Sammy

"I quit." The words were a physical force, propelled by the slam of Sammy’s fist against the Gamma’s polished oak desk. The sharp crack echoed in the quiet office. He had just left Trishelle, her body curled into a ball, finally asleep in her miserable room. He’d stormed out, a hot coil of rage and guilt tightening in his gut. On the way, he’d stopped two she-wolves from heading toward her room, leveling a glare so venomous they’d actually backed away. He didn’t give a damn about politeness right now. The person he wanted to vent to, the only one who might understand, wasn’t here. And then it hit him. Alpha James was away. This was it. The perfect window to get Trishelle out of this festering pack.

He was jolted back to the present by the Gamma’s glare. Steve, a wolf who thought his rank made him a king, tried to pour authority into his eyes, but it washed right off Sammy. The benefits of not having a wolf, of being trained in the human world for control and precision, came in handy now. He didn’t have to bow and scrape to a Gamma who was little more than a thug in a suit.

"What is the meaning of this, Samuel?" Steve’s voice was low, meant to be intimidating.

"The meaning of ’this’?" Sammy scoffed, a bitter, humorless sound escaping his lips. "I’ll tell you the meaning. I knew something was off the second you ordered me back to the city, so fast I didn’t even have time to grab my toothbrush. It was all a setup, wasn’t it? A neat little distraction so your dear ’Alpha’ could corner my friend and rob her of her innocence. I will never forgive him for that. And if he were standing here right now, I’d mop the floor with his ugly mug."

"How dare you disrespect your Alpha like that?" Steve raged, his face turning a mottled red. "You could be executed for that! I understand you’re upset, but you will show respect for his position and for mine." He took a visible breath, trying to regain his composure. He sat back down, deliberately picking up a file and pretending to sort through it. "As for your resignation, it is not accepted."

Sammy gritted his teeth, the muscle in his jaw jumping. He could feel his control slipping, the red haze of fury threatening to cloud his judgment. He needed to help Trishelle, but a frontal assault would get him locked up or worse. He needed to change tactics. For her. He forced his shoulders to relax, straightened his spine, and cleared his throat.

"I’m sorry, Gamma," he said, the words tasting like ash. "You’re right. I let my emotions get the better of me. You know that Ros... I mean, Trishelle is like a sister to me. I do hope you will forgive my outburst."

Steve eyed him suspiciously for a moment before giving a curt nod.

"Then, if you’ll please excuse me," Sammy said with a bow that was just short of mocking. He turned and left the office, his mind already racing. He needed a plan. A real one.

He headed for the kitchen, his stomach twisting at the thought of the state Trishelle would find it in. He was right. Dishes were piled high, crumbs littered the counters, and a half-eaten meal congealed on a plate. With a sigh of disgust, he quickly cleaned the mess himself, wiping down the surfaces so she wouldn’t have to see it. He then made some simple sandwiches, grabbed a couple of bags of chips and two bottles of water, and packed them all into a wicker basket he found on a shelf. An impromptu picnic. That’s what they needed. As he walked back to her room, the plan solidified in his mind. They would go to their spot. They would visit Rosie. Maybe, just maybe, they’d find the answers they needed there.

Trishelle

When Trishelle opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was the cheap digital clock in the corner. A piece of its plastic face was missing, but she could still make out the glowing red numbers. Her eyes widened when she realized it was after ten. For a moment, panic fluttered in her chest, but it quickly died, replaced by a hollow ache. Late for what? More chores? More abuse? It would almost be better if they just put her out of her misery. She turned over, and her hand brushed against something soft and familiar. Sammy’s jacket. So it wasn’t a dream. He had really come back for her. The thought of him looking at her, of him knowing what had happened, of his inevitable disappointment, made two fat tears squeeze through her tightly shut lids. She curled into a tighter ball, clutching the worn denim jacket to her chest and breathing in the familiar, comforting scent of soap and him. How she wished Rosie were still here.

"Rosebud, are you awake now?" Sammy’s voice was gentle, pulling her from the edge of another wave of despair.

Trishelle hummed in response and pushed herself into a sitting position. Sammy entered, and he immediately knelt in front of her, pushing the tangled hair from her face before pulling her into a tight hug.

"Don’t worry," he whispered against her hair. "I’m gonna figure out a way to get you out of here. Okay?"

