Page 21 of Primal (The Prey Drive #1)

Chapter 20

Rennick

I haven’t moved on from the moment Noa collapsed like her soul had been yanked out of her body. Physically, I may have numbly left that clearing after they’d carried her from me, but, mentally, I’m still back there reliving it. Regretting it while simultaneously trying to remind myself why I did it—why I had to—as vivid flashes of her broken, unconscious body flood my mind, each one a brutal reminder that she ended up that way because of me.

It was three days ago now—I think. Time has ceased to have any meaning. Morning, night, midday, it all bleeds together in this office, in this box I’ve locked myself inside. The curtains—the only thing left unscathed from my rampage—are drawn tight, the fireplace left cold. I haven’t eaten. Can’t remember the last time I drank water.

I don’t sleep.

Can’t.

Not because I’m punishing myself—though the guilt might argue otherwise—but because I know what’s waiting for me if I do. The dreams that started eight months ago, long before I caught her scent on the wind in my backyard. Before I knew what her sweet voice sounded like. Before I looked into her two-toned irises and the memories I never should have forgotten started to resurface.

If I close my eyes and try to find relief in oblivion, I know I will be brought back to that place where between the snowcapped pine trees, her figure is carved into the white mist. Waiting for me. Always waiting for me. Every part of her face obscured except for her eyes. I never realized until recently how much that detail mattered. One solid golden brown. The other split straight down the middle—half gold, half glacial blue. A distant voice used to whisper to me that I was staring into something sacred, something important.

It was Noa. It’s always been Noa.

She had begged me to remember her and when I’d woken up, I was left feeling like I was missing a vital piece of me. I hadn’t understood it then. But I do now. And knowing that I failed her? That I spoke the words that destroyed us with my own mouth while her soul had been crying out to mine for months?

That’s what keeps me awake.

The last few days have been a blur of silence and shadows.And rage. At myself, at my choice, at the people who used this hallowed connection as a bargaining chip against me.

My office has borne the brunt of my fury. Not a single piece of furniture or decoration is left untouched. My laptop is a pile of twisted metal and shattered glass in the corner. Feathers from the pillows on the sofa float across the oak floors in silent whispers of wind.

Yrsa came by. Oswin knocked, more than once. I ignored them both. I couldn’t bring myself to open the door, couldn’t handle the looks they’d give me. No doubt the grieving mother would praise my sacrifice while the latter would condemn it just as fiercely as Canaan had.

Canaan.

His absence proves how far I’ve fallen this time.

The one who’s been my anchor since the day I took over as Alpha, the man who never hesitates to knock sense into me before standing at my side, has been noticeably absent. Normally, he’d be the one at my door, checking in, refusing to let me wallow.

I haven’t seen him since the clearing, when he looked at me like I was a stranger before he walked away. That same expression had been etched across Rhosyn’s face, too. They didn’t say it aloud, but I felt their decision settle like stone in the air between us.

They chose her.

They chose to go with Noa.

The text came through that night, hours after I’d arrived back home and had just finished taking my wrath out on my desk and brown leather sofa.

Canaan: We’re still with her.

That was it.

That was all he said. But I didn’t need more. I understood. His unspoken message was loud and clear.

They were only supposed to stay for a couple of hours, show support, and help Noa’s people help her. That’s what I told myself. What I’d convinced myself would happen.

But it’s been days. And they’re still not back. They’re still with her.

And it’s killing me that I haven’t received a single update and it’s even worse knowing I have no business wanting one.

So, I’ve let myself rot in this office.

Three full days of silence, darkness, and this sick, festering pit in my gut that won’t let up. I keep telling myself I did the right thing. That this pain, hers and mine, is the price of protecting my people. That aligning with Cathal, as twisted and manipulative as the bastard is, was the only real option. I want to believe it. I need to. Because if I don’t, if I let myself question that for even a second, then I’m just a monster who broke his fated mate for nothing.

But even as I cling to that justification, I hate myself for it. And I hate Cathal more. For knowing exactly where to strike. For seeing my fear and using it to back me into this corner. For dangling my omegas’ lives over my head. He forced my hand, and I played right into it because I’d rather bleed than let another one of my own get taken, abused, eviscerated, and then dumped in the snow. But if this is what doing the right thing feels like, I don’t know how much more I’ve got left in me.

