Page 56 of Primal

They don’t answer right away, but they don’t have to.

With the work I’ve dedicated my life to, I’m well aware of the rise in missing omegas. It’s something we’ve been tracking closely—us here at the sanctuary, the witches, and the pack of she-wolves.And the fact that most of the missing population is originating from the states that share borders with Idaho is also something we’re acutely aware of.

It never occurred to me that my birth pack’s omegas would have been targeted. Which, in hindsight, is naive—maybe even foolish—but I think it just proves how deeply I conditioned myself, in the name of survival, to stop thinking about Fallamhain altogether.

It’s Canaan who confirms my suspicions with a grave incline of his chin. “Yeah, they have.”

Seven.

That’s how many omegas Canaan and Rhosyn say have gone missing from Pack Fallamhain in the past year. All presumedkidnapped. Trafficked. My stomach turns as I absorb the weight of that number, which includes both Siggy and Carly, and the horror behind it, but what has me swallow back bile is when they tell me about Cathal McNamara’s offer for an alliance. And how he dangled the promise of additional guards to patrol the Fallamhain borders like a lifeline, knowing Rennick was desperate enough to take it. But it’s the next part that knocks the air out of me. The condition. Rennick had to agree to take Talis as his mate in exchange for McNamara’s help. And fuck, it makes sense. I remember the way Merritt Fallamhain and Cathal pushed their kids together during those exasperating visits. It was obvious, even then to my adolescent brain, they wanted their children mated—to tie their packs together permanently. But the plan went to shit when Talis presented as a beta. And everyone knows—whether they admit it or not—that alphas only take omegas as Lunas if they want to preserve the bloodline. Omegas birth heirs. Betas don’t. That made Talis worthless. Until now. Until her father found a way to make her valuable, by exploiting dead girls and desperate measures.

“And Rennick agreed to this?” The question flies out of me, like if I don’t say it quickly, I’ll choke on it. My mouth floods, warning me too late that the nausea isn’t a creeping possibility, it’s surging. I press my lips together hard, trying to swallow it down, but my body’s already decided this is too much. I’m not going to win this one.

Even if I were at full strength and my legs could carry me there without screaming their complaint, I wouldn’t have made it to the powder room down the hall. It’s crude and humiliating, but all I can do is shove back in my chair and put my head between my knees. Seren moves fast, but not fast enough to gather my hair away from my face. Her hands have just barely landed on my distraught body when my painfully emptystomach heaves and expels nothing but bile onto the hardwood floors at my feet.

The sad truth is, I think it would’ve been easier if he’d rejected me because he was in love with someone else. Love is irrational, all-consuming. A beast that doesn’t answer to logic. If that had been the reason—if his heart had truly belonged to Talis—I think, eventually, I could’ve accepted it. Could’ve mourned what we were supposed to be and found peace knowing that, fated or not, his soul had already chosen someone else.

But this?

This is harder.

Because he didn’t walk away from me out of lack of want or because he didn’t feel the unmistakable connection between us.

Rennick rejected me because he felt he had no other choice. No other option but to sacrifice himself, andme, for the lives of his omegas. And that’s how I know the universe has a twisted sense of humor, because, somehow, we’ve both dedicated ourselves to the same fight. Devoted to the same cause. A cause that, in another lifetime, we might’ve stood side by side for. We could’ve battled it together, but instead, here we are, sacrificing each other in its name.

Something that’s happening because he never bothered to have a single conversation with me before making this decision for us both. If I’d known, I may have been able to help him, but now we’ll never know because he took that possibility away.

And the worst part? I don’t have it in me to hate him, not because I don’t want to, but because Ican’t.

The strength I have left is spent just trying to breathe. Just staying upright feels like a battle I’m losing by the second. I don’t have the energy to spare to hate him. Not even a flicker of it. And Goddess, I wish I did. I wish I could scream, rage, let the fire of betrayal burn through me until it sears the ache clean out of my chest. Because that would be easier than this. So mucheasier than this slow, gnawing pain that never lets up. And after what he did in the clearing, after what he said—after what he lethersay to me, and how he stood by and let her humiliate me—hating him should be easy. Second nature. But I’m too fucking tired. The marrow-deep exhaustion left behind by his rejection has stripped me bare, drained every last spark from my body until there’s nothing but the weight of what’s missing pressing down on me.

In his mission to save his omegas, he ripped me apart and then left me lying there with integral pieces missing.

And if I’m honest with myself, a part of me understands and that only makes this harder.

Because being able to understand his reasoning, to sympathize with it, doesn’t make the hurt go away. If anything, it just makes the pain sharper—heavier—because now I’m carrying our heartbreak for the both of us.

“Seren,” I choke.

“I’m here, Noa,” she reassures me instantly, the hand that doesn’t have my hair gathered in it glides down my spine in a soothing manner. “I’ve got you.”

“I’m going to pass out.” I’m slurring my words now, but I feel it’s only fair I warn her. “Don’t you dare…take my pain while I’m…out.”

I can’t be sure of what happens next because the darkness stirring at the corners of my vision consumes me.

I wake to the all-too-familiar,awful throb behind my eyes.

For a split second, I forget where I am—or how I got here—until the dull ache in my chest reminds me.Right. Kitchen floor. Puking bile. Falling apart. Again.Awesome…

The attic ceiling I know well stares back, and I blink against the fog clouding my vision. My mouth tastes like death. Everything hurts, but it’s not the same sharp pain from before, it’s deeper now, a worn-in ache that settles into my bones like it belongs there. Like my body’s finally too tired to protest and has slumped into quiet, miserable acceptance.

Déjà vu hits me hard. I’ve done this before. Forced myself out of bed when my muscles are protesting the very thought of holding weight and my head is swimming with dizziness, both things threatening to knock me back on my ass as I shuffle toward the bathroom with a steadying hand on the wall.

It’s the same as it was when I woke up yesterday, but now I’m not drowning in the question of,Why? I know exactly what pushed him into reaching into my chest and yanking out a piece of my soul.

And somehow, the knowledge just makes everything worse.

I manage to take care of things quickly on the toilet before moving to the vanity to wash my hands and brush my teeth. I’m standing with my palms pressed to the cool marble countertop, waiting for a new wave of nausea to subside long enough that I can lift my head.

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