Page 45 of Daisy (Omega Chosen #3)

Hawk

" B attery life on these things is supposed to be six months." I hold up the trail camera, checking the indicator light. "But out here? With how little sun we get this time of year? Maybe four."

Dante nods, methodical as always. He's crouching down by the base of a massive pine tree, adjusting the camera angle and testing the solar panel positioning. "Better to check them monthly anyway."

We're a full two miles from the cabin. Two miles down this winding dirt road that barely deserves the name. The main access road—if you can call two tire tracks through the woods a road—is another mile past this tree line.

Anyone coming for us will have to come this way. And now we'll know about it with enough time to grab Daisy and run.

"You think I'm paranoid," Dante says. Not a question.

"I think you're thorough." I adjust the camera angle, making sure it covers the approach from both directions. "There's a difference. Besides, with your level of security planning, we could probably spot a squirrel with ill intentions from here."

The corner of his mouth twitches. Actual progress. Who knew Mr. Stone Face has a sense of humor buried under all that tactical gear?

"Squirrels can be dangerous," he says, deadpan. "Especially the ones with tiny acorns and big attitudes."

"Holy shit, did Dante just make a joke?" I grin at him. "Someone alert the media. Better yet, don't—we're supposed to be hiding."

He actually huffs out a laugh. "Don't get used to it."

"Too late. I'm already planning to tell everyone back at the cabin that you have a personality under all that brooding."

We work steadily for a few minutes. His hands are steady, precise. Everything about his approach screams military training, but there's something else there too. A carefulness that goes beyond protocol.

"Can I ask you something?" I say, testing the motion sensor's range.

"Shoot."

"When you were guarding events at the Omega House, did you ever think about what those omegas were going through?"

Dante's hands still on the camera. For a moment, I think he won't answer.

"Every damn day," he says quietly. "Especially with Daisy. She was so young when she started attending events. Fifteen, maybe sixteen. And she'd get this look..." He shakes his head. "Like she was drowning and nobody could see it."

"But you saw it."

"I saw it. Hated that I couldn't do anything about it." His voice goes rough. "Protocol was clear. Guards don't interfere with omega business. Don't speak unless spoken to. Don't touch unless there's immediate physical danger."

"That must have eaten at you."

"You have no idea." He finishes with the camera positioning, sits back on his heels. "Watching her get smaller and quieter every year. Watching the life drain out of her eyes while everyone praised how 'perfectly behaved' she was becoming."

I can hear the self-loathing in his voice. The guilt of being part of a system that hurt her.

"That why you broke protocol? When that alpha attacked her?"

"Partly." He stands, brushing dirt off his knees. "But mostly it was instinct. The moment I saw her in danger, everything else just... disappeared."

"How long did you know?" I continue.

"Know what?"

"That she was special to you."

Dante goes very still. "Seven weeks before the rescue. There was a presentation event where her blockers failed and her scent hit me for the first time. I didn't know I was a scent match, but I knew... something changed. Something I couldn't ignore anymore."

"That must have messed with your head."

"Yeah." He picks up another camera, checks the battery level. "Seven weeks of trying to stay professional while every instinct I had was screaming at me to get her away from those bastards circling her like vultures."

"That's a real mindfuck. Like watching your own heart walk around in someone else's body."

He looks at me then, something almost like warmth in those ice-blue eyes. "That's... actually not a terrible way to put it."

"I have my moments. Usually involving terrible puns and inappropriate timing, but still."

We work quietly for a few minutes, both lost in thought. Then something occurs to me.

"Hey, when's Daisy's birthday?" I ask. "She was supposed to be turning twenty soon, right? I hope we didn't miss it."

Dante pauses, his expression shifting to something like guilt. "Shit. Three weeks ago."

I wince. "We missed it completely."

"Yeah." His jaw tightens. "She didn't tell us. Didn't say anything. Just let her twentieth birthday pass without a word."

"That's so like her," I say. "Never wanting to be a bother or ask for anything."

"Still." He shakes his head. "She should have had a party. Cake. Presents. Normal things."

"Well, we'll just have to make it up to her." I grin. "Late birthday celebration. All five of us spoiling her rotten."

"Five idiots falling over themselves to give her the birthday she deserved," Dante says, and there's almost a smile there.

"Exactly. Though August is more like a very competent idiot. The best kind."

Dante actually chuckles. "That's... probably accurate."

