The Captured Omega's Savior

Chapter Eleven

WINTER

The shower cuts off. I press my palms flat against Dad's desk, force my eyes back to surveillance photos of missing girls. Twenty-four hours of watching Kailan Lee unconscious. Twenty-four hours of memorizing the geography of his body while I cleaned blood from skin that told stories in ink and scar tissue.

Now he's awake. Vertical. Looking at me like I'm something he wants to break apart and rebuild with his hands.

The bathroom door opens. Steam rolls out carrying his scent—clean skin and something feral that makes my wolf stretch inside my ribcage. He emerges wearing only sweats that ride low on his hips. Water beads on his chest, traces paths through dark hair, pools in the hollows of his collarbones.

I should look away. Should focus on Sarah Chen's missing person report. Should do anything but catalog the way muscle shifts under all that ink when he breathes.

The shaved head throws every angle of his face into sharp relief. Cheekbones that could slice paper. A jaw carved from granite. The kind of bone structure that makes sculptors weep. His mouth—full lips that probably remember how to smile when they're not pressed tight with whatever he's holding back.

Beautiful. The word feels inadequate. He's beautiful the way storms are beautiful. The way predators are beautiful. Dangerous and magnetic and absolutely not meant for someone like me.

"Find anything useful?"

Gravel and smoke in his voice. Like he's been gargling broken glass.

"Patterns." My voice comes out steady. Professional. Like I haven't been thinking about licking the water off his chest. "The missing omegas all filed complaints with the pack council before they vanished."

He prowls closer. That's the only word for how he moves—all coiled muscle and barely leashed violence. Leans over my shoulder to read. Not touching but close enough I feel heat radiating from his skin. Close enough his scent wraps around me like possession.

"What kind of complaints?"

"Abuse. Harassment. Pack members who wouldn't take no for an answer." I tap Sarah Chen's file. "She reported Silvercrest wolves pressuring her to accept a mating bite. Said they got aggressive when she refused. Cornered her after pack meetings. Followed her home."

"The council's supposed to protect omegas from that shit."

"The council's supposed to do a lot of things." I turn in the chair. Mistake. Now he's caging me, one hand braced on the desk, his body curved over mine like a question mark. "They prefer keeping alphas happy. Not making waves."

"Your father didn't."

"My father's dead."

The words hang between us. His eyes track down my face, pause at my mouth. The air goes thick. Breathing becomes conscious effort.

"Winter."

Just my name. But the way he says it—rough and starved and barely human—sends heat flooding south. My omega instincts roll over, show their belly. My wolf wants to bare her throat. The fae blood whispers about power recognized, power matched, power claimed.

"This is monumentally stupid." Even as I say it, my hand rises. Traces the edge of a tattoo that curves around his ribs. His abs contract at the touch.

"Catastrophically stupid." He leans closer. Close enough I can see gold flecks in his irises. "We should stop."

"Definitely."

Neither of us moves. My fingers follow ink across his chest, feel his heartbeat accelerate under my palm. Each symbol raised slightly, scarred into skin as much as inked. Stories written in languages I'll never speak.

"Just pheromones." My voice comes out whiskey-rough. "Alpha and omega forced together. Proximity after trauma. Basic biological imperative."

"That all this is?" His hand cups my jaw. Thumb traces the curve of my cheekbone. "Just chemicals making decisions?"

"Has to be."

"Liar."

He kisses me like drowning. Like burning. Like ending the world.

No buildup. No gentle exploration. Just his mouth claiming mine with the kind of hunger that rewrites DNA. His tongue slides past my lips and thought becomes impossible. There's only his taste—mint and need and something wild. Only the solid weight of him pressing closer. Only the way my bones turn liquid at first contact.

I should push him away. Should remember we're strangers playing house in a dead man's sanctuary. Instead I bury my fingers in the short stubble of his hair and drag him closer.

He makes a sound—half growl, half prayer. Breaks the kiss to trail fire down my throat. I forget how to breathe when he finds that spot where shoulder meets neck. Where a mate mark would live. He doesn't bite—we're not that gone—but his teeth graze skin and my whole nervous system shorts out.

"Fuck." Eloquent. "Kailan—"

He drops. Just drops to his knees like gravity got personal. Looks up at me with eyes gone full gold—tiger eyes in that impossible face. His hands settle on my thighs, burn through denim like brands.

"Let me." Raw. Desperate. "Please. Need to taste you. Been going crazy with your scent. Twenty-four f*****g hours of breathing you and not being able to—"

Words fail him. Or maybe he decides they're unnecessary. His hands shake as he works the button of my jeans.

My brain whites out. This walking weapon on his knees. Begging. Every omega instinct I own screams agreement. My wolf howls yes. Even the fae blood—usually so cold, so calculating—heats with approval.

"Yes."

He peels denim down my legs like unwrapping something precious. Cool air hits overheated skin. I shiver. Or maybe that's from the way he looks at me. Like I'm water in the desert. Like I'm the answer to questions he didn't know he was asking.

"Beautiful." He presses kisses to the inside of my thigh. "So f*****g beautiful."

He spreads me wider. Settles between my legs like coming home. The first touch of his mouth steals whatever words I might have said. Hot. Wet. Devastating. He works me with lips and tongue like this is his job. Like he could live here. Like making me fall apart is his only purpose.

My hands find his head. Hold him close while he destroys me with methodical precision. He learns what makes me gasp. What makes me arch off the chair. What makes me forget my own name, my father's death, the omegas vanishing into trafficking networks.

