Page 25 of Primal (The Prey Drive #1)

Chapter 24

Noa

T his whole day feels like some cruel test of how much dread a person can endure before they break. Like the universe, or maybe the Goddess herself, is watching with morbid curiosity, tallying every time I manage to keep breathing while my lungs, my bones, and every hollow part of me fill with the suffocating weight of grief and fear.

The first test was the drive to the overlook. My hands shook on the steering wheel the entire way, fingers clenched so tight they ached. The second— the test—was seeing Rennick again. Not just seeing him. Interacting with him.

At that point, I figured this wasn't a test anymore. The only plausible explanation I could see was that this was a cosmic joke. A petty kind of revenge served up by a deity I must’ve pissed off something fierce in another life. They’re watching me unravel now, and apparently, they’re enjoying the show. Watching the man who didn’t just break my heart, but carved out my soul, walk around like not only does he have a right to do so, but as if he wants to be in my orbit.

The only thing I’ve been silently grateful for since he climbed out of his truck and his scent hit the air is that I could barely smell it. Before, Rennick’s scent allured to me in ways I didn’t think possible. It was addictive in the kind of way that made me imagine rolling around in it, doing freaking snow angels in vetiver, leather, and mint. But now, it’s nothing more than a whisper. Faint. Distant. I thought, maybe, this was the Goddess giving me a shred of mercy, letting me not crave the scent of the man who tore me apart.

But that hope was short-lived. Because it wasn’t just his scent that’s gone. Siggy’s distinct sweet omega perfume? Barely detectable. The amber and orange candles Seren insists on burning at the manor? Nothing. I don’t even remember smelling the coffee she brewed this morning before we left. And the food I’ve tried to force down over the last few days? It hasn’t tasted like cardboard just because I’ve got no appetite. I think…I think my taste is going, too.

Rejected mate syndrome, aka the gift that just keeps on giving, am I right?

And then came the next test. The one I swallowed down for Siggy. Because I promised her I’d be here, no matter what. So, I gripped the wheel, stared ahead, and drove us through the iron gates I now associate with the beginning of my descent. It was déjà vu. But instead of my mother’s urn riding shotgun, I had Siggy. Instead of bringing my mom home to her mate, I was here to return a daughter to her mother.

It was beautiful, in theory.

In reality? I wanted to turn around and run. Every second spent on those familiar roads that led back to his house made my skin feel too tight. I felt sick. Because being here—near him —my already bruised and broken body is bracing for more pain. Every glance, every shift of his posture, every time he so much as parts his lips to speak, my nerves go tight like pulled wire. I keep waiting for him to finish what he started in that clearing.

It never comes, of course.

But that doesn’t make it easier.

Anticipating pain that never lands is its own kind of torment. Exhausting in a way that gnaws through my bones and threatens what little strength I have left.

But watching Yrsa Eklund gather her daughter into her arms like one hug has enough power to repair the damage of the past seven months? Hearing the broken, guttural sob that ripped from the alpha female’s chest when her eyes locked on Siggy? That made it worth it. All of it. Every bit of unease clawing at my lungs. Every twinge of pain that sparked in my chest when I felt his presence. It made being here, in the same room as him , worth it.

Because I’ve dedicated my life to saving omegas, but more often than not, I’m helping them run from broken homes, from manipulative parents, from their so-called protectors who use their designation against them. I’ve never, not once, had the absolute honor of watching one of my omegas reunite with someone that loved them. The way Yrsa’s arms trembled, the way she cradled Siggy like she might vanish again if she blinked…it brushed against my broken, sharp pieces and smoothed a couple of the edges out. It didn’t heal me, by any means, but for a couple minutes there, it wasn’t such a chore to breathe.

Back in the den I’d woken up in after passing out after our first “incident”, I stayed close. Within arm’s reach. Hand-holding distance, because that’s where Siggy told me she needed me to be while she told her story. She stammered and broke a few times, but who can blame her, but we—Yrsa, Rennick, and I—sat there and gave her the time and grace she needed to get the words out.

