The Captured Omega's Savior

Chapter Thirteen

WINTER

The Honda Civic reeks of desperation and body odor, a lingering ghost from its previous owner. Kailan bought it for eight hundred cash behind a Walmart from someone whose hands shook too much to count the bills properly. Now we sit in this monument to poor life choices, watching Holly Rodriguez's apartment building like it holds the secrets of the universe.

"Should've gotten the Corolla from the soccer mom," I mutter, shifting on cracked vinyl that catches my jeans wrong.

"Soccer mom wanted three grand and references." Kailan's knees press against the glove compartment, his bulk making the compact car feel like a sardine tin. "Meth enthusiast took cash and didn't ask questions."

Holly's window glows amber on the second floor. She's watching something on her laptop—the blue flicker reflects off her ceiling every few seconds. Twenty years old, studying nursing at the community college, complained about Rick Grover following her home from work twice last week. Prime target for the network's harvest.

"What's your plan?" The question escapes before I can reconsider. "After we stop them. After we save whoever we can save."

A low chuckle rumbles through his chest, vibrating through the car's frame. "Haven't thought about it. All I could think about was getting to Susan and you in time." His fingers drum against his thigh—a rhythm that might be meditative or might be barely leashed violence. "Everything else felt abstract. Theoretical."

"And now?"

"Now I'm sitting in a car that smells like bad decisions, watching an innocent girl who's about to become prey, next to someone who makes both sides of my nature agree for the first time in my life." He turns to look at me, gold eyes catching streetlight. "Planning feels premature."

The weight of his gaze makes my skin prickle. I crack the window, needing air that doesn't taste entirely of him—pine and musk and predator barely contained.

"Tell me about Russell."

His whole body goes rigid, tendons standing out on his neck where the protection mantras spiral in languages I can't read. "Ancient history."

"Recent enough that Storm pack scouts are sniffing around Anderson looking for you."

"They won't find anything. Pete's too careful, and your dad's safe house is not in any database they'd have access to."

"That's not what I asked."

Silence stretches between us, thick as the California heat that clings even after sunset. Finally, he speaks, voice flat as old blood.

"Russell Storm presented himself as the perfect alpha. Strong, decisive, protective of the pack. He promised my mother fidelity—swore on his father's grave that she would be his only mate." His laugh tastes like broken glass. "Su-mei gave up everything. Her clan, her mountains, her freedom. Tigers don't mate with wolves—it violates traditions going back centuries. But she loved him."

I wait, letting silence draw the words from him like poison from a wound.

"She's Malaysian-Chinese. Her family controlled territories in Shanghai, Hong Kong, Singapore—properties worth more than some small countries' GDP. Old money, old power, old blood. She could have mated with any tiger lord in Asia." His hand reaches up, touches the spiral of text at his throat. "Instead, she chose Russell Storm because he made her believe in fairy tales."

"How long before he broke his promise?"

"Before? He never stopped hunting. The night he met her, he had another woman's scent on his skin. She thought it was from before, from grieving Susan's mother." His fingers trace the tattoo harder, like he's trying to reach through ink to memory. "Twenty years of lies. Twenty years of him coming home stinking of other females while she pretended not to notice."

My hand moves without permission, covers his. His skin burns fever-hot, pulse hammering beneath my palm.

"The night I found him with three women in her bed—in the bed where I was conceived—they were laughing. Calling her 'Russell's exotic pet.' Saying how the stupid tiger b***h believed anything as long as he threw her a bone occasionally."

"So you tried to kill him."

"The tiger tried to kill him. First time I'd ever fully lost control to one side." His hand turns under mine, fingers interlacing. "Would have succeeded if Susan hadn't thrown herself between us. Tiny Susan, maybe five-foot-four, standing between her father and a fully shifted tiger. Screaming that killing him would destroy me, not him."

"She saved you both."

