Page 72 of Omega's Flight

"You sound pretty blah about it all." Cas wiped the fork and tossed it in the cutlery drawer.

"I'm not. I've been mostly terrified since it happened." Holland's voice grew deeper, and the good humor disappeared, replaced by a heavy sense of responsibility. "But it's my trap to carry and moaning about it isn't going to help. I need to figure out where the limits of it are, what it's good for. And how or whether it should be known amongst the packs. There’s enough animosity out there as it is.“

"Do you think there's others out there? That can do what you do? What is it, exactly? What did you do for Quin that first night?" Because Cosimo had talked about things, even gave them name, but all Cas had been able to figure out was the first Alpha's Mate had literally been able to reach into the mind of other shifters and...change things.

Holland set another handful of clean cutlery on the counter and pulled the plug on the sink, shaking the water and soap bubbles off it with a thoughtful frown before setting it on the edge to dry. "I just choked off the nightmare. It gave him a headache that sent him to bed for two days, but it was gone." He borrowed Cas's towel to dry his hands, his eyes dancing when he did it because he'd just snatched it out of Cas's hands, then handed it back with a more sober look. "We've been experimenting since. I kind of think I might have been doing it unconsciously all along, but it's not something where I can look at a memory and say, 'Ah!' Mostly, it seemed that the times I wanted so badly for him to be better were also the times that the crisis we could both see coming just...never arrived. We thought it was the therapy. Except the therapist kept accusing Quin of not being truthful about his episodes, until we finally had to find a new one, because this one didn’t trust us anymore. That, or start making stuff up." He began putting away the dishes Cas had dried, his movements jerky and distracted, as if the activity was less about setting the kitchen to rights and more about giving him something physical to concentrate on.

"But what, exactly, is it that you do?" Cas demanded. He avoided Holland's attempt to take the towel back and added, "If you want these dishes dried and put away, you have to tell me, or I'm going to stand here in your way all night."

"Really?" Holland asked dryly.

"Really," said Quin from behind him. "I thought we'd talked about this."

"I need his help," Holland said, turning to face his mate. "Are the pups already in bed? I thought we were going to color for a while tonight?"

"Dorian nearly fell asleep in the tub," Quin said absently. "Stop trying to change the subject."

Cas throttled the urge to get between the two—he’d promised Holland to trust them together. ”Maybe I should go," Cas suggested carefully and began edging out of the kitchen. "I'll take that journal over to Raleigh tonight."

"Thanks," Holland said, looking like a man going to face a firing squad. For a moment, Cas wondered if he should stay anyway, trust be damned, to make sure that the darkness that still sometimes rode his brother didn't go any farther than it had.

Quin shot him a glance. "Go sit on the couch, we'll be out in a minute."

Oh, not gonna be happy, bro. "I'm fine here." Cas crossed his arms over his chest, only remembering after he'd done it that he was still holding onto the wet dish towel.

"Just what do you think I'm going to do?" Quin snapped. "He's my mate. We need to talk. I don't need your big ears listening in."

"Holland?" Cas watched his packbrother carefully, almost as carefully as he would have watched a human on the opposite side of a legal case.

"Go, Cas," Holland said. "We'll be out in a minute." He turned back to Quin. "He's your damn brother."

"And it's my head," Quin whispered, his voice harsh. "You had no right."

And that got Holland, more than anything else Cas had ever heard Quin say to his packbrother. "I know." He took a breath and looked over at Cas. "Go, please. I just need a minute."

Cas gave a sharp nod and tossed the dish towel onto the counter. "Call if you need me."

Holland smiled at that and moved to stand next to his mate. "I will."

It felt like insects crawling up and down his spine to leave Holland there, but Cas did it, though he never made it as far away as the couch in the living room. Instead, he hung around in the weird little corner that wasn't quite kitchen and wasn't quite living room either, straining his ears for any sign that Holland was trying to be a damn hero.

Which was why he got caught when they came out, literally two minutes later.

"Dammit, Cas, you aren't six anymore!" Quin yelled and pointed toward the living room. "Get!"

Holland muffled his chuckles in the back of Quin's shoulder, his blue eyes bright as he watched the play of emotions across Cas's face.

"Maybe I should lay a trail of cookies," he said, and bit the back of Quin's neck.

"That's Garrick," Quin reminded him. "Come on, let's get this over with." He grumbled some more as he led them out to the living room, not all of it audible, though Cas clearly heard, "I hate everyone looking at me like I'm Bernard the Bloody."

Cas took the chair, allowing the mated couple the courtesy of the couch. And just as well, because he'd never seen Holland so omega-like in his life, curled up against Quin like he was going to seduce him right then and there in front of Cas's eyes.

"So you've read the journal," Quin began.

"Just the first one." Cas rubbed his hands on his knees, then forced himself to stillness to hide his anxiety.

"That's enough. I don't mean you can't read the rest of them, but a lot of what we know comes from that one." Quin slowly relaxed into the deep cushioning of the couch. He raised one arm and draped it around Holland's shoulders, pulling his mate close and the smile he directed in Holland's direction seemed genuine, if Cas was any judge. "Holland's told you he's doing things with me, practicing."