I set the phone down with numb fingers. She thought I meant to kill Rhea. To finish the job of destroying my mate for a crime she might not have committed.
The tremors started again as I reached for my phone to call Ren. My beta answered on the second ring, because of course he did. The man hadn’t slept properly since taking on the job of managing a slowly dying Lycan King.
“I need everything from that night,” I said without preamble. “Every report, every photo, every witness statement. And I need it quietly.”
“Damon.”
“Just do it.” I ended the call before he could voice the questions I heard in his tone. Questions about why I wanted to revisit a closed case. About what had changed.
Everything had changed. If those dreams were memories or distortions, if another wolf had killed my brother, then I’d condemned my mate for someone else’s crime. I’d carved her out of my life, sent her into exile, nearly killed us both with the severed bond, all because I couldn’t face the truth.
I knew the dream was only a variation of the doubts Chen had put in my head. His accusation had been clear. It could not have been Rhea. Even in heat, she was not stronger than Laziel and he had felt it when he held her that night. Which only meant it was another wolf, probably an alpha like myself.
The possibility should have destroyed me. But it didn’t. Not this time. For the first time in three months, I felt the faintest flutter of hope. Because if Rhea was innocent, then the bond’sscreaming agony made sense. If she was innocent, then maybe, somehow, I could find a way to fix this.
First, I had to find her. And then I had to find the courage to apologize and only hope to the moon Gods that she forgave me.
15
— • —
Rhea
Saturday morning at the Rust Bucket Cafe provided the white noise I needed for dangerous phone calls. The corner booth had become my weekend office, far enough from other patrons to muffle conversation but public enough to feel safe. I’d arrived when they opened at six, claiming my spot before the breakfast rush. My laptop screen glowed with meaningless spreadsheets, a prop to justify the hours I’d spend nursing single cups of coffee.
The encrypted phone app Ronald had installed before I left blinked green on my phone screen. He’d spent twenty seconds teaching me how to use it, his thick fingers surprisingly delicate on the touchscreen. “Routes through seventeen different servers,” he’d explained. “Not foolproof, but better than regular calls.” I had nodded like I understood the technology, grateful for any layer of protection between my new life and the forces that would destroy it.
My mother’s contact showed available for the first time in two weeks. Listed as “Insurance Company” in my phone, the generic name meant nothing to anyone who might scroll through my contacts. We’d agreed on communication windows in case of an emergency, Saturday mornings when the time zones aligned and foot traffic provided cover. I had gone three months without speaking to them. But the pregnancy was an emergency.
The cafe filled with its usual Saturday crowd. Construction workers coming off night shifts ordered black coffee and eggs over easy. Young families negotiated pancake flavors with toddlers who wanted everything syrup-covered. A group of nursing students occupied the large corner table, medical textbooks spread between plates of hash browns. Normal people living normal lives, unaware that someone among them carried secrets that could upend pack law.
My fingers trembled as I initiated the call. Each contact risked exposure, digital breadcrumbs that skilled trackers could follow. But the pull of my mother’s voice overrode every cautious instinct. The phone rang through the encryption, each tone distorted by security protocols. Once. Twice. On the third ring, the connection clicked open.
“Baby?” my mother’s voice came through tinny and distant, the encryption adding strange echoes that made her sound like she was calling from underwater.
“Hi Mom.” The words caught in my throat, syllables carrying three months of suppressed longing.
“Are you safe?” The simple question nearly broke my composure.
I gripped my coffee mug with both hands, letting the ceramic warmth ground me in the present. Safe was relative. I had shelter, employment, and food. I wasn’t being hunted, at least not actively. But safety meant more than physical survival, and my mother knew it. Safety meant peace of mind, a stable future, and the ability to plan beyond the next sunrise. By that measure, I’d never be safe again.
“I’m... managing. How’s the outback?” I kept my voice level, aware of the couple two booths over who’d stopped their conversation.
“Survivable. Your father’s made some allies. But sweetheart, you sound different.”
Different. The understatement of the century. Three months ago, I’d been the omega spokesperson’s daughter, groomed for political marriages and diplomatic service. Now I was an assistant in the deadest of towns in a real estate office. Different didn’t begin to cover the transformation.
The waitress approached with a coffee pot, her approach giving me precious seconds to compose myself. I nodded at the refill, grateful for the interruption. Steam rose from the fresh pour, creating a veil between me and the rest of the cafe. When she moved on to the next table, I lowered my voice.
“It’s been an adjustment. The job helps. Keeping busy, you know?” The half-truths came easier than outright lies.
“And you’re eating? Sleeping?” Maternal concern transcended encryption and distance.
“Yes.” Another partial truth. I ate when nausea allowed. I slept between bathroom visits and anxiety spirals.
Because I was drowning and could not tell her why. The thought pressed against my teeth, demanding voice.
Because I’m pregnant with an heir from the alpha who destroyed our lives. Because every morning I wake up more trapped than the day before. Because I miss you so much it feels like missing a limb.
