Page 27

It takes everything in me to stay where I am. My hands start fucking shaking, and I have to curl them into fists. When her eyes squeeze shut and her face twists in pain, I nearly groan at the overwhelming need inside of me to reach for her.

Soren’s hands hover between them as he tries everything he can to soothe her.

But when he reaches out, doing exactly what my whole fucking body is screaming for me to do as well—she flinches back from him so fast her head cracks against the oak frame of the chair.

I can’t.

I can’t fucking watch this. I can’t do it.

I tell myself she’s faking it. That it’s all an act. The words repeat in my mind, but they feel as empty as I do.

This is fake. This is fake. This is fake.

I don’t remember moving, but when I look around, I realize I’ve backed halfway across the room and into the whiskey cart. Relief pours through me when I realize I can use that as an excuse to turn away. To hide from her pain.

No. It’s not fucking real. It can’t be.

This is what liars do. When things start to crumble around them, they double down on the lie. This is her, doubling down. It has to be.

It fucking has to be.

Distantly, I’m aware of how fucking loud I’m being as I pour myself a drink, but I don’t fucking care. I do what I have to do to tune her out, purposely taking my time so I have an excuse to look away.

After what feels like hours but can’t be more than a few minutes, Idril’s breathing finally starts to even out. When I’m relatively sure it’s safe, I turn around.

Gav, Vae, Soren, and Kane are all huddled around the Omega. Vae’s face is so fucking pale I can see his veins under his skin. Gavran must have offered to call Calder because Soren’s in the middle of vehemently declining, and Kane’s bent over, speaking in a gentle, soothing language that I recognize as Gaelic as Idril—eyes closed and face even paler than Vae’s—cries silent tears that cause that ache in my chest to return.

Soren bends down to murmur something into the Omega’s ear. I don’t know what he says, but whatever it is causes her to shake her head in furious denial.

What the fuck?

I don’t know what he asks her next, but when she speaks, it sounds raw and pleading.

“I can’t. I can’t leave. Please. Don’t make me leave. Please.”

A stream of tears spills down her cheeks, carving glimmering, wet tracks across her porcelain skin.

My stomach twists. The guilt that's been chasing me like a fucking thunder cloud appears, ready to take over and ruin everything.

Fuck this. I refuse to give in to whatever the fuck this is. Not tonight.

“Why not?” Soren’s voice is tight with frustration. I can’t help my curiosity. This isn’t how I expected her to act, and now that she’s calmed down—and so have my instincts—anger and paranoia start to creep in.

She doesn’t answer right away. I inch closer, watching the way her fingers rub and twist around the fabric of her shirt with jerky, anxious movements. When she finally speaks, her voice is whisper-thin.

Thankfully, my hearing is exceptional.

“I can’t leave Caelan. He’s in a coma, and I can’t—I have to be near him to—” She presses her lips into a thin line, glancing anxiously over Soren’s shoulder.

Her eyes land on me.

Un-fucking-believable. She can’t actually think I’ll ever let her near Caelan again after what she’s done! Is this a fucking joke?

A disbelieving laugh escapes that I can’t hold back. Fates, was I actually ready to fucking comfort this female less than five minutes ago? All because of a well-placed panic attack and a couple of Omega whines? Gods, what is wrong with me? I know better. For Fate’s sake, this is exactly what I’ve been warning my Pack to watch out for!

I should have known there was a reason for her breakdown, and here it is. Caelan.

She wants access to Caelan.