Page 33 of The Omega's Alpha
“Holland?” Quin reached out to gather in another couple of pups who’d been inching silently toward us during our conversation.
“I’ll show them what to do, shall I?” I said brightly and was rewarded with a grateful smile and a look in his eyes that promised a more personal thank you later. Definitely worth the extra work of trailing the humans around with me, which is what I’d taken his speaking my name to mean.So be it.I’d make sure they saw things that would wake them sweating and terrified for years.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Quin tookseveral of the pups over to the blankets spread out in a quiet corner. He noted that Holland had some of the older pups, the eight and nine year olds, helping with the line and with getting the younger ones over the rough ground to a spot where they could sit to eat. He also noted that Holland had loaded the Green Moon Alpha up with several bowls of soup and sent him to sit with Quin. A trio of the younger pups followed him proudly, each one holding two biscuits, with Holland coming behind with more soup.
Gonzalo sat down beside him. “I don’t really have time for this,” he murmured, and doled out the soup bowls.
“You’re no good to anyone exhausted. And look at the pups.” It was true—the pups were excited, distracted from the huge loss they’d all just experienced. They squabbled over who got to sit next to the Alpha until Gonzalo set them in order, then they settled quietly down to their bowls of soup.
“Hmph,” Gonzalo said, but the muscles of his shoulders relaxed and soon he and the pups were lost in conversation. Quin held back a sigh of relief, but the moment of relaxation was spoiled by one of the humans, who sat down unceremoniously next to him.
“So, you’re the Alpha of Mercy Hills,” the human said.
“I am,” Quin said evenly, keeping an eye on the pups while Holland organized another group to make the trek across to the blankets.
“I’m assuming emergency services will be here at some point?”
“We’ve already gotten all the human help we’re going to get,” Quin snapped. He was still smarting from the abrupt dismissal he’d gotten from his old command, and the miserly amounts of money offered by the different disaster charities Bram had been trying from back home.
Holland appeared in front of him with a bowl of soup and a couple of biscuits. “Eat, Alpha. And one for you too, Dorian.” Holland doled out the food, ruffled the pup’s hair, and headed back toward the makeshift kitchen with an, “Able-bodied people who aren’t Alphas can come get their own,” thrown over his shoulder.
The journalist watched Holland go, then turned back to Quin.“Oh? What do you plan to do with the funds? And I’d like to speak to one of their volunteers, get their impressions.”
“No volunteers.” Quin stared the man down, not even bothering to hide what he was, how frustrated he was with the situation and how close to the edge his emotions were. “Shut us behind walls and tell yourselves the monsters are gone. And then when we need help, everyone’s afraid of the monsters and maybe they’ll give money because ‘poor beasts’ but not a one of those so-called good people will pack their assumptions about us away and come look at the reality. So, no, there are no human volunteers, but we’ve gotten through until now without your help, we’ll get through this as well.”
“Maybe I can change that.” The human glanced around at the pups and their bowls of soup. “We’re not all cruel or selfish. But one of the reasons I ended up in this job was because sometimes we, as a species, need our faces rubbed in our injustices. It won’t be quick, it won’t be easy, but we can start the ball rolling now, or you can wait until another tragedy happens and then set things in motion. Your choice.”
That stung. Even worse, because the human was right. “And will it be your ball or ours?”Just had to get that in there, didn’t you?
The human shrugged. “Both, I hope. If this goes like I hope it goes, it could make my name in investigative reporting.” He grinned wryly. “Of course there’s something in it for me. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think there was. And Laine’s put me on to a couple of stories that were good for my career.” He gestured out at the still hazy air floating over the enclave. “This has that same…smell.”
Quin’s hands jerked, nearly spilling his soup, and he twisted to stare at the reporter. How could he say… but no. The man’s expression said he’d chosen his words purposefully, and the full meaning of what the human had said came to Quin like one of those sudden flashes of understanding he’d had occasionally overseas. “You might want to watch the double and triple entendres around here. Not everyone will get them.” But the reporter had judged his current audience well. The reek of smoke and death would be a long time fading here, both in the air and in the pack’s mind. “You think it will bring people here to prevent harm to their reputations? Do you actually think there’s any harm?”
The reporter grinned and stood up. “There will be when I’m done.” He nodded toward Holland, head bent to allow one of the Green Moon shifters to whisper in his ear. “Your second there has a way with words. Very blunt. Might want to keep him away from any other reporters.”
Quin opened his mouth to say, “He’s not my second,” but closed it with nothing more than a non-committal grunt. The reporter was right, but Quin wasn’t going to say anything on the topic of Holland’s forthright way of expressing himself. He turned back to his soup until the expression on Holland’s face caught his attention. “Shit.” Quin set his bowl aside and picked his way out from amongst the pups to meet him. “What’s wrong?” He could tell Holland wanted to be held, though the other shifter held back in public.
“I told you Dorian’s mother was waiting for a bed in the hospital, right?”
Quin nodded.
“She died. About an hour ago. Someone finally came in to tell Green Moon, but I guess they didn’t notice him out eating with the pups, so they came to tell us in the daycare.”
Fuck appearances. Quin opened his arms and Holland walked into them, curling against his chest. Quin held him close and rested his cheek on top of the dark hair, offering what strength he could.
“It’s so not fair. I’d go back to my mated pack and put up with everything if it would take this all away.”
“Shhh.” Quin cupped the back of Holland’s head and stroked his hair. “It’ll be all right. It will make us stronger, bind our packs closer together. It’s when they can get us alone, keep us apart, that’s when we’re weakest.” He leaned back and put a finger under Holland’s chin to make him look up. Holland’s eyes were red, though not a tear had escaped. “You’ll see,” he reassured him. “The council can’t ignore this.”
“I hope not.” He sniffed and choked out a ragged laugh. “I hate this.”
“I know.” Quin dropped a kiss on his lips. “I’ll go look for their family, if you want. I know you’ve got your hands full.” He ran his hands up and down Holland’s arms, seeking comfort as much as he was trying to give it. “We should tell Green Moon too.”
Holland shook his head. “They don’t have any family left here. It’s why they’ve been hanging around me so much, I think. Their father was caught in the storage warehouse, trying to save bags of flour, when the community center collapsed onto it. Their house was one of the really small ones where everyone slept in a loft up a ladder, near where the fire started—the pups only escaped because their mom got them out. She tried going in after the babies--” His voice choked off and he turned away and raised his head to the sun, eyes squeezed as tight as his fists. “I was never glad before that I was barren, but I don’t think I would have survived watching my house burn with my babies in it.” Then, in a voice so small Quin almost couldn’t hear him, “I wonder if that’s why she couldn’t hold on.”
Watching Holland mourn the children he’d never had made Quin’s heart ache like he’d taken a mortar shell to the chest. “You would have stayed strong for the ones that survived. And you would have loved them still. I know you.” He laced his fingers through Holland’s hair again and turned him so they faced each other. “I have faith in you.”I love you.He wanted to say it. It wouldn’t be new—they’d both said it to each other in many ways, with many different words, just ones that weren’t those particular three.