As it stands now, I feel like I’ve lost everything but the pounding heart in my chest, and if I’m being honest, I don’t know if I want to keep that. Not when it was meant to beat in sync with hers.

My second’s trust, my mate’s bond, and my wolf.

All broken or missing.

It takes everything I have to look inward, really look, and face the wreckage I’ve caused.

I go searching for him, for my wolf, who has remained gone since I shattered every inch of trust shared between us by committing the unforgivable. Since I stretched our connection to the point of breaking. Desperate for even the faintest flicker of his presence, I need to know that I’m not really alone in this. When I reach into the place where he’s always lived, I find… something . Not him. Not fully. He’s there, but distant, simmering with a fury that keeps him just out of reach. I can sense the rage vibrating in the void between us. His detachment isn’t a result of the mate bond fracturing, no, this is a choice the sentient being has made on his own. This is his way of punishing me and despite the strange loneliness that comes with his aloofness, I can’t blame him for it.

I’m so focused on the quiet rise of my wolf’s presence, relieved he hasn’t completely abandoned me, that at first, I miss what he’s guarding. He’s crouched low in the center of my chest, teeth bared, hackles raised, every inch of him coiled over something small. Something fragile. I almost dismiss it as nothing, just more wreckage from the last few days, until I look closer.

That’s when I see it. No, feel it.

A thread.

It’s barely there at all. Brittle and nearly translucent. I blink. I almost can’t breathe for fear that acknowledging it will make it vanish. It doesn’t, but sensing my attention, my wolf growls, low and warning, protective in a way that tells me this isn’t an illusion or a cruel leftover dream. It’s real.

And it’s her.

My spine stiffens. Every muscle locks up as I stare inward, frozen by the weight of it. I was certain that space in my chest would be empty now. But it’s not. That piece of her is still there, buried under my guilt and rage and fear—and my wolf has been protecting it. Shielding it. From me.

A sliver of the precious thing I thought I’d destroyed still lives inside me, and I’m too much of a coward to ask why. And just as selfish, because I won’t do the smart thing—the right thing—and bury it deep where I’ll never find it again. I can’t. I’m not strong enough to give up my remaining piece of her.

And neither is my wolf.

I’m thinking about what a bastard I am when my phone, glass screen now full of fresh cracks from when I’d hurled it across the room after reading Canaan’s text, vibrates on the desk before me.

Speaking of bastards.

Cathal.

I’ve been screening his calls since the night I got home.

I knew if I picked up, the fury simmering just beneath my skin and the resentment clawing at my ribs were going to encourage me to say something I can’t afford—my omegas can’t afford—so I’ve kept my distance, choosing silence over a mistake I can’t unmake. I learned from one of Oswin’s visits to my office door that Talis left the morning after arriving home from Ashvale. She’s temporarily gone back up to Canada where she belongs. This is the only reason Cathal hadn’t ordered her to hunt me down and pass along whatever message he has.

Knowing this plan isn’t sustainable, and that it will ultimately backfire if he decides to send Talis back down here so soon after she left, is the only reason I finally stop avoiding his calls and pick up.

“What?” I bark, putting the phone on speaker and leaning back in my chair, trying to put as much physical distance between me and his disembodied voice.

“I don’t appreciate your tone, boy,” Cathal snaps, voice oily with condescension and the smugness he’s passed down to his daughter. “What would your father think if he were here and learned you’d spoken to another pack Alpha like that?”

My patience is hanging by a prayer, and three days without sleep and this soul-crushing torment have stripped me down to something raw and razor-edged.

“Which version of him are we talking about, McNamara? The one he was eight months ago before a pair of sharp teeth put him out of his misery? Because that man was too far gone to care about my tone . He was feral. Delusional. Screaming at shadows and threatening the moon like it owed him a blood debt.” I lean forward slightly, voice dropping into something deadly. “But if we’re talking about the man he was before the sickness—the one who raised me, the Alpha we both respected—then we both fucking know he’d be disgusted by what I’ve tolerated. He’d call me a disgrace for letting your bloated ego stomp around my territory unchecked and under the guise of allyship. He’d remind me exactly who the hell I am. He’d remind me that I don’t bow to weaker alphas, and I sure as shit don’t answer to some manipulative cunt who hides behind the image of being a righteous champion for omegas, when we both know you’re exploiting their pain to get exactly what you’ve always wanted. Your daughter as my Luna. Which will hand you more influence and leverage. It’s just a trophy for you to parade around while you try to sink your claws into a power that will never be yours. So, no, my father wouldn’t have had anything to say in regard to my tone.”

