Page 259 of Caged

“What was it you just said?” He repeats softly.

Idril clears her throat. Her hands fly to her oversized shirt. She wraps her fingers in the fabric so tightly that her knuckles turn white. She twists the cotton over and over, and my eyes narrow at the movement.

Then I squint, because⁠—

Are those holes in the top of her leggings?

“My mother…” Her voice pulls my attention away from her clothing. Her eyes flick to Dax, and she hesitates. The fear in her bright blue eyes is so real, so visceral, that I take an involuntarily step back in panic.

I swallow thickly, forcing down how uncomfortable her terror makes me feel.

What the hell is that about?

“He won’t say a word, Omega. I swear it. This conversation is just between you and me.”

She’s curled in her chair, her arms now wrapped around legs tucked tight into her body. Her shoulders are hunched, like she’s bracing for a blow.

My stomach drops further.

“My mother used to tell me stories.” She finally whispers. “Maybe… maybe she was Irish?”

She peeks up at Riven, and it’s such an obvious Omega gesture—the desire for validation and approval from an Alpha—that I nearly look away.

Gods, her instincts must be going haywire.

Riven nods encouragingly, and Idril visibly relaxes. The interaction causes something mean and jealous to twist in my stomach.

I should be the one giving her that approval. It should be me she looks to for encouragement.

I would⁠—

You would what? Probably sneer at her or glare or spit out something cruel because you don’t know your mind from your ass, you cowardly knot-for-brains.

An image of Caelan’s broken body picks that exact moment to pop into my head. Guilt smothered in shame wraps around my lungs and squeezes, reminding me that every time I have thoughts like this about the Omega, I’m essentially stabbing my best friend—my brother and packmate—in the fucking back.

Fates, I’m losing my mind.

Idril shrugs. “I don’t really know. She died when I was young. Right after my designation came in.” She looks at Dax, and there’s something angry in her eyes that I don’t understand.

“When I was little, she’d tell me stories all the time. One in particular. It had that part in it.” She nods toward the papers Riven’s been translating, then looks down at her hands, curled into fists.

“What was the story?” Riven asks.

“It was just a story about a girl. A princess, maybe. Or⁠—”

”A princess,” Dax sneers.

Great, apparently he’s hit his limit of time spent shutting the fuck up.

I glare at him for interrupting her.

He throws up his arms and scoffs. “A story about a fucking princess. Oh come the fuck on, we aren’t entertaining this shit, are we?”

We all ignore him.

“How did the story go?” Riven cautiously reaches for her hands and wraps them in his. His much larger, tattooed ones completely engulf her small, delicate hands.

The pure, undiluted jealousy I feel in this moment is so hot that I’m like ninety-percent sure I black out for a second.