And when she got to the part where the omega at the club told Carly and Siggy to find me, to get to Ashvale because they’d be safe there, before sacrificing herself for them, I saw it happen. Rennick’s gunmetal gaze shot to mine, heavy and searching, and Yrsa’s brows pulled tight with suspicion. No doubt the seven omegas—including Siggy and Carly—that’ve gone missing from their land making them wary of anyone tied to omegas. Their silent look said, What the hell does she have to do with this?

It was Yrsa who asked. Bold, blunt. “What does she mean, get to you ? Why would someone tell her that?”

I kept my face neutral as best I could, trying not to whine beneath her intense suspicion. “I help omegas in need,” I told her simply. “It’s my job. My purpose.”

“But I thought you owned an apothecary?” she countered, confusion laced with an edge, her protective motherly instincts in overdrive.

I didn’t bother asking how she knew about Potion & Petal. That answer was obvious since I have no doubt I’ve been the topic of discussion around here lately. That just comes with the territory of being the idiot girl who accidentally claimed their Alpha as mine. So, I shrugged, casual even though my insides were twisting.

“I do. That’s just the thing that pays the bills.”

I also help people there in various ways, but we don’t have to get into my other vigilante side quest. I had this sneaking suspicion that if I were to pop off and say something along the lines of, “Yeah, I basically run an Underground Railroad for abused omegas and offer them a safe place to rehabilitate. Oh, and sometimes, for some of them, when starting over isn’t an option, I provide them with remedies that take care of the problem instead. I also sell really nice tea blends and candles, though, if you ever need stocking stuffer ideas.”

So, I didn’t elaborate further. Sure as hell didn’t mention the witches, or the hidden sanctuary beneath our feet, or the magic-woven protections we’ve built around our girls. That’s not a story for just anyone. Not even for the woman who just got her daughter back.

It had been Siggy’s pleading to stop haranguing me that finally chilled Yrsa out.

The alpha female transferred her intensity back to listening closely to her daughter speak.

While Siggy spilled her heart out, reopening the barely-scabbed wound so her mother and Alpha could finally know what had happened to her during her disappearance, I felt his eyes. Even as his pack’s omega trembled her way through the story of her survival, Rennick’s gaze kept flicking back to me. Intense. Unreadable. Like he was trying to memorize something he’d already broken. Every pass of those gunmetal irises had my skin burning, my pulse stuttering with a concoction of emotion I didn’t have the strength to untangle.

And my wolf? She refused to entertain it. Too tired, too upset herself. She turned her back, her resentment sharp and simmering, not even dignifying his attention with acknowledgment. Not after what he did. Not after the choice he made, the one that shattered us both and left her to deteriorate within her cage. The cage that now floated within the dark abyss where our bond lived.

Rennick’s attention hit a new, almost obsessive level once bits of my involvement with omegas came out. I know it’s something he’s had to be wondering about since he learned from Canaan that one of his missing omegas had ended up at my front door of all places. The irony alone was probably enough to make his emotionally constipated alpha brain glitch out completely.

He was still looking at me, as if waiting for me to willingly spill my own life secrets along with Siggy, when Carly’s mother had appeared in the den’s doorway. She looked like a wraith, pale and drawn into herself, but when her glassy eyes landed on Siggy, there was relief. Not joy. Not happiness. But the kind of desperate, grateful relief that still makes my throat burn just thinking about it.

Siggy had stiffened beside me, her hand reaching for mine and clenching it so tight I thought we might both bruise. But she didn’t run. She didn’t shrink. She held that grieving mother’s gaze like it was an act of self-induced penance. It was Carly’s mom, whose name I never got, who broke first. My Nightingale had crumbled before us, but it was the two mothers who stepped up to console her together.

