Page 227 of Caged

She doesn’t make a sound, but I can taste her heartbreak like it has its own flavor. I can feel it—her devastation, her grief, her relief. It’s pouring down the Bond, flooding me with her anguish.

That snaps me out of my paralysis. I move, lunging for her and closing the distance between us like my life depends on it.

Because it fucking does.

“Idril—”

She crashes into me. Or I crash into her. I don’t know, and I don’t care, because she’s in my arms where she’s meant to be, and it feels like the world has righted itself again. Her arms wrap around my waist, and I fold my body over hers, tucking her head beneath my chin and surrounding her completely.

“I’ve got you, love. I’ve got you,” my voice is ragged and broken and dripping with protectiveness. “You’re alright. I’ve got you.”

A sound appears, vibrating through my chest. A steady rumbling that won’t stop. Not a growl or a moan or⁠—

A purr.

I’m purring. I’ve never purred in my entire fucking life. Not for family, not for an Omega, not for anyone.

Yet standing here under the swaying leaves of a White Oak with the wind flowing through my Mate’s beautiful hair, her scent surrounding me, filling every broken part of me, for the first time I feel the sound rattle to life in my chest.

It’s a sound meant to soothe and comfort. An Alpha’s innate response to his Omega’s distress. Idril’s hands grasp onto my shirt with a strength belying her shaking limbs and refuse to go. She’s sobbing openly now. Each gasping, broken whimper reaches into my chest and rips apart another piece of my heart. My instincts are roaring at me, begging me to do something, anything to help.

Comfort her. Protect her. Keep her safe.

“You’re real,” she cries. “You’re real.”

“That’s right. I’m real. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

I don’t know what I’m saying; random words are tumbling from my mouth as I try to comfort her any way I can.

My hands won’t stay still. They’re in her hair, on her back, running up her ribs and shoulders, and down her arms. Anywhere and everywhere I can touch her, I do. I just need to feel her. Need to know that she’s solid and real.

This isn’t how I imagined this going. In all the endless hours I’ve spent imagining our reunion with, I never thought she’d be falling apart in my arms like she’s barely tethered to the world.

Something is seriously fucking wrong.

I’ve only held her twice before, once in her room and once in the foyer of that house of nightmares, but I remember each moment in excruciating detail. How she felt against me, how soft her skin was, what her hair smelled like, the way each warm, stuttering puff of breath felt against my cheek.

I know exactly how she fits against me. The feel of her waist under my palms, the silken touch of her hair between my fingers, the weight of her head on my shoulder. Delicate, yes, but fierce. So fucking fierce.

Not… not like this.

I run shaking fingers up her back, and realize with growing horror that I can count each vertebra in her spine. Sharp ridges press against skin that is far too thin and fragile, like tissue paper stretched over bone.

My hands snake into her hair. Where there were once silken soft waves, now my fingers meet with tangles strands falling out of a partially unraveled braid.

What has her father done to her?

I crouch down and gently coax her back, hoping to get a better look at her face.

“No, please,” she gasps, tightening her hold around me. “Don’t let go.”

Her hands are red, chapped, white-knuckled fingers twisted in my shirt.

“Never,” I swear fiercely. “I’ll never let you go.”

And I won’t. Never. Fates, if it’ll make her happy, I’ll sew a fucking pocket on the front of my shirt and carry her in it.

“Idril,” I whisper, cradling her head in my hands, gently brushing away her tears with my thumbs. I’ve done this far too often in the short time we’ve been together. Once I mark and Mate her—which will be as soon as I fucking can—this shit ends.