by J. L. Wilder
In the morning, he was gone. But it took days before Isabel felt normal again.
Another time, Isabel was awakened by the sound of howls. Regular wolves wouldn’t howl during the day, she didn’t think. It must have been shifters. She had pulled the covers up over her head and breathed as slowly as she could, trying not to panic, trying to gauge how far away the howls were. She couldn’t smell them. They couldn’t be too close. Still, it was hours before she was able to sleep again, and by the time she dragged herself in to work that evening, she felt half dead.
Still, life fell into a pretty regular routine. Isabel was happy. She was earning money. She was beginning to think that her mother might have been wrong, that life as an omega wouldn’t be a constant struggle after all. Maybe she was the exception. Maybe she had been lucky enough to find a place where she could live below the radar, where she could just get by and be happy.
Then everything changed.
It all fell apart the day the motorcycles rumbled down their small stretch of highway. Isabel had seen motorcycle clubs on a run before, of course. It wasn’t uncommon for them to pass through this way, or for them to stop at the gas station and refuel. But as the bikes pulled into the parking lot, the scent of shifters was overwhelming. There must have been dozens of them. Fear and adrenaline shot into her brain like drugs, but she was paralyzed. She couldn’t run. She couldn’t hide. She couldn’t even move.
They knew what she was as soon as they entered the station. She could see it in their eyes. “Be gentle with her,” one of them cautioned as another vaulted over the counter and grabbed her by the arm. “I don’t want her damaged.”
Isabel wanted to scream, but she couldn’t find her voice. She wanted to kick, fight, punch, run, but she felt as if her insides had turned to water. She was helpless. The hand holding her belonged to a man who must have been more than twice her weight, short but muscled and with closely cropped hair. He lifted her easily onto the counter as if she were his shopping. Another man took her by the elbow and pulled her down.
Nobody spoke to her. Nobody even looked at her. It was as if they were robbing the store of merchandise rather than kidnapping a real human person.
“Isabel is her name,” the one holding her said. “It’s on her nametag, see?”
“She looks more like an Izzy to me,” someone else said.
Isabel had never been called Izzy in her life. But she didn’t correct the man. She didn’t say a word. She felt apart from what was happening somehow, as if she were watching it on TV. As if it were happening to somebody else. Surely, she was still behind the counter, waiting for her shift to end, solving her crossword puzzle to pass the time? She couldn’t have been so suddenly taken like this? She was too careful for this to have happened.
They chained her hand to the wrist of one of the men and sat her on his motorcycle. When he leaned forward to grip the handlebars, she was forced to drape herself across his back. They placed a helmet on her head and lowered the visor so she couldn’t see where she was going, which she was thankful for. It allowed her to relax into the horror of what she was experiencing. She cried for the first time as they sped through the night, the motorcycle rumbling beneath her.
It would not be the last time.
She’d been dragged up the stairs and into this room. She’d been tossed to the floor—not violently, but carelessly, the way one might toss their coat over a chair when returning home at the end of the day.
“I don’t want her damaged,” someone had said again. Not hurt, but damaged. As if she were a thing that could be broken. Not as if she were a human who could be harmed.
Maybe she wasn’t. Maybe being an omega meant being less, somehow, than everyone around you. None of the people who had taken her from the gas station had seemed to question their own actions at all. None of them had seemed to have any doubts. Maybe that was because there wasn’t anything wrong with what they were doing. Maybe omegas were meant to be taken by a pack like this, and she was the one who had been doing wrong by trying to protect her own individuality.
That’s not what Mom would have said. But her mother was dead. Her mother had been killed by a wolf, fighting to prevent him from entering the house and coming after Isabel. If she’d let him in, she’d still be alive, Isabel often thought. Maybe she shouldn’t have done what she did. Maybe she shouldn’t have died for me.
In the beginning she had counted the days, making a mark with her fingernail in a floorboard each time they brought her a meal. But she quickly realized she couldn’t reliably tell time by the meals. Sometimes she was starving when they came and felt as though she hadn’t eaten in days. Other times she wasn’t hungry at all. Were they doing this on purpose to confuse her? Or was it just that sometimes they forgot to feed her for a while? Neither idea made her feel any better.
Now she had been here for who knew how long. She almost wished they would get to whatever they had planned for her already. It was likely to be horrible, she knew, but it couldn’t be worse than this waiting. Isabel was beginning to feel like she was going insane here.
The door creaked open. Her head darted up. Dinner? Or something else?
The man who came through the door had a tray in his hands. That was different, because they usually just brought a plate and a cup. Today there was silverware on a napkin, and a bowl beside the plate. She could see steam rising from it, and smell the savory flavor of a broth. It was a five star meal compared with what she was usually given. Maybe he had brought it to eat himself. Maybe he wanted to eat in front of her for some reason. To flaunt the food that he had and she didn’t, possibly. She pulled herself back into her corner and waited to see what would happen.
The man set the tray on the floor in the middle of the room, backed away, and sat against the opposite wall.
Isabel didn’t move.