The moment shared between the three of them was painfully sad and intimate, and as if we’d rehearsed it, Rennick and I both stood to give the three a moment alone. Yrsa had met my eye over her daughter’s shoulder, nodding once, signaling she’ll come find me if Siggy needed me.

“I won’t be far,” I promised, before stepping into the hallway and on autopilot, followed the familiar path to the sliding doors that lead to the back deck.

Returning to the scene of the crime…because I’m a glutton for punishment, apparently.

Now, leaning against the familiar railing, I close my eyes and tip my head up toward the swirling clouds still threatening to blanket the world in snow. My insides, which seem to be in a state of perpetual iciness these days, already ache from the cold. But I don’t move. Don’t flinch. Not even when the slider opens and closes softly a second later.

I don’t need to look. I know who it is.

It’s a mix of stubbornness and pure emotional exhaustion that keeps me frozen in place. And physical exhaustion, if I’m being honest. But mostly…mostly I’m just scared. Like a kid hiding under the covers, eyes shut tight, convinced the monster can’t see them if they just stay still.

But I can’t cling to that kind of childhood naivety, even if I wanted to.

So, I brace myself for whatever he might say, whatever possible hurt he might drop in my lap next. But it never comes. Instead, I feel the brush of his arm against mine, barely there, but enough to have my body snapping tight with tension, and then something warm settles over my shoulders.

My eyes fly open.

He’s wrapped an unzipped hoodie around me, soft and worn-in, the sleeves long enough to swallow my hands if I were to stick my arms in. It’s the unmistakable scent, the one I’ve been spared from today, thanks to the lovely side effects of rejection, that seeps from the dark green fabric and confirms it’s his. It’s too close to miss now, too strong to pretend I don’t notice. My body reacts before my brain can stop it. Like someone shocked back to life, something inside me jolts. A spark. The faintest hope of survival.

And just as quickly, I flatline.

Because all it takes is one heartbeat, one instinctive reach for the thread that used to tether me to him, and coming up empty, to remember that scent is no longer meant to symbolize “home ”. It’s loss.

I’m too stunned to move.The cold is still biting, but the warmth of the hoodie is already seeping into my skin, curling around the part of me that misses the bond like it’s a phantom limb.

“You’ve been shivering all day,” he says quietly, gently. Like if he speaks any louder, I’ll bolt. “It’s too cold out here for you right now.”

Something tightens in my chest.

There’s an innate part of me, a weary, soft part, that wants to melt under the weight of that concern. That wants to lean into the comfort he’s offering. But another part, the smarter part, the burned and scarred part, rears back, blinking at him in disbelief. The audacity of this man…

“You don’t have to pretend you care about my well-being now, Alpha,” I say, the title sharp as broken glass on my tongue as my hand, as if of its own volition, clutches the open lapels of the hoodie and tightens the weighted fabric that smells of him around me. If he notices he doesn’t say anything. “I think we’ve moved past that, don’t you?”

His reaction is instant. He jerks back like I’ve slapped him, expression cracking. And for the first time today, I really look at him—don’t just flick my eyes in the direction of his face. I take him in and note the matching dark circles and the grim set of his mouth. He doesn’t look like the man who eviscerated me and then left me bleeding.

He looks like he’s also bleeding.

Like whatever damage he did to me, he carved it into himself just as deep. And maybe that’s supposed to make me feel better—like some twisted form of justice—but it doesn’t. All it does is make the air between us heavier. Sadder.

“I…” he starts, like he might argue, might defend himself, but something in his expression closes itself off. His jaw flexes, then tightens. I catch the way his lips part slightly before he exhales and shakes his head, like he's trying to shake away the line of thinking he’d just fallen down. Straightening, his shoulders squaring, he looks at me with practiced composure. “I want to know what you’re doing with omegas,” he says, even-toned. “And why people would know to send them to you for help.”

My spine stiffens instantly, something combative twitching inside me. Every protective instinct I have coils, ready to strike. My first thought is no and my first instinct is to tell him to go straight to hell. That he doesn’t get to ask me questions. Not about that. Not about them .

