Page 53 of Primal

They all stared at one another like ghosts. Like seeing Siggy alive and breathing was too much to wrap their minds around. Awe and disbelief tangled in the air, thick enough I could feel it pressing into my ribs.

It was Rhosyn who broke first, because of course it was. The beta female is fearlessly led by her gut reactions, and appears to have the emotional restraint of a windstorm. One moment she was standing behind me at the kitchen table, and the next she was flying toward Siggy, arms wide.

I winced before Siggy did. My entire body tensed on instinct, bracing for impact on the Nightingale’s behalf. She’s still so touch-sensitive, still flinching when I so much as brush her arm when she’s not expecting it. So, when Rhosyn wrapped her up in a full-body hug, I’d braced and stopped breathing while I waited to see how Siggy would react.

She didn’t move. Didn’t return the gesture. Didn’t even blink. She just stood there like stone, her big, blue eyes staring right over Rhosyn’s shoulder—at me.

That look…

It gutted me.

Her internal battle was so painfully clear. She wanted to lean into the comfort the familiar female was so freely offering her, but the trauma she’s endured has left her unwilling to accept it. To trust it. All of her unease, her discomfort, was written all over her face. And the second Rhosyn released her, Siggy moved. Not away. Not back.

Toward me.

Wordlessly, like it was the most natural thing in the world, she stepped closer and pressed her side to mine. I didn’t hesitate. I reached out and took her hand, wrapping my icy fingers around hers like I’d done countless times during our days spent together. My grip wasn’t tight. Just enough to say,I’ve got you and I’m not going anywhere.

Neither Canaan nor Rhosyn missed the move. I felt the weight of their eyes alongside the speculation and confusion. They were silently trying to figure out how Siggy and I had crossed paths, but they didn’t voice their question. Yet. And for that I was grateful. Especially since that was around the time my headache really decided to make itself known.

While everyone’s attention was firmly on her—rightfully so—her sharp, worried gaze was once again locked on me.

“What happened to you?” she asked, her voice just above a whisper, as if attempting to keep this conversation just between us.

It hadn’t worked, of course. We were in a room full of shifters with advanced hearing, after all.

“Sigrid.Siggy,” Canaan said gently, his tone soft but steady, like he was afraid to spook her. “We’d really like to know what happened toyou.”

Rhosyn interjected before the question could hang too long in the air, clearly sensing the tight tension winding through Siggy’s frame and her fragile state. “If you’re willing—or ready—to tell us, that is. We’ve been worried sick about you, Sig. You’ve been missing for over seven months. We thought…” She trailed off, throat bobbing. “We’re just really happy to see you.”

I saw the moment Siggy retreated inward, Canaan’s gentle question pulling her straight back into whatever hell she’d escaped. Her fingers clenched around mine and she leaned more of her weight into my side, making my fatigued muscles shake as they fought to keep both of us standing.

Broken. Dirty. Omega whore.

It was when the hateful words she’d first had running rampant in her mind the first night she came to us returned, their ugly loop cycling through my own muddled head, making my headache reach a new nausea-inducing fever pitch.

That’s when I called it. Enough for one night.

Everyone agreed, reluctantly, to wait until morning to finish what had been started.

So, while I wait for the rest of the house to wake up, I sit out here, staring at nothing, locked in a quiet war with the darkness that’s settled in my mind and the anguish still crawling beneath my skin, in my soul. I keep telling myself I’ll learn to live with these things—like Seren said she did—but it’s the vacant space in my chest that unravels me. The space where something sacredand fated should be thrumming with life. I don’t know how to coexist with that kind of loss. I don’t know how to breathe around it.

Canaan’s cooking smells good,something warm and savory, but it’s wasted on me. The plate in front of me might as well be filled with gravel with how nonexistent my appetite still is. I notice Siggy hasn’t touched hers either. She sits beside me at the table, knees pulled up to her chest, arms wrapped tight around them like if she lets go, she’ll fall apart. Her eyes are fixed straight ahead, unfocused. Somewhere else entirely.

The others don’t push. Rhosyn, sitting across from her, is quiet but alert, fingers laced together on the table like she’s willing her presence to be enough. Seren leans against the counter, Ivey on her hip, watching us both, no doubt filtering every emotion rolling off us in suffocating waves. I feel bad for my best friend during moments like these, when emotions, specifically negative ones, are high. I know she can block some of it out, but that’s only so effective.

Canaan, he just sips his coffee and waits.

It’s Siggy who finally breaks the stillness.

“It was the inlet,” she says, barely above a whisper. “At the lake.”

No one says a word while the omega at my side shares her story. She tells us about the inlet—how she and Carly were at a casual get-together with some of their classmates. A speaker, a few beers, nothing out of the ordinary. Everyone else decided to head back early since school was the next morning. But Carly and Siggy had just presented. Finally able to shift. They wanted to run. I can hear the ache in her voice when she says that part,like she’s mourning the girls they were before it all went to hell. Everyone else had loaded up into their cars and side-by-sides but the pair had wandered farther down the lake’s beach, away from any possible lingering eyes so they could shift in peace. Even though nudity wasn’t a big deal among wolves, she said it still felt awkward. They were still adjusting.

Then it happened.

She doesn’t explain the moment in vivid detail, but I don’t need her to. I can see it in the way her hands tremble, even though they stay clenched against her legs. I can feel it in the way her voice catches when she describes hands—multiple pairs—grabbing them from behind. Carly screamed. Siggy fought, and one of her earrings was ripped out in the process. But then someone got close and whispered in her ear.

“Go to sleep, dear.”

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