The second the words leave my mouth, a brutal silence follows, but there’s no regret. I’ve been biting my tongue for months now, chewing on the truth until it bled, keeping a death grip on my temper in the name of diplomacy. Walking that thin line between holding the alliance together and latching on to what little pride I had left.

But Noa shattered that balance. Or maybe I shattered it myself the second I opened my mouthin that clearing and ignored every instinct begging me not to do it.

I can’t pretend anymore. I can’t keep playing this game like I don’t see exactly what Cathal’s doing. Hiding behind his big talk and his concern for omegas when all he really wants is leverage. Legacy. Power. A daughter on a throne that doesn’t belong to her. And a leash wrapped around my neck.

He needs to know that I see him. Every calculated move. Every veiled threat. Every smug fucking smirk he’s worn since the moment I let this deal infect my pack. He needs to understand I’ve never respected him, not even when I was a boy forced to shake his hand. Whatever tolerance I had for him is long gone, burned to ash by the guilt I carry like a second skin, by the sound of Noa’s body hitting the ground like I struck her myself, by the hollow silence she left behind.

I’m done playing the game.

Cathal’s silence is long enough to almost pass for a retreat, but I know better. His quiet is never submission—it’s calculation. And right on cue, it breaks.

“That all may be true, pup,” he says, his voice coated in smug satisfaction. Where he should sound ashamed, he’s proud. “But it doesn’t change the fact that you need me. Your precious omegas need me. They need my guards on your borders if you want any hope of stopping them from being picked off one by one.”

His words hit like a gut punch because there’s some truth in them. Ugly, manipulative truth. He’s not wrong. My people do need the extra manpower while we sort out who’s taking our omegas and how the hell they keep slipping through. I’d be a bigger fool than I already am if I let pride blind me from the threat still clawing at my territory’s edges.

As much as I hate the bastard breathing down my neck, I won’t risk another omega ending up like Carly.

But this arrangement? This reliance on him? It’s not forever.

Not anymore.

Because I’ve made a decision. One that’s been a long time coming, but I was too blind to accept it. I’m going to do the thing Rhosyn and Canaan have been begging me to do since the moment this cursed treaty slithered its way across my desk.

I’m going to find another way. One that doesn’t cost me everything or hand power to a man who thinks he can treat lives like bargaining chips. I thought if I told myself enough times it was necessary, that it was about my duty as Alpha, the pain would dull and settle into something that resembled numbness.

But that was before her.

Before I watched her break before me and I could do nothing but watch as she convulsed in pain. I told myself I could make the sacrifice. That offering up my own future was enough. But somewhere along the way, I did the unthinkable and convinced myself that sacrificing hers was necessary, too. I was willing to burn myself for this cause, but I never should’ve dragged her into the flames with me and expected her to survive it. To carry pain that was never hers to begin with. I told myself she’d endure it like I have to.

It was agonizingly unfair, and crafted from delusion, because I was wrong. Dead fucking wrong. I can’t live with this. I can’t breathe knowing I chose to break her. That I sacrificed the one thing I was supposed to protect most.

She’s my other half, my scent match, and I’ve spent three days pretending I can exist in a world where she’s not mine, but it’s a lie. One I can’t keep telling myself because if I do, it’s going to eat away what little remains of my soul. And I need those pieces. I need them if I have any hope of making right…of fixing what I broke.

So, for a while longer, I will play Cathal’s game.

“You’re right, McNamara,” I begrudgingly admit through clenched teeth. “My omegas do need you, but I’m done upholding this facade of mutual respect and pretending I don’t know your true motives.”

