Page 19 of Omega Hunted

The wolf’s voice carried through the wood, deep and rough and close enough to remind me how little stood between us if he ever decided a locked door wasn’t enough. I held my breath.

“I’m leaving breakfast here, and a notepad and pen so you can write down if you need anything. Oh, and there’s enough firewood in there, but if you need more… hell, you will need more. I could leave it outside, but it will be heavy… um… let me know what you need, okay?”

A few seconds later, I heard floorboards creaking across the landing, followed by the sound of him using the stairs, and then silence. I stayed where I was, staring at the door while my heart hammered against my ribs. If I’d learned anything in life, it was that trusting too easily had consequences. The house creaked around me as the wind howled and the snowstorm raged, and I placed another log on the fire. I stood there listening for another set of footsteps, another knock, some sign that he’d only retreated far enough to see what I would do next.

Nothing happened.

I couldn’t scent him, and although I thought I heard footsteps, they were there and gone, and by the time I finally unlocked the door, the hallway was empty except for a tray on the floor. Toast, fruit, tea. Nothing unusual, and nobody appeared out of nowhere. True to his word, there was a pad and pen, extra snacks, and the tea was in a familiar thermal mug with a lid to keep it warm.

I grabbed it and retreated into the room, setting it on the floor long enough to lock the door again. The key stuck, and I cursed under my breath as I fought with it until the lock finally turned. Then I carried everything to the bed and sat with the blankets wrapped around my legs, grateful for the hot tea and the food, which I ate slowly. Asha shifted while I ate, and I rested my hand on the curve of my stomach automatically, waiting for the next movement. She kicked a few minutes later, stubborn as ever, and some of the tension I’d been carrying since waking eased enough for me to breathe properly again. Whatever happened next, whatever decisions I made, came back to her. Keeping her safe. Making it to a safer place. Keeping us both alive. The rest of it could wait.

Every sound downstairs pulled my attention away from worrying—floorboards creaking, a cupboard opening and closing, water moving through pipes. Once I heard a door open and close somewhere below, and I stood at the window, one hand braced beneath my stomach, watching the white slope beyond the glass for any sign of Cassian leaving or someone else arriving.

By lunchtime, of what I guessed was my second day here, another tray appeared outside. This time, I only waited until I heard him leave before opening the door. He left food. He walked away. He let me decide what happened next.

I checked the stubborn lock so many times I stopped counting.

Sometimes I checked it because I heard him downstairs. Sometimes, because the house went quiet, I got scared because maybe he’d left or maybe he was creeping up on me. Sometimes, because my cat settled too deeply into the scent of him, I needed to remind myself that a locked door existed between us. The lock wasn’t much. Cassian could break it if he wanted. I knew that, but the point wasn’t stopping him; it was hearing the attempt and having one second’s warning before the room stopped being mine.

He knocked mid-afternoon, told me there were clothes for me, then left, and by evening, I was wearing most of it. I’d tucked sweatpants beneath my belly, grateful they weren’t too long, and layered two of the worn T-shirts beneath a sweatshirt that smelled of him. I told myself it was because I was cold when I pulled the grey fabric over my head and let it drape over me, sleeves swallowing my hands and hem hanging nearly to my knees. But that didn’t explain why my cat settled the moment Cassian’s scent wrapped around us, or why I stood there with my eyes closed for too long before forcing myself to move.

“Traitor,” I muttered.

My cat didn’t even pretend to care.

Outside, the storm had died down, but the snow kept falling, tapping against the glass while gentler winds worried at the edges of the house, and the fire burned steady. I had maybe a day’s more wood, I’d need more, but for some reason I didn’t write it down and put a note on the tray, although I knew I’d have to soon. Somewhere below me, Cassian was moving and hadn’t come back up to ask me questions or even come close to the room. I knew what alphas wanted when they crowded me. I knew what it meant when they softened their voices and called it concern. I knew how quickly protection became possession once an omega stopped fighting hard enough. But Cassian wasn’t doing any of the things I understood. He didn’t push at the door. Didn’t ask for my history. Didn’t tell me what I owed him for pulling me from the snow. He left breakfast, lunch, and dinner, then went away.

I sat on the edge of the bed in his sweatshirt, my hands resting on Asha. His scent clung to the sleeves at my wrists, and after a while, I gave in and crawled back into the nest I’d made from every spare blanket I could find in the room. My cat curled beneath my ribs with satisfaction.

Safe, he whispered.

I pressed my face into the sleeve of Cassian’s sweatshirt and told myself I was only doing it because I was tired, because my body hurt, because my daughter needed me to sleep, and because there was no point fighting every small comfort when the world had already taken so much from us. I didn’t believe it all. Not really. But I lay there anyway, listening to the storm and the distant sounds of the alpha downstairs, and for the first time since Center 14, I slept with the door locked and the feeling that maybe someone on the other side of it would stay there if I asked him to.

When I woke again, the room was dark enough that it took me a moment to work out what had dragged me out of sleep. My back ached. My hip had gone numb. The baby shifted, then kicked hard enough to make me suck in a breath, and only then did I recognize the hollow ache of hunger sitting low in my stomach.

I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling while Asha kicked again. Every doctor, nurse, and omega specialist I’d seen at Center 14 had spent months telling me the same thing. Small meals. Regular meals. Eat before you’re hungry because once you’re hungry you’ve already waited too long. Most of the people delivering food were nothing more than my jailers, but that didn’t make the advice wrong. Asha didn’t seem to think so. She shifted again, impatient enough that I found myself smiling despite everything, my hand settling over the movement automatically.

The smile faded as I looked toward the door.

The kitchen was downstairs.

So was Cassian.

I lay there longer than I needed to, all the snacks gone, and trying to convince myself that breakfast wasn’t far away and that waiting a few more hours wasn’t going to hurt either of us. The argument would probably have worked if Asha hadn’t chosen that moment to kick me again. Not hard. Just enough to remind me she was there and unimpressed with my decision-making.

The frustrating part was that the real problem wasn’t the kitchen. It wasn’t even the food. It was that I was even considering opening the door. Somehow I’d stopped measuring every hour by how quickly I could lock myself away. I still checked the lock. I still listened for footsteps. I still watched the road whenever I stood at the window. But I’d also started recognizing the sounds of Cassian moving around downstairs. The scrape of a chair. The front door opening. The steady rhythm of him carrying wood inside. At some point those sounds had stopped meaning danger and started meaning I knew where he was.

Did I trust him?

My cat stretched lazily beneath my skin, entirely too comfortable for my liking. He’d decided that Cassian was safe and had been ignoring my opinion on the matter ever since. The sweatshirt wrapped around me wasn’t helping. It smelled like woodsmoke and snow and the alpha downstairs, and I hated I’d become used to it quick enough that I was lying here wrapped in it without thinking twice.

I closed my eyes.

Then I swore quietly, pushed the blankets aside, and sat up.

Maybe I wasn’t going downstairs because I trusted Cassian.

Maybe I was going because my daughter was hungry and because fear had spent so long making decisions for me I was beginning to resent it. I searched around for a weapon, but there was nothing obvious until I came to the lamp. I took off the shade, gripped the heavy metal base, and unplugged it from the wall. It was a clumsy attempt at self-defense, but it was better than nothing. He could have hurt me any time, but he hadn’t.