"Okay," Trishelle responded, her voice barely a whisper. She managed a weak smile, not wanting to worry him more. She was about to ask him how when her stomach let out a loud, embarrassing rumble. "Sorry ’bout that," she said sheepishly. "I haven’t been eating well these days."

"Well, that’s perfect, because I think we need a change of scenery," Sammy said, his voice brightening. "So get up and get ready. I’m taking you out on a date to our favorite spot."

A real smile, small but genuine, touched Trishelle’s lips. She got up and grabbed the cleanest clothes she had, a decent pair of jeans and an oversized jersey. She made her way to the nearest bathroom, not caring one bit about the dirty looks or whispered comments from the other omegas she passed. She just didn’t have the energy to care anymore. She did her business and stood under the hot spray of the shower for a long time, letting the water wash away the grime and the lingering feeling of being touched.

Walking back into her room, she ran a brush through her damp hair and pulled it into a simple ponytail, the ends brushing between her shoulder blades. Her complexion was a bit better; she didn’t look as pale and haunted as before. She took that as a small victory and turned to Sammy. All he did was stretch out his hand, and she gladly took it, his warm, solid grip a lifeline.

Sammy led Trishelle through the back door and into the woods. This area had the least amount of pack activity, which is why it had always been their sanctuary. Trishelle closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, the scent of pine and damp earth filling her lungs. How long had it been since she’d been outside like this, without a purpose or a chore? Their pace was unhurried, and the feel of the late summer sun gently beaming through the canopy of leaves felt warm and good on her skin. It was the first time in a long time that she felt a flicker of peace. This pathway always made them feel like that. Trishelle opened her eyes and watched Sammy’s broad shoulders begin to relax, the tension finally melting away. She squeezed his hand, and he glanced back at her, a small, reassuring smile on his face. That was enough. It let her know that no matter what happened, somehow, they would find a way through this.

A short while later, they came to their spot. It was a large, flat-topped boulder, and in front of it was a small mound of earth with a single, stubborn rose bush planted in the center. They placed the basket on the rock and sat at its base, leaning against the cool stone. Trishelle leaned her head against Sammy’s shoulder.

"Hi, Rosie," she said softly, her voice barely a whisper. "Sorry it’s been so long since we came to visit. How are you? I’m sure you’re not happy with me right now. I hope you can forgive me for not keeping the promise I made to you."

"I’m sure she knows it wasn’t your fault, Rosebud," Sammy said quietly. "You don’t have to apologize to her."

"You’re right, Sammy," Trishelle agreed, a fresh wave of tears stinging her eyes. "She always knew when we were telling the truth anyway." Turning back to the rose bush, she inhaled deeply. This was Rosie’s favorite flower. When she died, they hadn’t been allowed to plant anything on her grave. A lot of people had died that day in a small border skirmish, and the Alpha had just dug a massive hole and buried everyone together, without ceremony or respect. Both Sammy and Trishelle had been enraged, but as pups, there was nothing they could do. So they had chosen this spot, this hidden clearing where Rosie used to bring them when they’d been punished unfairly, a place where she could comfort them away from the pack’s prying eyes.

They sat in comfortable silence for a long time, each lost in their own memories, sharing their thoughts with the only mother they had ever known. After a while, Sammy stretched and pointed his chin toward the basket. Trishelle smiled and nodded, and with that, their picnic began.

They ate while Sammy talked, deliberately keeping the conversation light. He regaled her with stories about his experiences doing undercover work in the human world, but only the funny parts, some of which he greatly embellished. Soon, Trishelle was giggling, a real, honest-to-god sound that surprised them both. He was in the middle of reenacting the time he’d had to dress as a flustered call girl to escape a burly arms dealer who was supposed to be his ’client’ for the evening when she laughed so hard she snorted, covering her mouth in embarrassment. The sound was so normal, so wonderfully them, that it felt like a healing balm on her raw soul.

It was exactly what she’d needed. After spending another hour just being themselves, they both knew it was time to head back to the real world, to the nightmare that was waiting for them. With one last, long glance at their simple memorial for their beloved mother, they started back. As they walked, Sammy’s expression hardened. He made a silent vow to Rosie, a promise that burned in his heart: he would get Trishelle out of this pack, one way or another.