Page 18 of Feral, Part Two (Wolfscorge #2)

Kael

The chaos has finally settled down, darkness and quiet easing the house into a peace we rarely have.

An hour ago, I was wrapped around my mates in Slate and Preston’s den, before I woke up, the helplessness of being unable to do something weighing on me.

It was a chore untangling myself from my mates before I headed to the office to stare at the board I spent years putting together.

Every photograph, every document, every connection we thought we'd discovered—It's all spread out before me like a monument to our own ignorance.

Everything I worked for, every choice I thought I was making, every step I took that I believed was bringing us closer to justice—it was all curated.

Every move was anticipated, planned for, guided by hands we never even knew existed.

The fury that's been simmering all day finally boils over. A roar tears from my throat, reverberating through the room as I sweep my arm across the desk, sending all the papers flying to the ground. Documents scatter, our carefully organized research reduced to chaos on the floor.

I know I should be in the den. After Slate invited me in earlier, Preston was adamant that that's where they were sleeping.

It took a little bit of work to widen the space, moving furniture and rearranging blankets until we had something that could accommodate all of us.

Now it's a perfect little piece of darkness, exactly what our Omegas need for the final stages of their pregnancies.

But I can't stop thinking. Not that I know why, exactly. My body is exhausted, my mind is running in circles, and every instinct I have is telling me to be with my pack. Yet here I am, dragging a hand through my hair and staring at the remnants of years of pointless investigation.

I keep thinking about the call with Jules, about his warning that it's a shitshow outside Wolfscorge.

How bad would it really be to stay in here?

Yes, we're being monitored, yes, we're part of some sick experiment, but we've been afforded a luxury we would have never gotten in jail.

And as long as my Omegas and the babies are protected, I can't see a better alternative.

Trying to get out won't work. Even if we could somehow escape the compound, where would we go?

The Collective has reach we're only beginning to understand, connections that span government and medical institutions. All of my careful plans and that house we would have escaped to in order to stay under the radar would have done fuck all now. There would be a spotlight on our back because The Collective wouldn’t let their experiment just run wild.

At least here, we have some measure of safety. A roof over our heads, food, and medical care when we need it. The devil we know versus the one we don't.

I move toward the pool house, grimacing at the torn-down fence in the courtyard. The plaster is twisted and broken where the bear forced his way through, a stark reminder that even The Collective's control isn't absolute. Something about that gives me a small measure of hope.

Stepping inside the pool house, I look around the space that Slate claimed as his original sanctuary. That's when I see him, curled up in the corner right beside the phone. My chest tightens with concern as I move closer and crouch down beside him.

"Slate, when did you come out here? You should be sleeping with the others."

He sits up a little, his dark eyes reflecting the same worry I’m feeling. "I could say the same thing for you."

Fair point. Neither of us are where we're supposed to be, both of us apparently unable to find peace in the safety of the den.

"Why are you out here?" I ask, keeping my voice gentle. "Are we making you feel uncomfortable?"

Slate shakes his head, but there's something broken in his expression.

"My friend at Veltmoor, she said she would call back, but she never has.

So, I called and she said she couldn't talk anymore, and then I called again and they said she doesn't work there anymore.

" His voice gets smaller with each word, fear building in his eyes.

"I think they did something to her. I just.. . I need something to be real."

I sit down beside him, offering him a smile to help settle him. At least, I hope it does. "This is real. I don't mean the chaos or getting stuck in Wolfscorge. I mean that this pack is real, you're real, the babies you're carrying are real. The bond is real."

Slate's dark eyes search my face, looking for the anger I gave him when he first came to us. "Is it though? I have your bite in my shoulder, but..."

He trails off, but I can hear the unspoken doubt in his voice. After six false bonds, six surgical removals, six rejections, how could he believe that this time was different? How could he trust that what we have isn't just another elaborate setup designed to break him down further?

"I know we called a truce before, but I think we need something a little different," I say, softening my voice.

Slate continues staring at me with those wide eyes, and in that moment, I see something that stops me cold.

I see a version of myself that existed before Preston, before this pack, before I learned that being wanted was more important than being feared.

The version that used to hate his life and everything he'd done up until that point.

"We don't know each other and I've never given you the chance to know who I am past the pack Alpha," I offer.

"We don't need to do a heart-to-heart," Slate says quickly, his defensive walls slamming back into place. "I don't need that."

"And I think you're wrong. Slate, I know you're guarding your heart. I would be too in your situation. But the walls you keep putting up and the ones I keep up won't go anywhere if we don't try, so I'm making the first move."

