Page 169 of Caged

I’m not this male. I’ve never been someone who fantasizes about hurting females. My instincts are all over the place. I can’t figure out if I want to wring her neck or scent-mark her. I should be far more concerned about the former, but the latter’s what sends chills down my spine.

“I’ve called in a trainee to help. He’ll coordinate with Vae, who will oversee her…” Gav stalls before settling on, “time here.”

“Imprisonment,” Silas mutters. “Let’s just call it what it is. She’s here as a prisoner. And here’s a thought. I imprison my food in Tupperware. Then at night, I pull it out and let nature take its course.” His smile is feral. “Let Dax eat her.”

Something dark stirs in my chest. My suddenly-vocal Alpha snaps to attention.

Yes.

I could drain her. Take payment for her debt one drop of blood at a time. Pierce that perfect, pale, delicate throat with my fangs and feast. I could wrap my body around hers and take what I want, and no one will even blame me.

My breath freezes in my lungs.

The room spins.

Why does that sound so perfect? I haven’t fed from a live source since the 18th century. Not since vampires found alternate means of consumption. Now, it’s considered taboo to drink directly from a vein. Uncivilized. Something we only partake in with our Mates. But the mere thought of her blood on my tongue⁠—

I shove down the desire away, wrenching my Alpha from the bars of his cage forcefully.

Keeping my expression carefully neutral, I glance at Silas and narrow my eyes. “You never save food, you fucking bottomless pit of a nine-year-old boy.”

I feel a tinge of guilt at my tone, but it’s better if everyone believes I’m throwing jabs at Silas than see how his words affect me.

“Moving on,” Gav pointedly pivots in an effort to get us back on track. “What’s the update now? What do we know?”

I pull up the drone footage from last night on my laptop, feeling myself relax the slightest bit. It feels good to step into my role as an intelligence officer. I need this—a sense of purpose. It’s like shrugging on an old, comfortable sweatshirt.

“We don’t know much more than we did before last night,” I inform him. “We still haven’t retrieved the other half of the list with the Omegas’ names, and I’m still waiting on gene-sequencing of the blood from Varenthrall’s study. Riven texted earlier to update us on his Omega. Said she passed out after we left Redmark and has barely been awake since.”

“Any more light flares with her?” Gav asks.

“Two. Riven said she lit up twice, but without the floating hair and prophecies.”

“So whatever’s causing the prophecies is more than likely subconscious if it’s happening while she’s asleep.” Vae hums thoughtfully. “Anyone have an update on Calla in Chicago?”

All eyes turn to Silas, who glances up mid-nail-chew.

“Uh…” His eyes bounce around the room. Pretty sure he just realized that as the only member of his pack present, he’s their official mouthpiece.

Swiping his fingers on his pants, he clears his throat and says, “Ford and Evander called earlier to check up on Caelan. Said the Omega up there is still sparking and, well, Ford wanted to tell you guys directly. Said it wasn’t urgent, but he wanted patched in for the conversation.”

Silas pulls out his phone and sets it on the table. Ford answers on the second ring.

“Evening, gentlemen.”

“Ford,” Gav leans in, bracing his forearms on the table. “You want to clue us in on what’s going on out there? Please tell me you didn’t find an Omega that’s levitating and speaking in tongues now.”

“That’s a negative on the new Omega and the floatin’. But I’d bet the house we’ve got a front-runner in the Speaking In Tongues category.”

Vae’s gaze snaps to mine, and he grimaces. I run a tired hand down my face. When will this day ever end?

Gav groans like he, too, has hit his limit. “You’re kidding. What happened?”

“Well, after Calla sparked up the bedside lamp a few nights ago, Evander and I’ve been takin’ turns standing by like a fire marshal at a sock-hop. Figure it’s best not to let the little fire-starter nap without supervision.”

“Wait, she’s actually starting fires, now?” I ask. “Why are we just now hearing about this?”

“Not necessarily lightin’ fires,” Ford replies.