But then, his voice softens.

“ Please ,” he rasps, sounding a little bit like a man who’s drowning. “I want to know how you were able to help Siggy when I couldn’t.”

That one fucking word. Please.

It shouldn’t matter, but it does. It’s him asking—pleading—not commanding. And that, more than anything else, deflates my fight. With a sigh that scrapes across my dry and tender throat, I lean heavier against the railing.

It’s bullshit, really. That I’m about to offer him the explanation he didn’t extend to me before deciding I was expendable. Before deciding that our bond, my heart, was an acceptable sacrifice for a political arrangement he doesn’t even want. One he was backed into out of desperation.

Still, I give it to him.

Not in full. Not with every sacred detail. But enough.

“From what I’ve learned from Rhosyn and Canaan, it sounds like we want the same thing . To protect and help omegas , ” I tell him. “We’re just going about it differently.” That last part? It’s a knife I mean to twist. I don’t even try to conceal my intentions for that one.

He flinches. Subtle, but it’s there. The color drains slightly from his sun-kissed skin, a tell he probably doesn’t realize he’s giving away. He knows that I know . Knows I’ve been told enough to connect all the dots—the omegas, the deal, the alliance, her . I see it all now. And maybe he thought that would make it easier somehow. It doesn’t. It just makes it hurt with sharper edges.

He stays quiet.

So, I explain. I tell him that after my mom and I left Pack Fallamhain, Thalassa used her healer background and dedicated it to the designation that was constantly targeted. That she saw and heard too many stories about omegas being battered, hunted, used, and she wanted to help where she could. Describe to him how I helped her build and shape it, but explain that Mom was the reason it is what it is today.

She used her vast connections to spread the whispers, to build the network that created the safe haven.

I keep the witches vague. A passing mention. Enough to draw his attention but not enough to break the trust of the tight-lipped Ashvale Coven. He listens, stone still. His eyes widen, just barely, when I state how many omegas we’ve taken in. How many we’ve rehabilitated. How many we’ve saved.

When I finally fall quiet, the silence between us stretches long enough that I start to regret saying anything at all.

Finally, he tells me, “Protecting omegas…it’s an incredibly noble cause.”

My already broken heart pangs, pumping a fresh wave of anguish through my veins. I barely manage to keep my wince off my face.

“Choosing to sacrifice everything for the vulnerable—for the weak—normally is.” I don’t have to spell it out. He knows exactly what I mean. The air between us constricts. Borders on suffocating.

He stares down at me, and this time, he doesn’t bother masking it. The guilt. The remorse. The kind of sorrow that sinks into a man’s bones and becomes a permanent resident there. It’s all over his face, lurking into every shadow, and my chest aches from the weight of it.

Because as much as I wish I could hate him, I wish he hated me.

I wish he loved her—Talis—and hated me instead. It’d be easier to carry. Easier to stomach his rejection if it were fortified with contempt instead of this. Instead of longing. This ache he wears when he looks at me, the ache I recognize because it mirrors my own, it breathes life into the slivers of me that still hope. And that’s crueler than anything.

He opens his mouth. I can see it coming. The explanation. The why. And I can’t let him say it.

“Please don’t,” I whisper, lifting a hand between us, fingers shaking, but not from the cold. “Just…don’t. It’s taking everything I have to be here today. To look at you. But if you try to explain—try to justify —what you did to me…” It might break me. The lump in my throat rises but I push the words through anyway. “Because I already know. I know why you did it. You did it for them. For your omegas. If anyone was going to understand this, it was going to be me. I… get it.”

Saying it out loud feels like a lie, a rationalization that I have to keep repeating to myself so I don’t dissolve into dust.

“And that’s what kills me,” I continue, even when I just want to stop and turn away from him, but he needs to hear this. Rennick needs to know what a mistake he’s made in the name of what he thought was a noble cause. “You never gave me the chance. I might have been able to help you. I could’ve helped them . And maybe we could’ve done it together. But it never occurred to you to talk to me first. You just made the decision, and now we’ll never know because you broke… everything.”

