Page 284 of Psycho Pack
The Chateau was the first place I started to feel almost at home. Before I realized it was the alphas that made me feel that way, not the run-down concrete buildings and reinforced steel doors.
The thought brings a smile to my face that bubbles up into a laugh even as I stare out at this impossibly peaceful bliss we've fought so hard for. From here, it's easy to let myself justbe.To let myself decompress.
It's so… different.
It's nothing like the violence and chaos we lived in for so long.
And for once, we're the ones being protected. While we can't see the guards in the distant watchtowers, they can certainly see us. The open landscape that stretches on for miles and miles,even beyond the vast lake that shelters us, makes it impossible for anyone to come anywhere near us without getting picked off by snipers.
It's strange, this new life of mine.
Of ours.
Strange to live without feeling like we have to look over our shoulders. There's no Sword of Damocles hanging over our heads here. No one can touch us in this sanctuary.
Not that it keeps us from being on edge when we hear a sound in the distance that sounds like danger. When you've lived so long with death breathing down your neck, it's hard to believe you're truly safe. And I'm not the only one going through an adjustment period.
Even though it's clearly the good kind.
The Ghosts are having trouble adapting to retirement, too. Old habits die hard, especially for alphas who've spent their entire lives fighting and killing. Then again, it hasn't been long at all. Just over a week. So much has happened in such a short span of time.
With the seizure of the capital city and the destruction of the Council, the old Reinmich has fallen. The Refinement Center is nothing more than rubble and ash on blood-soaked ground. Surhiiran forces have been expanding outward by the day, liberating more and more of the country that was once a prison for every omega within its borders.
And while the queen offered the task of overseeing the rebirth of what's already been coined New Reinmich and ruling as regent to Plague, I've never been more relieved than when he turned it down.
The rest of the world is still fucked up. We couldn't fix it all alone. It was too much for one pack—even a pack of alphas like mine. But we laid the foundation, and we're committed to doing our part of that work as a pack.
Just not as the Ghost Alpha Unit.
Our part in thewaris done.
But that doesn't mean it hasn't left its scars on us.
Thane still positions himself with clear sightlines to all exits, even when we're just having dinner. He checks the lake often, too, as if there's any chance an enemy might try to cross to us. Even if that could possibly happen, we're up on a cliff. Still, he checks, his dark eyes always on alert.
Sometimes I think being the protector makes him happy. There's rarely tension in his muscles these days, and I would know, considering how many shoulder massages I give him.
I can see him from where I stand on the balcony, sitting on the deck of our boat, looking out over the lake. When he's sitting like that—cross-legged, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees—he's meditating.
He always has lived in his own head.
At least now, he's more likely to meditate than overthink.
Whiskey, on the other hand, deals with the stress of his new environment—or lack thereof—by throwing himself into training with almost manic intensity. The training area behind the house echoes daily with the sound of him pummeling punching bags and sparring with whoever he can convince to join him.
It's usually Valek.
They've formed a bizarre and tentative truce that seems built entirely on kicking each other's asses in a controlled environment. Better that than both of them wandering around the city, picking fights with drunks.
That's where they both are right now, and judging from the harsh sound of Valek's triumphant laughter and Whiskey snarling in frustration, their latest match isn't winding down anytime soon. I'd rather let them work their shit out without cutting it short, but Whiskey and Valek both help me cook.
Well, Valek helps me slice everything up, at least.
I pad barefoot out onto the soft grass of our backyard training area, drawn by the sound of grunting and the solid thwack of fists meeting flesh. The late afternoon sun casts gentle shadows across the pristine white marble of our villa as I watch Whiskey and Valek circle each other.
Instead of interrupting them, I decide to wait, leaning on one of the training dummies Whiskey's painted to bear striking resemblances to the cyborg cowboy ninjas from his favorite movie.
Ourfavorite movie, actually, even though I've seen a few others since then. None of them live up to my first cinematic experience with Bros, Hoes, and Foes that last night in the Chateau, even if the rest of the night was nothing to laugh about.