Page 218 of Caged

Not quite sure how I feel about that thing being called “vintage,” considering I’m old enough to remember when advanced technology was a musket that didn’t explode in your face.

“Alright, where’s Silas?” I ask when I can’t take it anymore. He’s been missing all day, and I’m starting to worry. I can always hear him yapping from anywhere in HQ.

“I sent him with some trainees to check on warehouses near the one you and I visited.” Gav leans against the windowsill, looking out over the training yard and the forest beyond with a drink in his hand. “Riven says there’s been chatter. More random cars rolling up at odd hours. Men funneling through.”

He turns from the window. “And quite frankly, I’m tired of listening to him complain that he misses his pack. It’s exhausting. He’s one-hundred-ninety-three, not nine.”

“Gods, is he really that young?” Dax asks, tapping at something on an iPad.

“Ford’s only one-hundred-and-four,” I point out.

“Ford doesn’t count, he could be twenty or two-thousand and still make me feel like I’ve done something to disappoint my grandfather,” Dax mutters.

I stretch, getting comfortable and making a note to check on Silas later. I can’t help but feel bad for the guy. It’s gotta suck being away from your pack.

“Alright, so we’re down Silas. Anyone want to talk about how half the compound is still running on a generator and Dax is two seconds away from being forcibly committed after a quarter of his tech was fried?”

Dax glares at me over his screen. “I’m not that pissed.”

I scoff. “You punched a trainee in the mouth for asking if you had a flashlight. Get serious.”

“He’s a vampire. He can literally see in the dark. The punch was because no one can possibly be that stupid.”

“If you go around punching every person who says something stupid, we’ll be running HQ with only four people by the end of the week,” Gav replies, sipping his whiskey. “Any idea what caused the blackout?”

Dax looks tired. More tired than I’ve seen him since all this shit started. Between Caelan’s injuries, sleepless nights, the Omega, and now the blackout, he’s barely holding it together. He’ll never admit it, of course. But I can see it. I can feel it in the Bond.

Just like I can feel his irritation with himself every time he interacts with the little Omega.

Of course, he’ll never admit that, either.

“Everything was fine until it wasn’t,” he sighs. “I was sparring with a few of the new guys when the bulbs started flickering. I went to check the breakers, but before I made it to the sub-basement, the entire compound went black. Bulbs shattered, circuitry fried, it was a full system failure.”

He groans, cracking his neck. “I’m working on getting replacements for the fried circuit boards, but the rest is going to take a few days to get up and running again. Thankfully, the generator can power the compound. We shouldn’t see any long-term issues.”

“Was Caelan affected?” I ask, chewing the inside of my cheek. The thought of Caelan waking up in pain makes my stomach roll.

“No. That’s the weird part.”

“That’s the weird part? Not the entire compound losing electricity for the first time ever?”

“There are any number of reasons that could have happened,” he waves a hand dismissively. “What’s strange is the medical wing wasn’t touched. Not even a light bulb went out.”

He looks between Gav and me.

“Every single room outside of the main house was affected except the medical wing. Not a flicker or a spark. Calder didn’t even know something happened when I called.”

I frown. “What the hell is going on around here? First the earthquake and now this?”

Gav eyes Dax warily. “What about the Omega?”

I tense. Each time Idril’s brought up in conversation, Dax responds one of two ways. Either with an unnatural, predatory stillness, or like a man being forced to watch you drive his favorite car off a cliff—with baffled, rage-fueled irritation. Just the reminder that she’s alive is enough to piss him off.

We get predatory stillness this time.

Sitting on the edge of the couch, hands clasped loosely between his knees, he gives Gavran one long, slow blink. Like a cat ready to pounce, letting you pretend he’s not unsheathing his claws.

I hate when he gets like this. I’d rather see the anger. At least that’s real. It’s something I can bite back at. This version of him just shuts down.