"Sweet." The word vibrates against flesh so sensitive I see stars. "Been dreaming about this. Could smell you while I was under. Vanilla and jasmine and f**k, the way you taste—"

"You were unconscious."

"Still dreamed." Two fingers slide inside. Curl just right. Press against that spot that makes my vision go white at the edges. "Dreamed about how you'd sound when you came. What you'd taste like. How you'd pull my hair when it got too good."

My fingers tighten on cue. He groans approval against me. Works his fingers deeper. Adds his tongue back to the equation and—

The orgasm hits like a sledgehammer. Whites out everything. I cry his name loud enough to wake the dead while my body convulses. He works me through it. Gentles his touch as I shake apart. Presses soft kisses to trembling thighs while I remember how to breathe.

When vision returns, he's still kneeling. Still looking at me like I personally invented orgasms. His mouth glistens. The sight sends aftershocks through already fried nerves.

"Come here."

He rises liquid and lethal. I taste myself on his tongue when he kisses me. Deep and claiming and full of promises we shouldn't make. My hands find his waistband. He's hard against my palm through thin cotton. Thick. Ready.

"Winter." Warning and want braided in my name. "If you touch me—"

"I know."

I shove the sweats down. He springs free and my mouth actually waters. Proportional. Beautiful. My hand wraps around him and he makes a sound like dying.

"Inside me." The words spill out without permission. "Need you inside me. Need—"

He lifts me from the chair easy as breathing. Sets me on the desk. Maps crinkle. Pens roll to the floor. Neither of us gives a damn. He steps between my thighs. Lines himself up. The head of him pressing against where I'm wet and ready and empty and—

"Wait."

The word tears from somewhere deeper than thought. Some last bastion of self-preservation.

"Stop."

He freezes. Every muscle locked. Trembling with the effort of not moving. Of not taking what we both want.

"What's wrong?"

"This isn't real." Self-loathing tastes like copper. "It's proximity. Biology. Alpha and omega forced together by circumstance."

"Bullshit."

"Is it?" I push against his chest. He steps back immediately. Distance that feels like loss. "We don't know each other. You've been conscious two hours. I can't just—I'm more than omega instincts."

He watches me pull my jeans up with hands that won't stop shaking. His c**k juts between us, ignored. Aching. But he doesn't push. Doesn't argue. Just breathes through his nose like he's counting. Like he's holding back words that would change everything.

"You're right." He moves to the couch. Adjusts himself with a wince. Pulls the abandoned shirt over his head. "We should wait. Figure out if this is real or just trauma bonding."

"Right."

But the air still crackles. My body still aches hollow. His taste fills my mouth. The want remains, real or not.

"The investigation." I straighten scattered papers with mechanical precision. "We should focus on what matters."

"Right. Yes. Investigation. Dead girls. Trafficking. Not thinking about—" He cuts himself off. "Investigation."

"Look at this." I pull up a shipping manifest. Force my voice steady. "Three weeks before each disappearance, Silvercrest receives medical supplies. Sedatives. Veterinary restraints. The kind of equipment you'd need to transport unwilling cargo."

He leans over the desk. Careful distance between us. "That's not coincidence."

"It's planning. Someone's scheduling these abductions." I show him more files. "And the council knows. Dad wrote to them. Sent evidence. They responded with form letters about 'internal pack governance.'"

"Or they're taking a cut."

Ice in my veins. "You think the council's corrupt?"

"I think your father found something that got him killed. Something bigger than one pack stealing omegas." He traces shipping routes with one finger. "Look. Money flows from offshore accounts to shell companies to... f**k. To council members' personal accounts."

The scope staggers. Not just Magnus. Not random predation. An entire system designed to harvest omegas like renewable resources.

"Three girls from Silvercrest in six months." I sink into the chair. Feel the weight of it. "How many packs? How many girls? How long?"

"Long enough to get sophisticated. Develop supply chains. Bribe oversight." His hand covers mine. Just that. Simple contact that grounds me. "This isn't new. Your father just got too close to proving it."

"And died for it."

"Your father was brave. He saw evil and fought it."

"He's still dead."

"But his work isn't." He squeezes gently. "We'll finish it. Find who's taking these girls. Stop them."

"Two broken wolves against an international trafficking ring?"

"Two survivors." His thumb strokes across my knuckles. "Two people with nothing to lose."

I turn my hand. Lace our fingers together. His palm burns against mine.

"That's not entirely true anymore."

"No?"

I meet his eyes. Let him see what I'm not ready to name.

"No."

We have something now. This thing between us—chemical or real or both. It complicates everything. Makes us vulnerable.

But maybe that's what we need. Stakes beyond survival. Something worth protecting.

The evidence spreads before us. Financial records. Shipping manifests. Three dead girls' photos paper-clipped to missing person reports no one bothered investigating. Dad's handwriting in every margin, building a case that would've brought down the whole corrupt system.

If they hadn't killed him first.

Our joined hands rest on the proof of evil. The trafficking ring that feeds on omega desperation. The council that enables it for profit. The alphas who see us as commodities instead of people.

"Tomorrow we plan." Kailan's voice carries promise. "Tonight we rest. Heal. Get strong."

"Sounds like a plan."

"A plan."

The word hangs between us. Heavy with possibility. With threat. With hope neither of us expected to find in the ashes of our lives.

Outside, Anderson sleeps unaware. Inside, two predators study the maps of their hunting grounds.

The real hunt hasn't started yet.

But when it does, God help anyone who stands between us and the girls who need saving.

Even if we burn down the whole world trying.