Page 63 of Omega Hunted

Well, not complaining—he didn’t do that—but wincing when he moved with tightness in his expression. I banked the fire in his room, checked the windows, and headed downstairs, pausing halfway through the kitchen. A second mug already sat beside the kettle because I’d started putting it there without thinking. Tea for Soren went into a wolf mug that Raff had bought because he claimed every house with a wolf in it needed at least one ridiculous mug, and this one had Fluffy with Attitude on one side. I rolled my eyes when Raff handed it to me, as he told me that I was the fluffy wolf with too much attitude, but that he’d never tell anyone that his big bad alpha was a softie.

Soren said it was his favorite, and I didn’t tell him the backstory. I reached for it every morning. Coffee for me. Routine had always been important to me. Somewhere along the way, the routine had quietly become ours instead of mine. Like the fact that I headed to the bedroom, shifted, and climbed into the nest. He let out a happy sigh and curled into me.

The next morning, I woke to warmth after the best night’s sleep either of us had managed in years. It took me a few seconds to understand why I was so comfortable. Soren had curled into me sometime before dawn, his face tucked into the side of my neck, one arm draped across my chest while Asha rested between us. At some point after I’d retaken my skin, my arm lay around his shoulders, holding him as naturally as if we’d always slept this way.

I stayed where I was, afraid that even breathing too deeply would disturb him. His breath warmed my throat with every slow exhale, carrying the soft scent of vanilla and peaches that had become as familiar to me as the smell of the forest outside. Waking didn’t feel like dragging myself through broken glass. I knew where the grief lived inside me, but it hadn’t been the first thing I felt in a few days. Holding Soren should’ve felt wrong, but it hadn’t taken Raff away from me, dulled my love for him, or made me miss him less. Somehow, it had eased the weight pressing on my ribs, and I couldn’t understand how that was possible without feeling guilty about it.

“I haven’t forgotten Raff,” I whispered into the quiet room, the words meant as much for myself as for the wolf.

We never could.

The certainty behind the answer tightened my throat. Of course I hadn’t. Raff had been my mate. He would always be my mate. Loving him wasn’t something that could be undone by time, or distance, or death itself, and yet my wolf wasn’t troubled by the man sleeping in my arms. He accepted both truths without conflict, as though one didn’t diminish the other.

There is room, he murmured.

“There shouldn’t be,” I breathed, closing my eyes for a moment.

My wolf didn’t argue. He settled again, his quiet confidence infuriating because some small part of me wanted to believe him and that we were safe, and there was a future for Soren and Asha that made sense. Every patrol I expected to find prints beyond my own, but every patrol ended the same way. Nothing. Somehow, that worried me more than if I’d found tracks because I couldn’t shake that the sheriff had warned about my delivery, and I was waiting for the axe to fall.

I stayed a while longer, until every breath coming out of Soren was slow and even and my wolf finally settled beneath my ribs. I eased out from beneath the blankets, tucked them back around Soren’s shoulders, and stood there another few seconds watching for any sign he was surfacing. He didn’t stir. Good. Ronan hadn’t called me, and I needed to talk to Decker, and I wasn’t having the conversation with Soren awake and listening through the floorboards.

Downstairs, I shut the office door behind me before I even reached for the handset, an old habit that had kept me alive more than once and switched over to the sheriff’s private frequency.

“Raines,” Decker said, in that flat voice he used when he already knew the call wasn’t good news.

I kept my voice low. “I wanted to talk without anyone listening.”

He took his time answering, long enough that I wondered if he’d put his hand over the phone again. “Go ahead.”

“You mentioned inquiries.”

“I did. Regarding former ORT Captain, Cassian Raines.”

My stomach dropped and kept dropping, past worry into something colder. “That’s specific.”

“Specific enough.”

“Official?”

“No,” he said, and that was worse than if he’d told me it was, because unofficial meant nobody I could trace. “Some lawyer asking where you are these days. Whether you’re still living on the mountain. Whether anybody’s seen you around recently. If you live alone.”

My hackles rose. “They give a name?”

“No.”

“You tell them anything?”

“I told them retired captains aren’t my concern.” A beat, then, drier, “Which is mostly true. It could be nothing, but your guest…”

“I know. Are they pushing you for details?”

“Not hard.” He paused again, and I could picture him, leaning back in that chair that always squeaked, working out how much to say. “Hard enough that I noticed.” My office felt too small suddenly, the walls too close. “I don’t know who’s asking. I don’t know what they want. Maybe it’s nothing, and it dies by tomorrow.”

“And maybe it isn’t.”

“Either way, I’m keeping my eyes and ears open, and anything I see or hear I’ll pass up, but Cass, if you’ve got someone up there who maybe shouldn’t be there right now, I’d figure out a way to move them.”

“I can’t.”