Page 24 of Primal (The Prey Drive #1)

Chapter 23

Rennick

M y knuckles whiten on the steering wheel, my pulse pounding in my ears as the road ahead blurs from more than just speed.

Ever since Canaan's call yesterday, I've been living in the space that exists between relief and dread.

Seven months, seven torturously long months Siggy has been missing, enduring fuck knows what. My second wouldn't offer details when I’d pressed for them, but the rough, clipped way he spoke told me enough. Whatever hell she escaped, it left scars deeper than anyone should bear. Let alone someone her age.

But it’s not just Siggy I’m driving—well above the legal speed limit—toward.

It’s Noa.

The weight of that name alone has my stomach flipping. Guilt coils tighter in my chest, a constant companion these past handful days, but this, the idea of seeing her again, is something else entirely. I tore her apart. Watched her collapse and did nothing to catch her. And now I must stand before Noa again, an executioner before his victim, and pretend I deserve to still breathe the same air as her.

At the thought of her, my wolf snarls, a low, warning rumble deep within. Instantly, he curls tighter around that precious, barely-there thread. The remnant of the bond I thought I'd destroyed in its entirety. He's fiercely protective of it, and of her. Even now, he won't come near me, won't grant me control or let me shift, his anger a constant punishment, but he's dedicated every ounce of his strength to guarding that tiny piece of her left inside me.

I want to tell him I’ll fix it. That I’ll never hurt her again. That I’d rip myself to pieces and gift them to her as a peace offering if it meant undoing what I did. But he doesn't trust me or my promises anymore, and, honestly, I don't blame him.

Outside, the late morning sky darkens further, heavy gray clouds swirling angrily overhead. We've had snow already this year, but the crisp bite in the air and the scent of frost warns me that the worst is yet to come. Winter in Northern Idaho is unforgiving, brutal, and somehow fitting. A harsh winter to match the cold desolation in my soul.

Canaan had requested that we first meet outside of our pack’s territory, emphasizing that it would be better for everyone involved that we meet on neutral land first. It was his not-so-subtle way of reminding me that Noa’s wishes were woven into this decision as much as Siggy’s were. My second had also boldly demanded that I not bring any additional guests along for this rendezvous. His unspoken words were glaring.

In case you didn’t learn your lesson from last time, don’t you fucking dare think about bringing Talis with you.

While I understood and respected him silently for demanding that of me, I still bristled at the implication. But the truth is, I couldn’t fault him for it—not when nothing I’ve done this week has given him any reason to believe otherwise. He doesn’t know yet that I’ve made my decision. That in the wreckage I’ve created, I finally see the path he’s been urging me toward for months. I only pray I haven’t seen it too late…that there’s still time to salvage what I’ve broken.

When I’d tried to learn what Noa’s involvement was in Siggy’s rescue and why she was going to be part of this reunification, Canaan had only said, “It’s Siggy’s call.” No further explanation offered. Just that. Whatever his reasons for withholding that information, it gnaws at me, leaving a bitter taste on my tongue.

My mind tumbles through theory after theory, some more outlandish and painful than others. But the darkest one, the twisted notion that Noa had any involvement in Siggy’s initial abduction, is one I dismiss immediately, vehemently . She may have been raised by Thalassa Alderwood, a woman whose legacy is tainted by her unthinkable choices, but Noa is good. Too good for this world. With one look at her, you know she’s nothing but a pure heart. She would never willingly partake in the abuse of omegas.

Which leaves me pondering her connection to Siggy as I glance down at the dashboard clock. Ten minutes out. My pulse thuds even harder at the realization that I'm about to reunite Yrsa Eklund with her daughter—something I never thought I'd get to do. Especially after Carly was returned to us as she was. Guilt seeps in, remembering I left the pack’s territory half an hour ago without telling anyone, including Yrsa, where I was headed or why. It’s selfish, bordering on cruel, but there’s a bitter, cynical part of me, a part that believes every damn thing I touch lately turns to dust, that couldn't bear to give Yrsa false hope. Not until I have Siggy safe, breathing, and alive in front of me.

Because I don’t think I can handle hearing the hopeless and devastating screams only a mother is capable of so soon after Carly’s mom filled the forest with her symphony of sorrow.