We finish setting up the last camera, the conversation flowing easier now. There's something different between us now. An understanding that wasn't there before.

"Dante?" I say as we pack up the tools.

"Yeah?"

"For what it's worth, I think she's lucky to have you watching out for her now. Even if you do take security precautions that would make the Secret Service jealous."

"We all are," he corrects. "All of us watching out for her."

"Yeah," I agree. "All of us. The world's most overprotective pack of…"

That's when the world explodes.

Holy shit.

The camera slips from my hands and hits the ground. I'm staggering backward. Can't breathe. Something just rips through my chest. Something that's been dormant for years.

Gunner.

"Hawk!" Dante's moving. Fast. Reaching for me. "What's happening? What's wrong?"

I can't speak. Can't breathe. Because I'm feeling everything Gunner's feeling.

Pure terror. Overwhelming panic. The kind of fear that makes your blood ice. Something's wrong. Something's horribly, desperately wrong.

And the guilt. Oh hell, the crushing weight of guilt and self-loathing. So intense I'm doubling over.

I press my hand to my chest. Rubbing at the ache there. It feels like my heart's being squeezed in a vise.

What did he do? What happened to her?

"Gunner," I gasp. Struggling to breathe through the emotional storm. "Something's wrong with Gunner. He's… hell, he's terrified. Panicking."

Dante goes rigid. "What's wrong with Gunner?"

Through the bond—this impossible, overwhelming connection I haven't felt in eight years—I'm feeling Gunner's emotional spiral. The devastation. Pure terror and self-loathing so intense it's crushing.

But I don't understand what happened. The emotions are too raw. Too chaotic. All I know is that Gunner is drowning in guilt about something.

I'm rubbing my chest harder. Trying to ease the physical ache of his emotions.

No, no, no. I try to send something back through the connection. Comfort. Reassurance. But it's like screaming into a hurricane.

"We have to get back there." I'm already moving, stumbling toward the road. "We have to… before something happens. Before…"

But I'm not just worried about emotional support. I'm terrified. What if someone attacked them? What if Gunner failed to protect her? What if she's bleeding? Broken? Traumatized? While we're out here setting up damn cameras two miles away?

"What the hell do you mean something's wrong?" Dante's voice is sharp with panic as he catches my arm. But he's moving just as fast as I am. "Is she hurt? Are they under attack?"

"I don't know!" The words tumble out as I start jogging toward the road. "Gunner and I have a pack bond. We formed it when we were seventeen. We shut it down a few years later because we both had messed up lives and the emotional bleed-through was making everything worse."

"A pack bond?" Dante's breathing hard as he falls into step beside me. "You never mentioned it. How do you know something's wrong? What are you feeling?"

"The intensity of whatever's happening must have blown through whatever walls we built." I can hear an engine behind us. The van. "He's falling apart, Dante. Pure terror and guilt. Something bad happened to her."

The van slows beside us. Cassian rolls down the window, looking confused.

"What are you two doing? Why are you running like…"

"Emergency at the cabin!" I shout, yanking open the door. "Daisy might be hurt! Drive!"

Dante and I dive into the back. Cassian's already flooring the accelerator before we even get the door closed.

"What kind of emergency?" August twists around in the passenger seat, his face going white. "What happened to Daisy?"

"I don't know!" I can barely get the words out through Gunner's emotional chaos. "Something happened with Gunner and Daisy. There's this pack bond between us, and he's—hell, he's terrified. In complete meltdown."

"Pack bond?" August's voice cracks. "What pack bond?"

"Gunner and I've got a pack bond. Had it shut down for years." The van swerves as Cassian takes a turn too fast. "Point is, whatever went down back there has him convinced something terrible happened. And I can't tell what's wrong."

"Is she alive?" Cassian's knuckles are white on the steering wheel. "Can you tell if she's alive?"

"His emotions are hitting me and he's falling apart.

Pure terror. Self-hatred." I rub my chest as another wave of Gunner's devastation hits me.

"The guilt's overwhelming. But there's... wait.

" I press my hand harder against my chest, trying to sort through the emotional chaos.

"There's something else. Love? Pleasure? I can't tell what the hell's going on."

"Faster," Dante says grimly. "Whatever it is, we're too damn far away."

Cassian pulls up to the cabin with more speed than necessary. Tires skidding on the gravel. We pile out in a rush.

But then the scent hits us. Before we even reach the door.