Page 115

I’d been listless when I first came to The Barracks. Until Clay collected me from my bed and insisted on walking me around the maze of tunnels, including where my dad grew up. My fingers itched to pick up my camera for the first time in years. I had this wild idea to use some of my footage from my previous volunteer work in The Barracks with my parents and revisit the locations. To interview the people who lived here and show how much, or how little, had changed since the HLA attacked.

“Puck was acting like he’d never spoken a word.” I laughed.

“He hasn’t.” Thorn thumped a cup in front of me. “Not since the HLA took his pack as hostages.”

“Oh.”

“A Hartlock omega? I haven’t seen one of those in an age,” the older lady interrupted, and her eyes glowed with something I couldn’t quite place.

A smile flickered on the edges of her lips. I refrained from pointing out that it would have been impossible for her to know a Hartlock omega, because she wouldn’t have been alive.

The man with the barrel chest clapped his hands on the table. “You’re the one we’ve been hearing whispers about.”

My shoulders rose around my ears.

“What was that?” The tall man cupped his hand around his ear, but the older lady whacked his shoulder with a quelling glare.

“Shhh, don’t embarrass the poor girl. It’s not her fault you’ve got a millennium’s worth of wax in those ears.”

I smothered a smile as Thorn shook his head at Clay. “I put up with these people because I love you. I hope you know that.”

The older lady’s eyes sharpened like a shard of glass. She waved Thorn off with the flick of her wrist and a pinched, wrinkled mouth. I admired her strength of presence.

“One moment, your holy alphaness. Can’t leave until I say something first. Feels like I’ve been waiting for years.” She turned her gaze on me.

It rolled through my limbs, found all my weak spots, and pressed on them. A lifetime of regret and shame touched the side of my throat. Tasted bitter. Faded.

“I have a good sense about Designated, dearie. You know, so many priceless things, like diamonds, like marble, have to go through years of rough pressure and heat. They endure and are rewarded with strength and beauty. Anything worth having is forged, and that goes for us, too.”

“Does that explain why you’re bent over? The years did a number on your back.” The thin older man’s gaze twinkled.

“Careful, she might be small, but she’s fierce,” Clay joked, his lips cracked into a wide smile.

“That’s right. Never underestimate how much damage a five-foot omega can do.”

She was an omega? The way she looked at me had some of her strength threading through my limbs.

“A good reminder,” I whispered.

“Take it to heart, you hear me?” The older lady pursed her lips again.

I’d spoken to so many Designated over the last month and every conversation taught me something. But the best lesson was one that Baylark Pack had started. I might be an omega, but I was capable on my own. And there was something cathartic about tracing your roots back to the source.

“The road might be long, but it’s worth the reward.” The tall older man squeezed his omega’s shoulder.

Thorn clicked his tongue. “Great. You’ve sprinkled enough empty platitudes on this pain in the ass omega for today. Now you can go.”

“See you soon, Clay,” the lady said, blowing him a kiss.

Thorn marched the trio to the door, uncaring of their stooped backs and stilted steps. When they were gone, he slumped into one of the empty chairs. Thorn and Clay’s scents were strong here, like knotted cord. But scents didn’t affect me much now. Not since I’d lived with Baylark Pack.

Despite everything, I craved the discordant clash of their scents. So wrong, it was right.

“Are you going to interview your big, fancy pack?” Thorn took a sip of his drink.

“My project has nothing to do with them.” I frowned.

“You sure?”