Page 41 of Omega Hunted

“Are you ready to tell me your family name, Soren?”

“Please—”

“Emric?” I prompted and he winced. “Emric Kastor? Boston” He nodded and I swallowed. If I thought him being connected to the Dalton family was bad, the Kastor family was worse.

“Yes.”

Every ORT operative in the northeast knew the names of the Families. Every cop, every politician worth a damn, every crime boss, every family that had spent generations trying to stay alive knew it too. The two families weren’t simply rich; they’d built an empire that reached into legitimate business, organized crime, private security, judges who owed favors, politicians who looked the other way, and bloodline contracts older than most modern laws. Nobody crossed them unless they had no other choice, because people who stood in their way had a habit of disappearing, changing their minds, or ending up dead while someone else called it an accident. They didn’t need to rule openly. Fear did the work for them.

“My father died… My brother Emric inherited the role of Patriarch.”

“Emric Kastor is your brother,” I murmured. Somehow that chilled me even more. Empires survived their founders. Sometimes the sons proved even worse, and the younger Kastor alpha had been a nasty piece of work back when I was ORT, but now… hell, I didn’t know the former Patriarch had died. I was so out of the loop.

The old Kastor Patriarch had been one of the most feared men in the world of organized crime, a man whose influence reached far beyond his own territory. We’d investigated him more than once and never managed to get close. Witnesses disappeared. Evidence evaporated. Cases collapsed before they ever reached court. We’d long suspected he never dirtied his own hands unless necessary and had his son Emric do his dirty work.

The word trafficking echoed through my head. Soren wasn’t just a frightened omega who needed somewhere safe. Suddenly, my mountain didn’t feel isolated enough. I couldn’t leave this to a safe house, a locked gate, and good intentions. If the Kastor family came for Soren, they wouldn’t stop because the trail was difficult. They’d keep coming until they found him—or someone stopped them.

I need help. I need to call this in to the ORT.

No! My wolf snarled, gripped my chest, and ripped through my bond. Fuck. I pushed back against it, but he didn’t budge.

No, he repeated. Think. No trust!

He was right. I had to trust Ronan this was out of hand and worse than I’d thought. Keeping an omega safe, or getting him somewhere secure, was one thing, but having the head of the most powerful crime families hunting Soren down? Fuck. I sent a quick message.

Cassian: Call me

Cassian: Now

Soren finished his food in silence, then took his plate to the sink, leaning there, glancing at my phone, before he turned to face me. “Are you going to call my brother?”

I didn’t get defensive to the accusation. “You’re safe here with me,” I said, as if I hadn’t said it before. He stared at me, waiting for an axe to fall, and I had to think on my paws. “I’m going to show you what would have been the library.”

He blinked at me, likely expecting that I’d be contemplating calling the Kastor family or using Soren somehow. “The what now?”

“There’s a room at the end of the east hall. It has a lot of boxes of books, and shelves, and I could make it cozy with a fire, and there’s a big chair, and a view, and it’s quiet, and I could take up a ton of blankets and things to make it comfortable for you.”

I knew I was rambling, and his chin came up slightly. “What about my family?”

“Fuck them,” I said. “Nothing changes. I’m going to protect you; I’m going to find a way to get you somewhere safe over the border, and you’ll have your baby, and then you’ll have a happy fucking life. Okay?”

He was startled, but then he nodded. “Okay.”

Now what? Distraction. He was too pale and shaky, and exhaustion marked his skin with bruises under his eyes.

“The library probably needs the windows cracked and the dust gone,” I blurted, and he started. Way to mess with the nervous omega, idiot. “But if you want somewhere to be that isn’t your room, it’s there.”

I took him along the corridor to the final door after the kitchen, opened it, and stepped back so he could enter the space first. What he didn’t know was that there was a panic room right behind the second bookcase—the first thing I’d added from Raff’s plans.

Two armchairs faced the window, placed there by Raff when we’d moved in. The window faced north, toward the tree line, with the mountain behind it.

Soren stood in the doorway and smiled at the view.

Happy. Omega. Mine. My wolf offered, which wasn’t helpful.

“I’ll get blankets,” I said. “The chair on the left is deeper, so probably better for your back.”

“Thank you,” he said.