"She saved me. Russell was already destroyed—had been since he chose betrayal over honor." He squeezes my hand gently. "Su-mei took me to Tibet that night. Handed me to her brother Chang and disappeared into the Himalayas. Liquidated everything first—every property, every investment, every piece of art collected over sixteen generations. Forty-five million dollars placed in trust for me, plus the properties in Shanghai, Hong Kong, and Singapore that she couldn't liquidate without being there in person."

"That's..." I struggle for words that encompass that level of wealth.

"Her final message to Russell. His heir has fortune enough to buy the entire Storm pack territory, but can't access it while remaining pack." His thumb strokes across my knuckles. "She always did appreciate irony."

Holly's light flickers—she's moved to another room. We both track the change, noting patterns, memorizing routines that might save her life.

"Susan raised me." The words spill out, needing him to understand this connection between us. "My mother died when I was six. Cancer—the mundane kind that doesn't care about supernatural healing. Rare for fae to catch human disease and for some reason, fae magic couldn't fix it. Dad was destroyed, just going through motions until Susan appeared."

"How did they meet?"

"Pack gathering. She was visiting from Heaven Falls, trying to escape an arranged mating set up by Russell. Dad had to pretend he remembered how to be social." I watch a cat slink across the street, hunting shadows. "I hated her at first. This stranger making Dad smile, wearing Mom's apron, humming in Mom's kitchen."

"What changed?"

"Susan never pushed. Never demanded I call her Mom or pretend things were normal. She just existed in our space with this quiet grace, making Dad laugh again, making breakfast without asking if I wanted any but always making extra just in case." My throat tightens. "One day I realized I'd been calling her Mom for a month without noticing when it started."

"She has that effect." His voice softens. "After my mother left, Susan would sneak me food when Russell enforced his dominance through starvation. Small rebellions that could have gotten her killed."

The car fills with silence that breathes between us. His scent intensifies—arousal threading through pine and danger. My thighs clench involuntarily, omega instincts responding to alpha presence despite every rational thought.

"We should check the perimeter," I manage, voice rougher than intended.

"We should."

Neither of us moves. The space between us crackles with potential energy, like the moment before lightning splits the sky. His hand still holds mine, thumb tracing patterns that might be accidental or might be intentional seduction.

"The tattoos." I need distraction from the way his presence makes thinking difficult. "Tell me about them."

He tilts his head, exposing the column of his throat where text spirals in seven languages. "Each one carved during meditation. No anesthetic, no breaks. The pain becomes part of the prayer."

I lean closer, studying the raised scars beneath ink. "This one?" My finger traces Sanskrit below his jaw.

"'Master of two worlds.' Chang's reminder that I exist between spaces—tiger and wolf, human and beast, civilized and feral." His pulse jumps beneath my touch. "Supposed to help maintain balance."

"Does it work?"

"Usually. Less effective when you're touching me."

Heat floods through me at the admission. "And the arms?"

He rolls up his sleeve, revealing geometric patterns that spiral from wrist to shoulder in impossible complexity. "Channels for power. Without them, the transformation would tear me apart—literally. The competing anatomies need guidance when they shift."

"They're beautiful." I trace a particularly intricate knot of lines. "Terrible and beautiful."

"Necessary. Chang spent eight years creating the design, another two implementing it." He watches my finger follow the patterns. "Each session lasted eight hours. No breaks, no mercy. Just needle and ink and will."

"Why no anesthetic?"

"Pain carves deeper than comfort. Every line earned through suffering holds more power than those given freely." His voice drops. "Like anything worth having."

The weight of that statement hangs between us. I'm acutely aware of every point of contact—our linked hands, my finger on his arm, the heat radiating from his body in the confined space.

"Winter." My name sounds like prayer and warning combined.

"I know. Mission first." But I don't move away. "Doesn't change what's building here."

"No. It doesn't."

A door slams across the street. We both snap to attention, hands separating as we focus on the threat. Male figure, mid-twenties, swagger that speaks of assumed authority. He pauses under the streetlight to light a cigarette.

"Rick Grover." I recognize him from surveillance photos—alpha's son, three complaints filed, never prosecuted.