He looks like with every word, I’ve stabbed him.

Rennick’s nod is resigned, defeated , as he murmurs his agreement.

“You’re right.”

Now it’s my turn to wince as if someone has just plunged a knife into my sternum.

“But have we passed the point of being able to fix it? Is there no repairing what I’ve destroyed?”

Even at my strongest mentally, I don’t think I would have been prepared. It’s the last question I expected to hear come out of him, after everything, and it catches me so off guard that I let out a laugh. It’s not pretty and it’s more like a sob catching in my throat. It lacks any real humor. It's a sad sound.

Beneath the oversized sweatshirt he draped over me, my hand runs down the front of my chest, I stop to grab the fabric of my own hoodie, right at the center, above where the bond used to live.

“Look at me,” I say, voice nothing but a broken rasp. “What do you see that makes you think there’s anything left to fix?”

Rennick lays his palm over his own chest, almost protective. “But our bond?—”

“Our bond is dead,” I cut in, sharp and final. It hurts to do it. “Carved out of me. There’s nothing left but emptiness .” The words leave a bitter taste in my mouth, but I don’t stop. “And even if it wasn’t—if by some miracle you were freed of your obligation to McNamara—how would I ever trust you to not hurt me again, Rennick?”

He can do nothing but stand there and listen, it’s as if our roles have reversed from that day.

“How could I ever look at you and not see the man who stood in that clearing and said those things to me? Who let her speak to me like that. Who let her stand beside you like she belonged there.” My voice trembles, because the truth is, she does belong there. He chose her as his Luna and a Luna’s position is at her Alpha’s side. Always. “You made me feel unworthy. Of you. Of everything.”

His jaw flexes, chest rising like he’s about to interrupt.

“You used my mom against me,” I rasp before he gets the chance. “You accused her of binding my wolf.”

“Noa…I never wanted you to find out the truth that way—” he starts, strained.

“We don’t even know the truth,” I say, stepping forward. “And if it is the truth, if she really did it, then I know there was a reason. Because she would’ve never done that lightly. Not to me. Not to her only child.” My stomach turns just thinking about it, but I push through. “You said it anyway. You said it to hurt me.”

He doesn’t deny it, because he can’t. He only nods, once, reluctantly.

The fire I’ve been running on sputters out just as fast as it sparked. The exhaustion hits all at once, dragging through my limbs like concrete settling in my bones. I pull his hoodie tighter around myself, burrowing deeper into it.

Sighing—more a whimper than breath—I meet his gaze one last time.

“But none of it matters, does it?” I say quietly. “At the end of the day, you’re still betrothed to someone else. You still chose someone else as your mate.” I pause, letting the silence hang. “Right?”

He looks like he’s going to be the one who’s sick this time. “Right.”

I don’t know what I expected. Maybe that hearing him admit it would help. That it would make the ache easier to live with. But it doesn’t. It just makes the hole inside me wider, darker. Like his words gave the rot permission to take another piece of me.

I offer him a sad, trembling smile. “Your sense of duty to your pack is admirable, Ren.”

The nickname slips out before I can stop it. I don’t wait to see how it lands. Don’t want to see the expression on his face when he hears it, so I dip my head, and walk past him. Leaving him outside with the gray clouds and his regret for company.

When I shut the sliding door behind me, the ache of our interaction doesn’t lift, but I notice something else. I don’t feel so alone. I’m still tired, still in pain, still wrecked. But not alone. My wolf is here, closer than she’s ever been. The walls around her don’t seem to be as thick. I can almost feel her pressing back. My mother’s words echo in my mind, “ The threads have already started to unravel. The binds are starting to break. He will help with the rest.”

While my mom isn’t here to ask, I know there’s another annoying cryptic charmer close by who might be able to help.