Page 246 of Awakened

I run my hands down my face, feeling like a child and hating myself for acting like one. I check on Dax and find him sitting stoically, hands clenched in his lap, eyes trained on the window and the fire burning steadily beyond. A muscle in his jaw jumps, but otherwise, he doesn’t respond.

In all fairness, neither of us has anything to say. And Caelan’s right—nothing we say is going to matter because at the end of the day, it doesn’t change what we did—what I did.

And more importantly, what I didn’t do.

Just to add insult to injury. I have to sit here and watch as Soren walks over to my Packmate, places a massive paw on his shoulder, and levels him with a look that says a thousand words—all of them in a language I’m not privileged enough to understand.

Caelan nods in response to whatever message passes between them, turning and letting the wolven lead him across the room.

And out the door.

As it swings shut behind them, I’m hit with a sudden and profound loss that’s so intense I genuinely don’t know how to go on from here.

Somehow, in the last three weeks, I’ve lost my Packmates, my sense of self-worth, my identity, and worse of all… my chance—however slim—at the most amazing, kind, beautiful Omega I’ve met in hundreds and hundreds of years.

Not to mention, I also have to somehow come to terms with the fact that I can’t just up and leave my Pack and my life here. Which means I’ll have a front-row seat to an exclusive 24/7 viewing of everything I want but don’t deserve.

It’ll be like It’s A Wonderful Life, but instead of discovering that everyone’s actually worse off without him, George is forced to live in an alternate reality where every single asshole in Bedford Falls is living their best life now that his pessimistic, abnormally tall ass is gone.

Riven lifts his glass, takes a sip of his whiskey, a self-satisfied smirk tipping the corners of his lips.

“Fucking say whatever it is you want to say, Riven,” I groan, gesturing for him to get on with it.

“I told you assholes,” he sings, in a tone that makes his face like a thousand times more punchable.

“I told you that if you kept up your shit, it would come back and bite you in the ass. I warned you repeatedly. And you refused to listen. Refused to even pretend to entertain the possibility that I might know what the fuck I was talking about. And would you look at that—” He tugs back his sleeve and checks his watch—“The prophecy train has arrived right on schedule!”

He leans back, stretching both arms across the back of the couch.

“So what’s the plan, boys? Are we lying down on the train tracks now, or were you planning to wait and throw yourselves beneath its wheels as it passes?”

“Ha, fucking ha,” Dax replies flatly. “I’m sure you’re just eating this shit up.”

It’s the first time he’s opened his mouth to speak since Caelan beat the shit out of him.

Riven’s grin disappears.

“Quite the opposite. Contrary to what you may believe, I don’t enjoy watching my friend destroy his closest relationships and drown himself in whiskey and self-loathing.”

He leans in, leveling us with a serious expression.

“I have allowed myself three minutes to gloat. Now that those three minutes are up, what I want to know is what you intend to do next.”

Dax stands and limps gingerly to the whiskey cart. He picks up the bottle and uncorks it with his teeth. “About what, exactly?”

“Don’t play stupid,” Riven snaps, sneering. “About the Omega who’s missing and your Packmate who’s too fucking worried to come up with a plan.” He points a finger between Dax and me. “So that leaves you two.”

I glance between them, scratching my head. “Uhm…”

Riven pinches the bridge of his nose and groans.

“Stop looking at this like a relationship problem and start looking at it as a mission. You assholes are, to my eternal fucking horror, elite special ops. You have centuries of experience. You’ve spent thousands of hours training, have completed countless successful rescue and retrieval missions, and survived more wars and national conflicts than I can count.”

He leans forward, bracing his forearms on his knees.

“But the second we introduce romantic feelings into the equation, suddenly both of you possess the tactical reasoning of a child whose only weapon is a particularly impressive stick!”

Dax throws his whiskey back, draining the contents in two long swallows, then flings an arm toward the window.