“How very noble of you,” Cathal sneers, his voice dripping with mockery and thinly veiled contempt. “Spare me the tortured martyr routine, boy. It’s grating.As long as you continue to play your part, I take no issue with dropping this fake narrative between us. I think it will be better for both of us if we be straightforward with one another. It leaves less room for…misunderstandings or incorrect expectations, don’t you think?”

This fucking asshole…

“Agreed.”

“ Wonderful ,” he chirps, sounding more than pleased with himself. “With that being said, I want to make my expectations clear where my daughter and you are concerned. Talis reassured me that you’ve taken care of the wolfless girl and her rejection was effective. Nice touch bringing Talis with you.” It wasn’t a nice touch. It was cruel, and letting that venomous redhead open her mouth or contribute in any way to Noa’s suffering is something I’ll regret until my last breath. “With her out of the way, you can focus on what’s important—your union with my daughter. It is on you to ensure she is shown the respect she is due as your future Luna and that your pack falls in line and accepts her because one way or another, this will end with your mark on her neck.”

For the first time in three days, my wolf stirs. He lifts his head, a guttural snarl vibrating low and dangerous in my chest. It doesn’t carry the full weight of his usual fury, but it’s more than I’ve felt from him since that goddamn clearing. It’s a sign. A shared vow between us. Whatever fractures still exist between man and beast, we agree on one thing—if there’s one line I won’t fucking cross, it’s putting my mark on Talis McNamara.

I may have only just accepted that this alliance can’t stand, but the urgency to find another way roars inside me like a battle cry. The very idea of committing such a sacred, irreversible act with Talis makes my skin crawl. Mating marks are meant to be a symbol of a pair’s unwavering devotion to one another. They should be worn with pride, and I’d sooner burn my own flesh off than wear her claim on me.

“This brings me to the reason for my call. Your official betrothal party is happening two weekends from now, and I want to ensure everything, along with yourself, is prepared for it. It will be the first official gathering of our two packs since Talis was announced as your intended mate. It will give my daughter and you a chance to show up as a united front, as a mated pair. I expect it to go off without a hitch.”

The thought of standing beside Talis at some spectacle of a betrothal party makes my jaw clench hard enough I hear it pop. Pretending she’s mine, letting her drape herself all over me while our packs look on like this is something to celebrate, is the last thing I want. Every forced smile, every false word of admiration, will feel like sandpaper on my soul. Because the only hands I want on me are hers. Noa’s. The only touch I crave is the one I rejected before I got the chance to really know it, like a fucking coward. I’ll have to fake it, smile through gritted teeth, let Talis play her part, all the while my thoughts would be consumed by the woman I’ll never stop needing and will do everything in my power to get back. It’s a performance I have no interest in giving, but one I’ll endure just long enough to buy myself time. Because the only thing more unbearable than feigning a future with Talis is the thought of letting Cathal think he’s already won.

“I’m sure all the appropriate people are on top of everything, and I’ll confirm with Rhosyn just to be sure.” It’s a bald-faced lie, considering I have no idea if Rhosyn or Canaan have any plans to return anytime soon. But Cathal doesn’t need to know that. He’ll recognize her name and the critical role she plays in keeping this place running, and that’s all that matters.

Letting him think everything’s under control and on track is imperative. I need him focused on the illusion while I quietly start making the moves that will lead me to a real solution—one that doesn’t end with Talis wearing my mark or Noa bearing the weight of my betrayal alone.

“Very well,” McNamara says. “I’m glad you finally deigned to take my call. For a minute there, I thought I was going to have to drive back down there to speak to you in person about this.” His threat is so poorly concealed, but I think that’s the point.

“We definitely wouldn’t want that,” I agree, sarcasm dripping off my tongue.

I don’t bother waiting for a reply or wasting time on a polite sign-off. I hang up and shove the cracked phone across the desk, the device scraping against the ruined surface before settling among the wreckage. Groaning, I settle back into my chair. The torn and ripped cushion below me reminding me of the destruction I’d wreaked in this room. On top of needing all new furniture and electronics, I’m fairly certain I’ll need someone to come in and repair the walls. I can’t be sure if the holes were caused by me throwing shit at them or if it were my own fist going through the drywall.

Those repairs are the least of my worries right now, though.

No, I have much more vital things to repair.

If they can even be repaired.