The man didn’t move either.
She wasn’t going to go for it. If she moved toward the food, he might yank it away at the last minute. She knew that this bountiful tray couldn’t be for her. The pack didn’t feed her this well. They never had. She was given cold bread, a hunk of cheese, a piece of leftover meat, and some slices of apple. She was given all the nutrients she needed to remain healthy and ready for breeding. But food to comfort her? That was never on the menu.
Yet the smell of that broth was intoxicating...
“It’s for you,” the man said. He seemed to know what she was thinking. “I can go if you want.”
She nodded. She couldn’t help it. How could she trust him? How could she eat it while he watched her?
Looking disappointed, he got to his feet and left. As soon as the door closed behind him, Isabel ran to the tray. Warm broth. Hot, tender meat. Vegetables. And ice in her glass of water.
She devoured every bite.
THE NEXT NIGHT IT WAS cold dinner again, and the night after that as well. Isabel began to wonder whether she’d dreamed the man who had brought her the delicious meal.
But on the third day, he was back again.
He didn’t have a food tray. This time he was carrying a soft down pillow. Isabel stared at it. She hadn’t seen a pillow since leaving the motel, and the pillow she’d had there was flat and lumpy. This one looked like a cloud.
The man placed it on the floor, in the center of the room where he’d set her tray the last time he’d come. “I got permission to give you this,” he said. “The floor looks pretty uncomfortable to sleep on.”
Isabel didn’t leave her corner, but she reached out and pinched the edge of the pillow with two fingers. Without taking her eyes off her benefactor, she drew it toward her.
“There’s something inside,” he said. “I didn’t get permission for that. So, keep it hidden, okay?”
She waited until he was gone to reach down to the bottom of the pillowcase. Her hand met something that crinkled, and she pulled it out. A package of gummy candies.
She shoved them back down into the pillowcase.
That night, when she was l
ost in her loneliness and terror, she pulled the candies out again, ripped open the bag, and put one in her mouth. Someone cares, she thought as she tasted the sweet berry flavor. Someone cares enough to give me a bag of candy, which is more than not at all.
TWO DAYS LATER, HE came again. This time he had a novel. “Hide it in the pillowcase,” he said, and she shoved it down deep without looking at what it was. It didn’t matter. She’d been sitting here with nothing but her thoughts for ages, and now she would have something to take her out of her own head. It felt like a lifeline to sanity.
“Who are you?” she asked him, hugging the pillow with its hidden treasures to her chest. She kept her eyes on the floor in front of her. Looking at him for too long a stretch of time when she didn’t yet know what he wanted was hard.
“I supposed I haven’t introduced myself,” he said. “My name is Wyatt. Wyatt Howell. I’m a member of the Hell’s Wolves.”
She was quiet.
“That is, I’m trying to become a member,” he amended. “I’m new here, like you.”
Do they keep you locked up in a room? She didn’t need to ask the question. It was obvious they didn’t. It was clear by the way he kept showing up to visit her. “What do you want?” she asked instead. The words grated on her throat, and she realized it was the first time she’d spoken aloud since she’d been taken.
“I wanted to meet you,” he said. “You’re always in here by yourself. I thought you might like some company.”
She twisted the hem of the pillowcase in her fingers and looked up at him. He was older than she was, his hair graying and his face lined, but not yet so old that he’d lost his muscles. She couldn’t remember seeing him on the night she’d been taken from the gas station. Had he been there? He’d claimed to be a new member of the pack...
“Your name is Izzy?” he asked.
She nodded slowly. Isabel, she thought, but she was afraid to correct him. He had been kind to her so far—he was the only person who had—but what if that changed? What if she made him angry? She couldn’t risk it.
“I’d like to come and see you sometimes, Izzy,” Wyatt said. “Would that be okay?”
Did she have a choice? She nodded.
“You and I are the two newest members of the pack,” Wyatt said. Isabel was tempted to roll her eyes. Did he think being new to the pack made them equal in some way? Did he think there was any similarity to what they’d been through? She’d been locked up in this room for God only knew how long, and she was willing to bet he’d been making friends and enjoying delicious meals—all the wonderful things she could smell coming up through the floor each night. Just being new here didn’t mean they had anything in common.
But he’d brought her that broth.
Whoever was in charge of this pack wasn’t giving her any broth. Where had it come from? Where had that miraculous dinner come from?
It was his. That’s the only way he could have gotten it for her. He’d brought her his dinner that night, given up a hot meal so that she could have it.
So maybe he was a friend after all.
Maybe.
Chapter Seven
WYATT
It was easy to see that he still didn’t have her trust, that she wasn’t sure what to make of him, and yet Wyatt returned to Izzy’s room as often as he could.
It wasn’t easy. If he’d gone too often it would have caught the attention of his packmates. But someone had to bring her dinner each night, and no one was particularly eager to take on the job, so as the days wore on, Wyatt was able to ease his way into the role. “I’m going upstairs to get my book,” he’d say after dinner. “Should I run Izzy’s plate up?” And Robert would give him a nod, only half paying attention.
