Page 19 of The Silver Pact

And even though she was our scent match, her scent had a tone of something that brought out memories of my mother’s drinking. I’ve never told my pack that, though.

I shift uneasily. I hate keeping secrets from them, but this is one I dare not speak out loud.

How can I just say to them, ‘oh, we met our scent-matched omega, and what I felt from her was the urge to run to my bedroom and lock my door, to turn up my music, and get my dog-eared copy of the latest comic I’m reading, and pretend like hell I’m somewhere else?’ No. I couldn’t tell them that.

I exhale and take a step after the omega, only to have West hold out a hand.

“Quint is down there. Give him a chance to calm her down.”

I heave a frustrated sigh and glare at Ian.

“Can you be more careful of her feelings? Like, just try not to say stupid, hurtful things while she’s here?” I ask softly.

Ian glares at me. “I’ll make an effort.”

“That’s all I’m asking for,” I reply and huff.

I wander to my room, needing a few minutes alone. My enormous desk is covered in sheets of music. Songs I’ve written. So many of them are written about the omega downstairs. No one knows the songs are about her. They assume I wrote them about Brandy.

But Brandy doesn’t inspire me. It’s not Brandy who broke my heart. It’s not Brandy I watched, working silently, alone in the Omega Refuge year after year.

How can I tell her these things and what she means to me?

I can’t, at least not yet. I need to do this slowly so I don’t overwhelm her. But her secrets are many. With every new piece I learn about her, my obsession grows. And it is an obsession. She will never know how many excuses I have come up with to go and see her. How many times a day I think about her. How that meeting at the Omega Meet turned my world upside down.

She’s my perfect omega.

Now we have a chance.

One chance is all I need.

I’m not losing her again.

eight

Silver

Three years and two weeks ago

Quint and I went walking in the forest today. No shoes on our feet. All we did was talk and laugh. It was the most perfect day.

Present Day

They leave me alone for the rest of the night. Ross and Quint show me a room with blankets and clean clothes and retreat to wherever they’re hiding.

The urge to flee settles and then dissipates with the cozy warmth and luxurious soft bed. I curl up and listen to Ross in some distant part of the house, strumming his guitar.

The following day passes the same way. There is food at the bench when I get up, with a note suggesting I might want to explore the house. I take three hours before I agree to the suggestion.

Exploring the house is exploring the pack. There are photos of the four of them everywhere. They’re older, though. All of them smiling happily, and gradually, as the photos become current, the smiles fade, become more forced. In their photos, the pack grows solemn.

Someone enjoys decorating. It’s in the throw rugs, the pillows, all of it is tasteful and matches. One alpha likes to play games. I found a massive room with consoles and beanbags. That is kind of endearing, and I wonder if the room belongs to West.

There are lists everywhere. With codes to the house. Numbers for emergencies. How to use the dishwasher, the dryer, the washing machine. It’s cute. Hell, there’s even a shopping list on the fridge. Without question, I know the person who is leaving lists everywhere is Ian. But it’s that he’s gone to so much trouble, laminating them and making sure his pack is safe. It opens this hole inside of me.

What would it feel like to be on the receiving end of that kind of care?

There’s a really subtle fascination with cats. Statues the size of my thumb. There are pictures and photos and even platforms in all the rooms. I don’t know how I missed them before.