I can’t handle letting down another person I was meant to protect.

With a sigh that sounds painfully exhausted even to my own ears, I remind myself that with Canaan and Rhosyn back, we can develop a real plan—a plan that doesn’t rely on McNamara and his damn ultimatums. And if the remaining thread in my chest, the one that seems to shine brighter with every mile I close between us, truly means what I hope it does…then maybe there’s still a chance. A way to fix what I broke. A way to find my way back to Noa.

This line of thinking might teeter dangerously close to delusion, but it’s all I’ve got. The only thing keeping me upright, keeping me fighting. Because without her—without Noa as part of me—none of this means a damn thing. There’s no point to any of it. A truth I learned excruciatingly too late.

Taking the winding, one-lane dirt road that leads to the overlook, I guide my black GMC Sierra over the familiar bumps and sharp turns, muscle memory doing most of the work. The spot Canaan picked for this meeting wasn’t random. It’s a place I’ve returned to again and again over the years, especially when I needed a moment alone, a moment where I could just be and no one was watching my every move as the “Alpha heir”. It also became my haven when I’d come home from college for breaks, and being back with my pack didn’t feel like it once did. It felt off and I could never figure out why. The overlook is close enough to our territory that I could drive back quickly if I were summoned by Dad unexpectedly but more often than not, I ran here in my wolf form. It’s rare we shift and roam in our other forms outside of the boundary of our territory, but this was an exception for me. I ran here many mornings when it was still dark out and I would get here just in time to watch the sun rise.

I pull into the small gravel parking area beside the overlook and turn off the car. The growl of the engine fades, but the dread in my chest doesn’t. I’m parked a few feet from one of the most stunning views in the Selkirk Mountains. Pine trees decorate the slopes and snow-covered granite peaks stretch majestically into the distance, but I don’t see any of it.

It's not the view I’m here for, it’s not what has captivated my attention.

The two figures are huddled together atop a battered old picnic table.

Twenty feet away, and I already know everything has changed.

Siggy’s smaller than I remember. Not physically, though I have no doubt she’s lost weight, but it’s as if something in her spirit has shriveled. She doesn’t look anything like the sharp-tongued, blue-fire-eyed omega I remember trailing after Yrsa around the pack house. The young woman that thrived when bathed in attention. Any kind. She wasn’t particular. Now, she shifts, folding into herself beside Noa like she’s trying to take up as little space as possible. Physically, she doesn’t seem to bear any wounds, but that means jack shit when her emotional wounds are letting themselves be known with the haunted look across her too thin face. I have to remind myself to be thankful that she’s breathing, and that’s all Yrsa is going to care about when she gets her daughter back in her arms.

And if that doesn’t gut me, it’s the woman sitting beside her that nearly takes me to my knees.

Noa.

It’s been five days. Just five. That’s how long it’s been since I last laid my eyes on her, but she looks as if she’s lived through a lifetime of hell in that short amount of time. She’s got her knees drawn in, arms wrapped tight around herself, her espresso hair hanging around her face like a curtain. Or maybe it’s armor. She doesn’t lift her head. Doesn’t shrink. Doesn’t acknowledge me. But I know she hears me. My truck’s engine would have given away my arrival minutes ago.

She’s shivering, even under that thick gray hoodie. The parts of her hands visible from the bottom of her long sleeves tremble from something more than just the chill in the wind. And still, her entire focus is on Siggy, like she’s holding her together with sheer will alone.

Siggy equally deserves my attention, and she’ll get it fully, but for a minute, I just allow the cascading and suffocating remorse to wash over me as I catalog every detail I can make out.

My wolf, who’s spent the last few days keeping his distance, guarding the fragile thread, finally shifts. I feel him rise inside me, a low, desperate sound curling in his chest like a growl coexisting with grief. For the first time in days, he doesn’t curl tighter around the bond. Instead, he nudges me toward her. Urges me forward.

Go to her. Fix this.

My steps are stiff, slow. Every movement deliberate. I don’t want to spook her—either one of them. The tension in her shoulders increases with every crunch of dirt and rocks below my boots, but still, she won’t look at me. Her eyes stay locked on Siggy, scanning her like she’s memorizing every twitch, every shift. Like she’s bracing for the girl to fall apart again and wants to be ready when she does.

