The Omega and The Arrogant Alpha (by Kylie) novel Chapter 258

By the third unanswered call, the silence stops feeling like rest and starts feeling like avoidance.

I let the phone vibrate itself tired on the counter while I brush my teeth, foam sliding minty and sharp across my tongue. The bathroom light hums faintly overhead. Too bright. Too honest. The mirror shows me exactly what I expect to see. Dark circles I pretend are just shadows from bad sleep. Hair pulled back too tight, like that might keep everything else contained if I don’t give it room to breathe.

I rinse, spit, wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, and still don’t pick up the phone.

It buzzes again. Then again.

Another message comes in.

Another request.

Another pack asking for mediation, support, presence. The words blur together after a while. Border tension. Dispute escalation. Misunderstanding. Voices raised. Teeth shown. Always the same bones under different skin.

I tell myself I’ll answer after breakfast. I crack an egg into a pan, stare at it as it sizzles, forget to flip it until the edges burn. I tell myself I’ll answer after training. I lace my boots, then untie them again and leave them by the door. I tell myself I’ll answer after I’ve had a chance to breathe.

But breathing turns into distance fast when you’re good at it.

I leave the phone face down and step outside instead. The morning air is cold enough to bite, sharp and clean in my lungs. Frost clings to the edges of the porch. Somewhere in the trees, a bird startles and goes quiet. The cold wakes my wolf, but not in the way people expect. There’s no surge of power. No dominance rolling off me. Just awareness.

Threads pulling at me from different directions.

Boundaries. Promises. Responsibilities I’ve been pretending I can set down without consequence.

I limit my involvement. That’s what I call it, because it sounds intentional. Reasonable. Healthy.

I stop showing up immediately. I stop weighing in on disputes that aren’t already on fire. I let smaller packs handle their own tensions longer than I used to. I stop answering the first message and wait for the second. Sometimes the third. I tell myself it builds independence. That I’m not meant to be the answer to everything just because I can be.

But packs notice when you step back.

They always do.

By midday, word is already spreading. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just a subtle shift that prickles along my spine when I move through shared territory. Conversations pause when I pass, then resume a beat too late. Messages get shorter. Requests come edged with urgency, like they’re afraid I’ll vanish completely if they don’t push hard enough.

No one says it out loud.

They don’t have to.

I kneel anyway. Say his name so he knows I see him. Keep my voice steady as guilt claws up my spine. He blinks at me and tries to smile, like he’s proud I showed up at all.

“I’m here,” I tell him.

It feels like a lie wrapped in good intentions.

By the time tempers cool and apologies are forced into place, the damage is already done. Not just to his body. To the invisible ledger everyone keeps. The one that tallies response times and who mattered enough to come sooner.

Savannah used to come sooner.

Savannah used to catch these things before they bled.