Page 68 of Omega Hunted

“Tea,” he said roughly.

“Please,” I managed.

“In the fluffy wolf mug.”

I nodded, and he left before either of us could make it more complicated.

I could smell fresh bread before I reached the bottom step, mingled with Cassian’s cedar forest, and waddled in on him flipping bacon in the old cast-iron pan he seemed to use for everything. Snow pressed against the windows beyond him, the world outside little more than white and grey, but the kitchen was warm enough that I’d pushed my sleeves up before I’d reached the table.

I sat down, adjusting a pillow in the small of my back, and watched the steam curl out of my tea before speaking. He’d spoken with affection about Raff’s mug, and I wanted to know more. I wished I knew a good way to broach the subject, but in the end, things were simple.

“Will you tell me about Raff?”

Cassian stopped buttering the bread and set the knife down with deliberate care. After a long moment, he carried the plate to the table, sat opposite me, and wrapped both hands around his coffee as though he needed the warmth.

“What do you want to know?”

“Not just…” I searched for the right words. “I mean, I know he was brave.”

“He was.” Cassian nodded slowly, his gaze dropping into the coffee. “But the trouble is…” He rubbed his thumb around the rim of the mug. “I don’t seem to know how to tell people about Raff without telling them how I lost him.”

“I’d like to know.” I was half-lying—I wasn’t sure I could witness so much grief, but I wanted to try.

“Team Three was sent into a warehouse,” he began, his voice tight. “It wasn’t the first omega trafficking operation we’d hit, and it wouldn’t have been the last. We’d cleared most of the building, pulled twelve people out alive, and the place was coming down around us. Fire in the roof, smoke everywhere. Command ordered us out.”

He stopped, his jaw tightening. “Then someone reported another omega inside.” Something changed in his face. “Command sent Raff back in.”

The words were quiet, but nothing about them was calm.

“They sent my pregnant mate back into a burning building, and they didn’t tell me.”

I gasped. Raff had been pregnant? “A baby?” I asked, and he blinked at me in horror as if he hadn’t meant to reveal that fact.

“Weeks,” he whispered. “That was all, but we didn’t tell anyone else apart from Ronan…” He closed his eyes for a moment, then lifted his chin and stared at me. “Command understood I would’ve gone with him. They knew I would’ve stopped him going alone. So, they waited until I was outside, until I was far enough away that I couldn’t do a damn thing, and they sent him back.”

His fingers tightened around the mug.

“They decided one more omega was worth the risk. Raff was the risk.” His voice cracked, and he looked away. “His life became currency they could spend.”

The kitchen seemed to shrink around us.

“Raff found the missing victim trapped beneath a collapsed beam and got him free. They made it to one of the loading bays. There was a trafficker there, hidden while we cleared the building.” Cassian swallowed. “Raff pushed the omega out of the way when the alpha fired. Took the bullet instead. Too close to his heart for the shift to save him.” His hand shook around the mug. “I got to him before he died. Held him while he bled out and promised him whatever he asked just so he’d stay with me.”

He stared down at his hands.

“ORT called it a regrettable but acceptable loss.”

His voice dropped to almost nothing.

“Raff wasn’t a fucking loss. He was my mate. His life had value.” Neither of us spoke. The fire crackled in the stove, and outside the snow slid from the roof with a dull thump. Cassian drew in a slow breath and scrubbed both hands over his face. “I resigned from the ORT and came here to die.” There was no drama in the words, only fact. “I’m sorry.” His voice was rough, and he glanced back at me. “You asked me who he was, and the first thing I did was tell you how he died.”

“You lost your omega, and your baby,” I whispered. Then louder, “You love him.”

“I do.”

“Of course.” I knew there wasn’t room for anyone else in his heart; I knew what we had was transient, and he was just being brave and stoic for me, but I reached across the table before I had time to think myself out of it and rested my hand over his. “Tell me the rest. About the person he was.”

He looked down at where my fingers covered his, and for a long moment, he didn’t answer. Then something softened in his face, grief giving way to something warmer.