After about a week and a half, there was no more conversation to be had about it. It had become assumed that Wyatt would be the one to take Izzy’s food to her each night. To help squash any suspicions the others might have that he cared more for her than he ought to, he had stopped talking about her the rest of the time. He joined in the many conversations that sprung up about the impending Omega Games, but he was careful to keep his participation in those conversations minimal. He would speculate as to what the games might consist of, but he would never share his intent to enter and win so that he could keep Izzy safe.
Because of the way everyone tended to scatter after leaving the dinner table, Wyatt had discovered that he could stay up in Izzy’s room for a substantial length of time without his absence being noticed. He shoved a deck of cards in his pocket one night and brought it up with him. “Do you want a game of Rummy?” he asked.
Izzy didn’t answer—she almost never spoke—but she scooted out of the corner where she usually cowered to indicate her willingness to play. Wyatt handed her the plate with her dinner as he dealt the cards. He’d saved the mashed potatoes from his own dinner to bring to her. Although they were a little cold, they were well flavored. He pulled a spoon from his shirt pocket and handed it over, and she began to eat.
The game commenced in silence. Izzy finished her food quickly and pushed her plate to the side. Wyatt had noticed that she always ate quickly. “Are you getting enough food?” he asked.
She nodded.
“Because your health is important to everyone. If you feel like you’re not getting enough, you can let me know. I could tell them you need more to stay healthy.”
She shook her head. Wyatt wondered whether she was afraid to ask for more than she was getting. If she was, it didn’t seem likely that he would penetrate her defenses anytime soon. She might have relaxed enough to take the food he offered and to play games with him, but she didn’t trust him, and he didn’t think she considered him a friend or an ally. Of course, she doesn’t, he thought. I’m being polite to her, that’s all. She’s still locked up in a room by herself all the time. How is she supposed to trust me?
“How old are you?” he asked her.
“Twenty-four.” Her voice was raspy and raw.
“So young,” Wyatt murmured. He thought back to when he had been twenty-four. He’d been living on his own then, working as a bartender, attending parties with his coworkers and drinking heavily. His life had been easy, and he had been spoiled and lazy. He had been nothing like this alert, sensitive young woman. She seemed years older than he had felt when he was twenty-four. Was it a consequence of everything she’d been through in her life? Had her experiences made her harder?
What had happened to her?
She was staring at him. “It’s your turn,” she said finally.
It was the first time she’d spoken to him unprompted, and Wyatt was jerked out of his thoughts. He put down his cards. “Can we talk?”
“About what?”
“I don’t know. I’d like to get to know you better, that’s all.”
She hesitated, then shook her head. Wyatt supposed he could understand that, but he was still disappointed. Every day he felt as if maybe this would be the day he finally broke through the barriers she had up and got close to her, but it never seemed to happen. “I’d like us to be friends,” he said.
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“Why not?”
“We don’t have anything in common.”
“How do you know?” he asked.
“Well. You’re a lot older than me, to start with. And I’m an omega, and you aren’t. I’m a prisoner here and you can leave any time you want. What do you imagine we have to talk about?”
It was the most she’d ever said to him at once, and she looked slightly surprised at her own boldness. Wyatt was surprised too. Izzy seemed to regret having let go of herself. She moved away from him, back toward her corner, and he could see the fear taking up residence on her face again.
“I’d like to get to know someone who’s different from me,” Wyatt said.
“You know what’s going to happen to me, don’t you?” Izzy asked.
Wyatt hesitated. He hadn’t been ordered by Robert not to tell her about the Omega Game
s. There was no alpha command standing in his way. But if she knew what was coming, it would be easy for everyone else to figure out who had told her. That could result in all kinds of problems. Wyatt might even be banned from playing in the games. I’m too close to her, he thought. Robert wouldn’t like it. I’m not supposed to be connecting with the omega before she’s claimed and mated. And here I am, trying to get even closer.
Izzy was still waiting for an answer. “I’m not supposed to talk about that,” he said finally.
“But you know.”
He nodded. “I do.”
“So how do you expect me to be friends with you?” she asked. “What kind of friendship is it when you know what they’re going to do to me, and you won’t tell me about it?”
Wyatt’s heart sank. Still, he tried to defend himself. “It wouldn’t change anything,” he said. “My talking about it wouldn’t make a difference. It’s going to happen regardless.”
“It would give me a chance to prepare myself,” Izzy said. “Besides, I want to know. This is my life you’re talking about. I didn’t choose to come here to this pack. I had a life before this, and I was captured and brought here against my will.”
Wyatt rubbed a hand over his face. “I know you were. I know.”
“And you don’t think I have the right to know why?”
“Of course, you do,” he said. “But Izzy...”
“You can’t tell me anything.”
“I can’t. I really can’t.” His stomach knotted with guilt. He could tell her if he wanted to, he knew. He could override the practical wisdom that was keeping him from sharing the truth he knew. He could ask her not to tell the others that he’d told her anything.