Her scent is carried to me by the wind. The brown sugar and spiced fig scent, unmistakably her, is tainted, twisted with something metallic. Noa is trying so fucking hard to conceal it, going as far as to not grant me access to her eyes, but her scent gives her away. Fear. My mate is afraid. Of me. The guilt claws up my throat like bile because it’s not as if I haven’t earned this reaction from her. Every inch of caution now ingrained into her bones, I put it there.

But it’s the subtle thread beneath the fear, the note nearly lost under the acrid bite of panic, that has my wolf going still then rising. Alert. Omega .

Noa smells like an omega.

My omega.

When did that happen?

Ten feet away, a wall rises in front of me. Canaan, posture tight, broad frame blocking the path like a gate that won’t open unless you’re deemed worthy. His mate flanks him and together they form a shield.

Canaan’s voice is calm, but there’s a weight behind it. “Nick.”

His eyes meet mine, and I read the question in them instantly. Are you a threat?

I want to be furious. I want to bristle at the implication. But what have I done lately to prove I’m not? So instead of giving in to the emotion that’s nothing more than a reflex, I just shake my head once.

“I’m going to fix it.” My voice scrapes as it leaves me, hoarse with too many days of silence and too little sleep. I mean every word, though. I let it show. Whatever they see in my face must be enough, because after a shared glance, they step aside.

I walk past.

Siggy looks up when I approach, and the combination of relief and distrust warring in her big blue eyes is heartbreaking. She wants to trust me like she once did, but she can’t. Not yet. That’s okay, though. I will find a way to earn it again. Starting with finding a way to ensure that she’s safe in her own fucking home. It’s such a basic necessity that as an Alpha I’m meant to provide her, but a thing I’ve already failed her on. At a cataclysmal level.

Never again.

“Hi, Alpha,” she offers, voice quiet but steady.

Dropping into a nonthreatening squat in front of the table, I make myself small enough that Siggy has to look down to meet my eyes.

As shifters, our predestined designations govern our place in the social order. Omegas, with their naturally submissive instincts, are wired to show deference to alphas. Eye contact is one of the clearest tells. Most alphas take it as a challenge. She tries, but she can’t hold it for more than two seconds before her gaze darts away. Then she tries again. And again. It’s a loop I’ve seen too many times before. I’ve never been the kind of Alpha who finds power in forcing an omega to speak to my chest or the floor. I don’t need her submission to prove the weight of my dominance. It speaks for itself. But it’s clear Siggy’s been spending time around an alpha, or alphas, who didn’t share that belief.

“It’s really fucking good to see you, kiddo.” My voice breaks around the words, thick with too much emotion. Grief, guilt, relief. All of it. I swallow it down.

I don’t know what does it, if it’s the way I make myself smaller or the way the words come out sounding strangled and raw, but I feel it when it happens.

Her eyes.

Noa’s eyes finally find me.

It’s like taking a punch to the ribs and being thankful for the pain because you’re just delighted that you’re feeling something . Doesn’t matter if it hurts. Her gaze hits hard, and it makes something shift inside me. It’s like I’ve been holding my breath for five days without realizing it and I just inhaled for the first time.

I want to look at her, really look at her, but I don’t. I’m afraid if I meet her eyes, she’ll look away, and then what?

So, I keep my focus on Siggy, which feels right, anyway. She deserves that much. Deserves more than I can ever give her.

Her chin wobbles, lashes wet.

“They told me about Carly,” she whispers. My heart cracks again, splintering for her. But then she adds, even softer, more broken, “I didn’t mean to leave her behind, Alpha. I promise.”

Fuck.

Before I can offer her some comfort or tell her whatever she did to survive—to get here —is not something that needs to be forgiven, by me or anyone, Noa moves.

She leans forward, slow and trembling, like every inch of her being is tender and bruised, but she still does it. Still reaches for Siggy’s hand and curls her delicate fingers around it. Squeezes, like she’s desperately trying to anchor the girl to something tangible.

