Page 13 of The Silver Pact
“You need help, Silver. Let me help you.”
I hesitate. Part of me wants to accept his help, but the part of me that doesn’t trust anyone anymore rejects his offer with a sneer.
“I think that would be unwise.”
“Listen to the omega,” Ian says with his arms folded over his chest.
“You bonded her,” Ross hisses. “You’d just let her leave to starve on the streets?”
Ian clears his throat and looks away. I can’t tell if he feels guilt or if he thinks Ross is being an idiot.
“She stays,” Ian announces like he’s the fucking king of all omegas.
“You can’t make me stay!” I snarl at Ian.
He whirls on me, huge and furious. I stagger backwards, almost tripping over my own feet. I’m caught by Ross and pulled into his safe embrace. “You’re right. I can’t make you stay, but I can track you down and bring you back.”
I swallow hard, watching the way his blue eyes light up with molten grey streaks. Why is he so pretty?
“Just stay, accept the freebies. You’ll be out on your ass soon enough.”
I wince. Maybe not so pretty.
Ross growls and tucks me closer to his side. “Ian!”
Ian simply spins on his heel and stalks down a corridor and disappears. He takes the exhausting tension with him.
“Sorry about him. He’s got issues.”
I snort, unable to stop the amusement. Issues? That’s an understatement.
Ross grins at me. “So, Silver. What do you like to do?”
What did I like to do? I like to lie awake at night and count whatever is nearby, so I don’t think about how screwed my life is or how much I deserve to be here. I like to find places where I can be safe and hidden. I like to steal drugs from doctors to suppress my heats. I like to find places that give out free food. My silence must tell him all he needs to know.
Ross’ smile drops. “All right, let’s try an easier question. Do you want to sit outside in the garden, lounge on the couch, or we can go swimming in the pool?”
I turn my head, staring at him with eyes that are too wide. That’s not what I thought he was going to suggest, and it makes my throat tighten with emotion. “Garden?”
“Garden it is. This way. It’s nothing fancy, not like Grayson’s gardens, but West and Quint find it comforting to muddle about out here.”
Ross grabs his guitar on the way out. I stare at it, envy burning in my chest. Will he sing where I can hear him? Dare I ask?
He leads me through the back doors and around the side of the house. I almost stop walking as the paradise unfolds before my very eyes. The garden isn’t at all precise like Grayson’s, its gigantic trees with lots of shade, rings of flowers, its sporadic and wild with no rhyme or reason. It’s lovely. There’s so much shade to sit under and plenty of benches and tables. They spend a lot of time out here, I can tell. I would, if it were mine.
Ross leads me to a bench under a tree, with enough low branches that you could easily climb in it, and urges me to sit down. I sit delicately, but I’m too busy trying to take in everything else to notice he’s getting his guitar ready.
At the first strum, I turn my head, captivated by him. He sings a song I’ve heard before. It’s a melody about a man who spots a woman from afar, a woman he loves on sight, but she runs from him. The song ends in tragedy with the woman marrying someone else, and the man marrying his second choice.
I swipe the stray tear from my cheek. It’s not the story, it’s how he plays, his voice so low and intimate as he sings.
Ross stares at me the whole time. When the song finishes, he keeps playing, transitioning into something gentle.
“You don’t like that song.”
“You sing it really well,” I say instead, not wanting to offend him. Once, I would have teased him into writing me a ballad, but that me is gone.
“But you don’t like it.”