t even care if I’m eating all Dax’s snacks. Fuck Dax. And his snacks. And his stupid decaf coffee.

Taking a seat away from my Packmate, I relax, eyeing all the monitors hung across the wall, taking up the majority of the room. It would be a decent size without all the equipment, but as it stands, there’s not much room for anything extra outside of five or six chairs pushed against the walls for visitors—which Daxen hates.

It’s quiet aside from the constant buzz of running machinery and the fans set at full blast to prevent the tech from overheating.

Screens flicker from one room to the next every few seconds, each angle giving Dax the perfect view of every inch of HQ, the grounds, the training yard, the perimeter, and the compound.

A few seconds later, Silas walks in looking like shit, and some part of me is happy to see it. He screwed up big time the other day, and I’m certainly not planning on forgetting his little stunt any time soon.

His gaze homes in on the coffee, and he reaches out and snatches it immediately.

“It’s full of caffeine,” I lie, taking an aggressive bite of my cookie.

He sniffs it, then looks at me and frowns. “You’re a liar.”

I shoot him a menacing smile, but he ignores me and pulls out a chair, falling into it and yanking his ball cap down like he’s trying to hide from the world.

I didn’t really expect Caelan to show up, so when the door opens and he slips in with a smug as fuck expression on his face, it throws me off balance.

Bracing for his shitty mood—not that I blame him—I’m even more shocked when I really look at him and realize he looks the opposite of angry. He looks… satisfied.

My stomach spins. Why does Caelan look satisfied?

My Alpha snarls, spitting taunts dripping with venom.

Oh, I don’t know, could it be because he just spent the entire night and most of the day with his hot as fuck Omega Mate? You’ve got to admit that if your roles were reversed, you would have spent all morning with your head between the Omega’s thighs, discovering how many little noises you can coax from her with your tongue. Or discovering how long it takes before she goes from panting and whimpering to full-on screaming your name while her warm, wet heat pulses around⁠—

“I’ve got news about Cage,” Dax’s voice slices through the room, killing my spiral with much-needed efficiency. And thank fuck, because the last thing I need to do right now is get hard because I can’t stop thinking about my Packmate’s Fated Mate.

Gods, what is wrong with me?