Fuck.

I slump further into my seat. My hands drag down my face, scraping over the short beard that is probably in need of a good trim, and I lean my head back, eyes closed. Exhaustion hits me all at once. I’ve been running on nothing but anger and guilt, and now that the call has ended, now that I’ve finally let some of that decay bleed out, I feel the crash. My bones ache. My thoughts are a tangle of sharp edges and regrets.

I should be planning. Plotting the next move. Finding a way to untangle this disaster without losing any more of what I’ve already sacrificed. But the quiet is loud, and for a second, all I can do is sit in it. Breathe it.

And while I do, I let myself focus on the thread still nestled in my chest.

It’s faint, but there. That fragile connection still pulses between me and her, the bond I thought I’d severed. It should be gone—burned out, stone cold—but for reasons I don’t understand, it’s not. It’s there, flickering like the last ember in a dying fire, clinging to life.

It’s my private symbol of hope. Hope that, even if I don’t deserve it and the odds are not in my favor, I will somehow be able to mend the ruin I’ve caused.

The phone vibrates against the desk with a text.

I ignore it. If it’s Cathal again, he can stew in his own self-importance for a while longer. Then it buzzes again, longer this time, a persistent hum that slices through the quiet. Reluctantly, I lean forward and flip the phone over.

Canaan.

Every muscle in my body locks.

Three days. Nothing but silence and distance. Just one short message to let me know where they stood. We’re still with her. I haven’t stopped thinking about those words since. I've accepted, no, braced, for the possibility that he wouldn’t reach out again. That he and Rhosyn had drawn their line and decided I wasn’t on the right side of it.

My thumb hovers for half a second.

Then I answer.

“Yeah?”

His sigh is the first thing I hear, the sound mirroring just how exhausted I feel. “Hey, Nick.”

Unable to stay still for this conversation, I stiffly rise from the desk chair. “What’s going on, Canaan? Are you both okay?” Against the instincts screaming at me, I force myself to not ask about her.

“We’re good. Safe,” Canaan says, his voice steady, but more subdued than I’m used to. “Everyone here in Ashvale has been welcoming. Haven’t run into any issues with the Craddock Pack or the witches. Not that I really anticipated to.”

No, I hadn’t expected any either. Both of those groups of people made it clear where their loyalty lies. With Noa. With her well-being. By leaving with her, Rhosyn and Canaan proved the same. They all share common ground, and it’s her.

Shifting to the large window that takes up most of the far wall, I drag back the heavy curtain for the first time since locking myself in this room. Late afternoon light floods in, sharp and unforgiving. My pupils shrink and burn, but I don’t look away. I force myself to withstand it, to let the light cast away the shadows I’ve been cohabitating with.

“I’m relieved to hear it,” I say, and it’s the truth, even if the relief barely makes a dent in the dread coiled in my gut.

There’s a pause. Heavy. Awkward in a way that’s never existed between Canaan and me. That alone tells me something other than the obvious is seriously wrong.

“Listen, man…there’s something you need to know. Something we found out while staying here with her.”

My heart stutters, a painful lurch behind my ribs, like it’s trying to stall out. Every worst-case scenario hits me at once. All of them centered on Noa.

My wolf howls, his own dread a mirror image of mine.

“Is she okay?” The words are out before I can stop them, laced with every ounce of fear that’s currently eating me alive. “Fuck. I know how you feel about what I did, but just… please . Tell me she’s okay?—”

“Stop,” he snaps, sharp enough to cut through my spiral. “No, she’s not okay. I mean, yeah, she’s stopped screaming and convulsing, so I guess that’s a fucking win, but no, Nick. She’s not okay . She’s barely hanging on, but this isn’t about her. Not directly. It’s something else. Something big. And I need you to pull your shit together long enough to actually hear what I’m saying.”

I drag in a breath that feels like razor wire and broken glass. Then another. And another, until I can fake the calm I don’t feel.

“I’m listening.”

His next sentence nearly brings me to my knees. The mixture of shock and the fatigue from the past few days sucking out every ounce of strength my muscles possess.

“We found Yrsa Eklund’s daughter,” he tells me. “Sigrid. Siggy . She’s alive and she’s here with Noa.”