Page 119 of Caged

Instinctively, my arms wrap tightly around her even as she tries to throw her body over mine, like she can shield me.

As though her tiny, starved frame could stop a bullet meant for my skull.

A gunshot cracks out—and misses.

I feel the flutter of air against my cheek as the bullet whistles past my face.

Directly where my head had been, less than a second before.

We hit the ground in a tangle of limbs. Despite the real fear of crushing her, I wrap my arms as tight as I can, relishing in her slight weight against my chest. I refuse to let her go. Refuse to loosen my grip now that I have her.

Fates… she just saved my life.

The realization is terrifying.

This Omega—this tiny, terrified Omega—just threw herself between me and a silver bullet meant for my head.

I can’t make sense of it. Can’t wrap my mind around the reality of it.

Idril is sobbing. Great, heaving sobs that refuse to quit. Using my chest as leverage, she pushes herself up on trembling arms. Her delicate hands flutter back and forth, hovering over my face, my chest, my shoulders. Like she’s terrified to touch me, but also needs to be sure I haven’t been shot again.

Her eyes snag on my wound and widen in panic. The color in her already pale face drains further.

“No,” she whispers. “No, no, no, oh gods⁠—”

Her words end on a whine of fear and pain. My Alpha surges toward her, snarling in rage. She’s not paying attention, though. She scrambles down my body and presses shaking hands to my thigh. Blood wells, spilling from my wound in thick, hot pulses.

I try, but fail to choke back a grunt of pain. My blood seeps between the gaps of her fingers and another whine falls from her lips. It’s half whimper, half disbelieving keen of distress, and my heart tears open at the sound. I can barely fucking think over my Alpha’s bellows of rage.

I reach for her, desperate to reassure her. My voice is raspy and weak, and I don’t know if she’s even listening. “It’s alright, love. Idril, it’s alright⁠—”

She can’t hear me.

She reaches for her cardigan, but struggles to grip the fabric with hands that won’t stop shaking. Over and over, her fingers slip until with a frustrated jerk and a snarl, she rips it from her shoulders.

She yanks the sleeve taut, wraps it around my thigh and pulls. Tight.

I hiss through teeth clenched in pain, hating myself when the sound makes her cry harder.

“I’m sorry,” she sobs through choked gasps. “Caelan, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

I snatch her wrist, making her look at me. A beat passes. Two.

Finally, she yanks her eyes from my wound and focuses on me.

“You’re doing great,” I reassure her. “You’re perfect, love. You’re doing so well. I’m so proud of you.”

She lunges, crawling up my body, soft whimpers falling from trembling lips.

Slowly, gently, I raise my hands to cradle her face, forcing those bright blue eyes to meet mine. My thumbs caress the delicate skin of her cheekbones, her tears slipping over my calloused fingers like a benediction.

Like something holy.

“Idril. Idril.” I whisper the world with reverence. Her name is a vow. A prayer.

“It’s okay, sweet girl. It’s going to be okay.”

I have no idea if that’s true, but I keep whispering it into the space between our breaths anyway, desperate to anchor her to the sound of my voice.