“Love,” she says gently, and her voice is hoarse but clear. It’s like fucking music to my ears and a homing beacon for my wolf, calling him home. “You had no choice. I know you don’t believe that right now. But if you and Carly had switched places…would you blame her?”

Siggy barely gets the word out. “No.”

“Then you can’t blame yourself,” Noa says, her voice steady in a way her body isn’t. She’s pale, shaking, clearly still deep in the aftermath of what I did to her, but, somehow, she’s still managing to hold someone else together. Watching it breaks something open in me. Siggy looks at her like she’s her lifeline, the only person she can trust completely.

My throat works around a knot of emotion I can’t name as I speak, my voice quiet but steady. “Siggy…were you with Carly when…?”

I hate asking. Hate dragging her through this again. But I have to. Her mother will need answers.

Siggy’s eyes fly to Noa, her panic immediate. And just like that, Noa’s there again. Her free hand lifts, slowly as if making sure Siggy’s tracking every miniscule movement, before her quivering fingers brush the strands of dark blonde hair that were freed from Siggy’s ponytail by the wind. The gesture is so tender, it nearly undoes me.

“It’s up to you, Siggy,” Noa tells her, her hand lingering near Siggy’s ear after tucking a lock of hair behind it. “You get to decide how you tell him. If you want Canaan and Rhosyn to do it for you, that’s okay. If you’d rather wait and tell him when your mom’s with you, that’s okay too. No one’s going to push you either way. We’re moving at your pace, remember? This is all on your terms.”

My mate—something I don’t really have the right to call her anymore, but fuck, if it isn’t the truth—stands there, body trembling from the cold, and if the subtle winces she tries so hard to hide mean anything, pain too. And still, she chooses kindness.

And the fact I lied to her and told her that she wasn’t ever meant to be a Luna…

I already accepted yesterday that there’s nothing I can do to take it all back, but that doesn’t mean I can’t fight like hell to make it right. Already, I’m brainstorming ideas for my next steps forward, but right now, as I watch her freely give the kind of comfort she deserves herself, I decide I also need to find a way to take her pain for myself. That this can’t stand.

I’d love to say that I’m going to be gentlemanly and give her a choice in the matter—it’s the least I could do since I’m the one who fucked up in the first place and she probably wants nothing to do with me—but I ignored my instincts once before when it came to her, and nothing has ever backfired more devastatingly. I’m not about to make that mistake twice. Everything inside of me is howling, demanding that I scoop her up and take her somewhere safe. She needs to build a nest. With things marked with my scent. My wolf approves of this, nudging me from that spot where he stands over the waning thread, telling me I need to tend to her obvious sickness.

When I don’t move fast enough for his liking, my wolf lets out an impatient huff and throws his full weight behind the urge to reach her—our omega. The force of it slams into me like a body blow. To stop myself from landing face-first in the gravel and pine needles, I stand to my full height. The too fast movement has Siggy starting and at her distress, Noa’s two-toned gaze cuts to me in a sharp glare. It’s a look I find myself pleasantly thrilled to see on her face. Means she hasn’t lost all her fight. Not yet, anyway.

She turns her full attention back to Siggy who’s now staring up at me with wide eyes. “I don’t want to have to tell it twice.” Her hesitation in her voice, the flicker of vulnerability, is unmistakable. “Can I tell you what happened…to me, when my mom’s there too?”

The fact she feels like she needs to ask permissionfor something this simple…

Canaan and Rhosyn, who’ve been giving us space from a respectful distance, step in closer now.

Rhosyn asks, “Does Yrsa know she’s coming home today?”

I shake my head, jaw tight. “No. I didn’t want to say anything until I knew for sure. Until I saw her with my own eyes. I couldn’t risk getting her hopes up if it didn’t work out.”

The Viking-like woman is probably going to hand me my ass for this decision, but hey, at least we’re sticking on brand for what this week has been like for me. What’s one more pissed-off female? At least with the council member I know she’ll get over her initial anger once her daughter is in front of her.

Canaan pulls the keys from his pocket—the ones for the vehicle he commandeered at the clearing—and tosses them once in the air before catching them. “Then let’s not waste any more time. Are we ready to head out? It’s getting fucking cold out here, anyway.”