I stick my hand out toward him, the gesture feeling foreign and vulnerable in ways that make my skin crawl. But this is what he needs; not another Alpha trying to dominate him, not another pack member treating him like a responsibility. He needs to know who I am as a person, not just as a role.

"Hi, I'm Kael, one of the Alphas who was supposed to be a successor of a Collective seat before my brother was chosen instead."

Slate frowns as he clasps my hand. "Are you mad at him?"

I don’t expect that question from him. "I'm not mad at my brother. It was a dog-eat-dog world, but I was always second best. And in a world that teaches Alphas are better than Betas, I used to think I just wasn't enough. My Beta brother got everything and I had to fight for what was mine."

Growing up in the shadow of someone who was everything I was told I should be but could never become, it left scars that never fully healed.

My brother was smarter, more diplomatic, better at reading people and situations.

Everything an heir to The Collective should be, while I was just the spare with anger issues and control problems.

Slate slowly lets go of my hand, the Omega processing what I've shared. "You already know my story."

"I know the story that everyone else has told me. I know the story your marks tell me, but I don't know your story." I lean forward slightly, trying to convey the sincerity behind my words. "Tell me, who is Slate?"

He's quiet for a long moment, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. When he finally speaks, his voice is so quiet I almost miss it. "I'm just an Omega who wants to be wanted."

After everything he's been through, all the trauma and manipulation and systematic breaking down, that's what it comes down to. The most basic need that every person has—to matter to someone, to be chosen, to be valued.

"And?" I prompt, sensing there's more he needs to say.

"And nothing." His voice gets even smaller. "I just for once want to be in a pack that wants me and isn't constantly looking to get rid of me."

"This pack could be that for you," I offer without hesitation. A few days ago, I wanted him out, but now, I only want to wrap him up in the safety I offer. The problem is getting him to believe that.

Slate's expression remains guarded. "We're cordial with each other and I get that, but it's biology that is pulling us together, not emotions."

"I thought the same thing, too, but biology doesn't make us care or make us love.

Slate, biology makes me want to fuck you and knot you and make you submit.

It doesn't make me want to talk to you and spend time with you.

If this truly was only because of biology, I would have gathered you up and carried you back to your den in the main house without asking where you wanted to be.

I would probably fuck you out of spite for leaving that safe space and then hold you through the night, needing to connect with you. "

"So, you don't want to fuck me?" Slate asks, his brows furrowing with confusion.

"Oh, I do.” I lean closer, running my nose along his forehead before pulling back. “I very much want to fuck you, but I also want to get to know my Omega. I want to find out who Slate is, what he likes, what he wants in life."

"There isn't really much of a life in here.” His shoulders fall a little bit, a small sigh slipping through his lips.

"I'd beg to differ. Regardless, though, I'm here to make amends and I know that comes with time, but I'm hoping this is a start."

"Yeah, it is," he says simply, and the acceptance in those three words means more than any grand declaration could.

I observe him for a little longer, watching as he rests back against the wall, his cheeks flushed with the effort of carrying his rapidly growing belly.

His scent shifts slightly, sweetening just a bit before settling.

When we’re not butting heads, he’s actually very cute, adorable even.

"As much as I'd like to ask you to come back in the house, I'm sensing that it's a bit too much in there for you right now.

However, I'd love to stay with you if you’d let me. "

Slate looks a little wary, and I can practically see the wheels turning in his head. There's something he wants to say but seems reluctant to voice.

"What? You've never been shy with your words around me, don't start now."

The challenge in my tone does exactly what I hoped it would—it gives him permission to be honest, to ask for what he needs without shame.

"I need you to fuck my face," he says, the words coming out in a rush.

"What?" The request catches me off guard, not because of what he's asking for, but because of the desperation underlying it.

"I want it to hurt and I want you to knot me." He meets my gaze, hope lingering in his expression. “I know I freaked out with Thane and Malik, but it wasn’t like that. I wanted that, but I wasn’t ready, and I don’t… I don’t want to be restrained when I don’t know it’s going to happen. But I need…”

I grin, unable to hide my satisfaction at his honesty. "Little Omega, do you need my cum? Is that what you're asking for?"

"I don't know why I need it but I do and it's getting worse, but then you can stay in here. I just..."

He trails off, but I understand what he's trying to say.

This is his way of accepting my presence, of allowing intimacy while still maintaining some control over the situation.

It's a compromise that lets him get what his body is craving while also testing whether I'll treat him with care or just use him.