"Scouting." Kailan's voice carries lethal promise. "Testing her defenses."

Rick finishes his cigarette, flicks it away, and climbs into a truck parked behind us. The engine growls to life. He sits there for thirty seconds, watching Holly's building, then drives away.

"He'll be back."

"Tomorrow?"

"Or the next night. Soon though. He's already decided she's his." Kailan's eyes track the taillights disappearing into darkness. "We'll be ready."

The promise hangs between us—more hours in this confined space, breathing each other's air, dancing around inevitability. My omega instincts purr at the prospect while the rational part of my brain screams warnings about mixing mission and desire.

"Your mother's properties." I grasp for safer ground. "Shanghai, Hong Kong, Singapore. That's serious real estate."

"Generational wealth. The Shanghai property alone is worth approximately thirty million. Premium Bund riverfront that her great-grandfather acquired in 1892." He shifts in the too-small seat, making the car rock. "I could sell one building and fund a private army."

"Why haven't you?"

"Because accepting that inheritance means accepting what I am—Russell's son, Su-mei's abandoned legacy, heir to two bloodlines that should never have mixed." His jaw clenches. "Easier to pretend it's theoretical."

"Nothing about you is theoretical."

He turns to look at me fully, gold eyes burning in the darkness. "No?"

"You're the most real thing I've encountered. Every scar, every tattoo, every controlled movement—all of it carved from necessity and survival." I meet his gaze. "You're not theoretical. You're inevitable."

Something shifts in his expression—walls crumbling, revealing hunger that matches my own. "Winter—"

"I know what this is." The words tumble out before I can stop them. "This thing between us. It's not trauma bonding or proximity or pheromones. My wolf recognized you before I even saw your face. The fae blood sings when you're near. Every part of me knows exactly what you are."

"What am I?"

"Mine."

The word hangs between us like a lit fuse. His pupils dilate, gold consumed by black. A growl builds in his chest—not quite tiger, not quite wolf, something uniquely his that makes my core clench with want.

"You can't just—" He stops, visibly fighting for control. "This is exactly what I was trying to avoid."

"Why? Because you might act on it?"

"Because once I start, I won't stop. Not until you wear my mark, until everyone who looks at you knows exactly who you belong to." His voice drops to gravel and smoke. "That's not fair to you. Not in the middle of this chaos."

"Maybe I want chaos. Maybe I want to be marked and claimed and—"

His mouth crashes into mine, cutting off words with action. The kiss tastes like frustration and hunger and ten years of discipline shattered. His hand cups my jaw, thumb stroking my cheek while his tongue slides past my lips, claiming and exploring and devastating my ability to think.

I moan into his mouth, hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer despite the gear shift between us. He growls again, the sound vibrating through my bones, making my omega instincts roll over in submission while the fae blood demands more.

He breaks the kiss, both of us breathing hard. "This is dangerous."

"Everything about us is dangerous."

"The mission—"

"Continues exactly as planned. We save Holly, destroy the network, find the missing girls." I touch his face, feel stubble rough against my palm. "But pretending this isn't happening, that we're not counting seconds until we can be alone—that's the distraction."

He leans into my touch, eyes closing briefly. When they open, the gold burns brighter. "After this is over—"

"We stop pretending."

"You don't know what you're agreeing to. The tiger doesn't share. Neither does the wolf. And the man?" He catches my hand, brings it to his lips. "The man wants to keep you locked away where nothing can touch you except me."

Heat floods through me at the possessive promise. "Good thing I'm not interested in being touched by anyone else."

Another growl, this one pure approval. He kisses my palm, then each finger, then the pulse point at my wrist where my scent is strongest.

"Mine." The word comes out in stereo—two predators speaking through one throat.

"Yours," I agree, and feel something click into place in my chest, like a lock finding its key.

Holly's light goes out. We both refocus, hands separating reluctantly. The hunt continues, the mission remains, but everything feels different now. Charged. Settled.

Like we've finally admitted what we've known all along.