I nod and because I can’t stop myself from seeking her out, I look to Noa. She hasn’t said a word since Siggy pulled away from her, and now she’s standing just off to the side, the wind catching in her dark hair in a way that reminds me of my dreams. The dreams I now know she was the star of. For months. Her hair, colorless then, would billow around her just like it does now in those dreams.

“Are you…” The words catch in my throat. Coughing once, I force them out. “Are you coming back with us too?”

Her face shifts. Tightens. Her brows pinch and her eyes flash. Not with anger but hurt. Shit. She thinks I’m questioning whether she should come. That I’m implying I don’t want her there. Which is both true and the biggest lie at the same time. I want to keep her a safe distance from my pack until I’ve sorted out a genuine solution to my McNamara problem, but in the same breath, I want to throw her over my shoulder and march right to my home with her. I want her in my bedroom where I can lock her in and guard the door while she recuperates from the wounds I’ve carved into her.

I can’t tell her this, of course, but when I open my mouth to fix it another way, Siggy beats me to it.

“I’m not going back without Noa,” she tells me, steady and strong, her voice surer than it’s been since I got here. She stands straighter when she says it too, like she’s drawing a line in the sand. This isn’t a request; it’s a condition.

While Noa doesn’t look surprised by the declaration, there’s a shadow in her expression. Something tired and heavy. A complicated mix of wariness and quiet resignation.

Canaan nods his head once when I mutely turn to him for confirmation on a question I think I already know the answer to just from observing the two omega females interact these past few minutes.

The way Siggy leans toward Noa, the way she looks to her for guidance, says everything. In her climb out of the dark toward recovery, Siggy has tethered herself to Noa. That bond, whatever shape it’s taken, is clearly the thing keeping her steady right now. And Noa, shit, she looks like she’s running on fumes, but she’s still standing. Still offering herself to be someone else’s foundation. She can barely keep herself up, but she has no intention of letting Siggy face this alone. I don’t know if she knows how strong that makes her. It’s a quiet kind of strength, but strength, nonetheless.

“I have no intentions of making you do that, Siggy,” I tell her, meaning every damn word. “Now, come on, Canaan’s right, it’s starting to get cold as hell out here.”

Even with my higher-than-normal shifter internal temperature, the chill in the air is starting to work its way through my clothes. As if on cue. Noa’s entire body trembles within her oversized hoodie. The tip of her pert little nose is bright pink and the high points of her cheekbones, which are already looking more defined than they did five days ago, match. The instincts woven into my makeup, the ones I tried to pretend didn’t exist when I first caught her scent on the wind that day, demand that I get her somewhere warm.

I also can’t help but be worried about her being behind the wheel when she’s this unsteady. If the shadows under her eyes mean what I think they do, then she’s been sleeping about as well as I have this past week. Which means barely at all. The very idea of her exhausted state driving the winding mountain pass roads up to our territory’s gates makes my skin feel too tight, the fear tearing at me.

“Leave your Jeep here,” I tell her, keeping my voice as even and calm as I can manage. “I’ll drive you and Siggy back to the territory. Then, whenever you’re ready to head home, I’ll bring you back here myself.”

Home. A place that’s only been hours away all this time. Without realizing it, Thalassa took my mate away from me over seven years ago, and still somehow kept her just under my nose. I can’t stop the gnawing suspicion that it wasn’t an accident, that every move the weaver made had a purpose, some deeper reason I haven’t uncovered yet.

Noa flinches at my offer, her brows pulling tight under wind-tousled bangs. “I’ll follow behind Canaan with Siggy just like I did on our drive here,” she says softly, her eyes flicking anywhere but my face. It’s not until she draws in a breath and lifts her chin that I see her full, bracing effort to meet my eyes. “I’d feel better if I knew I had access to my own vehicle in case I need to leave. I’m sure you understand why.”

She picked her words carefully and they have her desired outcome, because inwardly I wince like I’ve taken a hit to the sternum at their implication. Noa wants an out, an escape route. From me.

“Yeah, Noa, I understand.”

Her name tastes as sweet as her flowering omega perfume on my tongue, but it quickly sours when she shrinks at hearing her name come out of my mouth.

I vow, right here and now, that one day, hearing me say her name will be the thing that heals her, not breaks her.