Page 82 of Omega Hunted

He fell silent for a long moment before continuing.

“My brother wanted me pregnant. That was all that mattered to him. Once it happened…” He swallowed hard. “He let them leave.” Soren sighed. “They drove away together. Gabe and Malachai.”

“And then?”

“There was an accident.” His voice had gone flat, the way it always did when the memories became too heavy. “Gabe died at the scene.” He stared down at Asha as he spoke. “Malachai survived long enough to know Gabe was gone. They said he put a gun to his own head before anyone could stop him. I know my brother had something to do with it. What other explanation is there?” Soren asked. “Alphas who lose their bonded go mad,” he stopped and glanced up at me. “I thought they did, anyway, and if you kill the bonded omega, you destroy the alpha without ever having to fight him. They were going to kill both, but they only needed Gabe to die.”

He rubbed slow circles over Asha’s back.

“If Malachai had lived… if he’d known I was pregnant…” He shook his head. “I want to think he would’ve come for us somehow. He and Gabe would’ve claimed his child and maybe kept me safe, maybe as a nanny or something?”

“His father, Preston, is Patriarch of the Dalton family, right? Did he know about your brother using his son? Was he in agreement?”

“I don’t know.” Soren frowned, trying to piece it together. “Everything happened so fast. I was already sick from the pregnancy. My family moved me to Center 14 and kept me medicated most of the time. I lost track of days.” He frowned. “I don’t remember exactly when Malachai and Gabe died relative to… everything else. I only know they were gone when Emric visited Center 14 and told me. Unless he was lying?” He looked so hopeful, but I shook my head.

“There’s a report on their deaths.” His lip wobbled, eyes bright, and he forced himself to look back at Asha, his thumb brushing gently over her tiny hand.

“That’s awful,” he said.

“I’m sorry she’ll never know her alpha father,” I added, and he nodded. For a moment, the mountain, the bounty, and the families hunting them ceased to exist, and I tugged him onto my lap for a hug; Asha yawned herself back to sleep, and we sat there for an hour as she slept, and it was peaceful.

February had arrived without any of us noticing, and Soren, Asha, and I had become a family living one ordinary day at a time, stealing a future from people who believed neither of us deserved one. My promise to him no longer felt like words I’d spoken in the heat of the moment. It had become the shape of my life. Every meal I cooked, every patrol I walked, every bottle I warmed, every time Soren looked at me across the room with quiet trust instead of fear, I was keeping it. And for the first time in three years, tomorrow wasn’t something to endure.

It was something I wanted to build.

“Have you heard from Ronan?” Soren asked me every evening.

“Nope,” I said, same as always, trying not to let the fear change my tone. “He’s just had to go dark.”

Or he’s dead.

Along with Brec’s calls, The Archivist checked in every couple of days, and I’d gotten used to it. Sometimes it was nothing more than confirmation that no chatter pointed toward me. Other times, he brought scraps of intelligence that never quite fitted together. Hunters were still searching. He couldn’t find Ronan. More names appeared on the private boards. More money changed hands. Most of the world assumed Soren was dead, but that damn bounty still didn’t move.

I made sure Soren was sleeping, up in his nest, Asha in her crib right inside with him before I logged in to find the latest message.

SKINSIDE // PRIVATE MESSAGE

THE ARCHIVIST: Your ghost story is holding.

IRONPINE: Can you show me?

A link followed. I clicked through to a thread three days old, buried under two hundred replies from people who’d never once cared about a nameless omega until he’d become a tragedy instead of a rumor. Confirmed unaccounted for since the raid. Presumed lost in the blizzard that followed. A moderator had pinned a message asking people to stop speculating about the identity out of respect for a family already grieving.

A grieving family.

IRONPINE: Respect.

THE ARCHIVIST: People like a clean story better than an open one. Give them a body they can mourn, and they stop looking for one they can sell.

IRONPINE: And the Kastor Family?

The pause lasted long enough that I checked the connection hadn’t dropped.

THE ARCHIVIST: The SED closed their file last week. Quietly. No press release, but a closed file doesn’t get resourced, and that’s what matters.

IRONPINE: But?

THE ARCHIVIST: The private bounty went up again this morning. Six point five million.