Page 89 of Reckless Consequences

The numbers hit me like a physical blow. Not just statistics but lives—people Mona saved while pretending to be Roman’s perfect omega experiment.

Something tightens in my chest—a fierce protectiveness I’ve rarely felt outside my pack. My body shifts, angling slightly between Mona and the door, a defensive positioning I recognize as unusual for me.

I normally focus on securing information rather than physically protecting people, yet here I am, unconsciously checking sight lines and escape routes specifically for my sister’s safety.

“That’s why you built the California property,” I realize suddenly. “It wasn’t just your escape plan.”

Her eyes meet mine, really meet mine, perhaps for the first time. “Safe house design,” she says. “Multiple extraction routes. Defensible perimeter.”

“You were building a sanctuary,” Aria says, her voice soft with respect.

Mona looks away, suddenly fascinated by the surface tension of her wine. “Logical application of resources,” she mumbles.

The conversation lightens after that—Ginger sharing stories from her art therapy sessions with rescued omegas, Willow describing security protocols she’s designed, Aria recounting diplomatic disasters with rival packs.

“Tell us about little Cayenne,” Ginger says eventually, her smile mischievous. Too bad I forgot to tell her that we only met a couple months ago. In a dungeon. “Were there any files about her in Sterling’s records?”

An uncomfortable silence falls. The question highlights the strange reality of our connection—sisters by blood but strangers by experience.

“Sterling’s tracking systems attempted to locate Grace seventeen times,” Mona says after a moment, her voice shifting to something more detached. “All failures.”

“My mother,” I clarify, a familiar ache spreading through my chest at her mention. My throat tightens, pressure building behind my eyes as grief rises fresh and sharp.

With my changed body, I process the emotion differently now—the sadness joined by a need for comfort that makes me tilt my head slightly, unconsciously showing my claiming mark.

Through our bond, I feel an immediate response—Theo’s comforting presence intensifying, as if he’s reacting to my distress even at a distance.

“After they took you, Sterling’s team ran tests,” Mona says, voice steady but too careful. Like she’s keeping something bigger locked down. “They analyzed tissue samples. DNA flagged some strange markers—maternal side. Your mother had adaptations no one expected. Evading him? She was better at it than anyone.”

It’s not the warm family anecdote Ginger was fishing for, but it’s all we have—scientific assessment of biological connection rather than shared memories.

“She sounds like a force of nature,” Aria says gently.

“She was,” I confirm, throat tight. The bond I feel with the pack pulses in response to my emotion, a wordless reminder that I’m not alone anymore. Through our connection, I can sense Theo’s comfort intensifying, as if he’s responding to my distress even from far away.

As the night progresses, something unexpected happens. The awkwardness dissolves. Laughter flows more freely. Stories emerge without calculation. Ginger teaches Mona how to make s’mores in the microwave, and my sister approaches the task with the same intensity she brings to viral formulas.

“Your sister is absolutely terrifying,” Willow tells me during a quiet moment, her candor making me smile. “I adore her.”

I laugh, genuinely laugh. “She grows on you. Like a particularly brilliant fungus.”

“With mathematical precision and candy addiction.”

A sharp pain lances through my temple, and I wince, pressing my fingers against the spot. The sensation is different from a normal headache—more like electrical currents rerouting through my brain, bringing momentary sensory enhancement followed by overwhelming input.

My skin burns, each air current in the room feels like a touch. For a few seconds, every scent intensifies—Ginger’s vibrancy hits like an electric shock, Willow’s steady notes vibrate through me, Aria’s omega warmth expands until I can’t breathe past it.

The room floods with too-bright light, and I bite the inside of my cheek to stop the whimper building in my chest—a call for help I still refuse to release.

“You okay?” Willow asks immediately.

“Just the virus,” I admit, as the sensory overload gradually recedes. “My body’s still figuring out what the hell it is now. Sometimes everything gets... really intense for a minute.”

“Looks like your transformation is still settling,” she observes. “Like what happened with Finn, but different.”

“Yeah,” I say, grateful that his ordeal is over. “We were lucky Mona figured out how to stabilize him when she did. Those were some dark days.”

Aria joins us, her expression serious. “I’ve been talking with Mona about a research position here,” she says. “Omega Guardians could use her expertise.”

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