Taken by the Outcast Alpha (Whispers of Fate)

4. Sage

Chapter four

Sage

S ilverclaw. The name echoes in my mind as we lean into another turn, the cool night air whipping past the spare helmet Finn passed to me.

I tighten my grip around Finn's waist, feeling the warmth of his body through his leather jacket. It's a stark contrast to the chill that runs through me as I remember Damien's voice, low and menacing, uttering that name.

I'd thought it was just another of Damien's cryptic references, maybe a nickname for someone he despised. But now, with my arms around a stranger named Finn, I can't shake the feeling that I've stumbled into something bigger than my own troubles.

Have I jumped from the frying pan into the fire?

No. No, I refuse to believe that. Finn is just giving me a ride into town. After I get off this bike, I’ll never have to see him again.

but the thought makes my stomach churn. I'd been so focused on escaping Damien, on finding a moment to breathe, that I hadn't stopped to consider the dangers of trusting a stranger. I know Nox is somewhere in the tree line, or maybe above, following, and that if anything were truly wrong, she’d find a way to let me know—whether by landing on my shoulder or slapping Finn in the face with her wings and clawing at his eyes. Besides, Finn seems genuine enough, and his offer to help me felt sincere, but then again, so did Damien at first.

I study the back of Finn's helmet. There's something about him that feels... different. Not just his kindness or his impressive physique, but something deeper, more primal. It's like an energy humming just beneath the surface, calling to something within me.

Stop it, Sage. You're projecting. Not every man is a threat, but not everyone is a savior either.

I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts. The motorcycle's engine rumbles beneath us, a steady rhythm that grounds me in the present. Whatever connection I think I'm feeling, whatever this Silverclaw business might mean, I need to stay alert. I can't afford to let my guard down again.

As we round another bend, the lights of a small town come into view. Relief washes over me, but it's tinged with apprehension.

Finn drives through town until he pulls into a gravel lot and cuts the engine.

I swing my leg off the bike, removing the helmet and shaking out my hair. The small town's main street stretches before us, most of the storefronts dark and shuttered for the night. My eyes dart from shadow to shadow; old habits die hard. The rumble of motorcycles fills the air, and leather-clad figures mill about. It's like I've stepped into another world, one where I stick out like a sore thumb.

Across the street, a neon 'closed' sign flickers in the window of a mechanic's shop. My heart sinks. How am I supposed to get my car back?

"Let's eat," Finn's deep voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts. "There's nothing we can do about your car tonight."

I turn to look at him, those words echoing in my mind. Nothing we can do. We. Such a simple word, yet it hits me like a punch to the gut. When was the last time someone offered to help me with something so... normal? The last time I was a we , and it didn’t feel like there were obligations hiding behind the word? No strings attached, no hidden agendas, just a straightforward offer of assistance.

For a moment, I let myself imagine what it would be like. Having someone to lean on when things go wrong. Someone to share the burden of everyday problems. Someone who'd stand beside me as I face down the mechanic tomorrow, arguing over outrageous towing fees.

Someone to help me stop Damien's relentless pursuit. The fantasy is so tempting it almost hurts.

But I can't afford to indulge in such daydreams—don’t know why I’d want to in the first place. To protect my parents, I must stay on my own. That's how it has to be. For my safety, for their safety, and for the safety of anyone who might get too close.

Still, as I follow Finn towards the diner's entrance, a tiny spark of warmth settles in my chest. Even if it's just for tonight, even if it doesn't mean anything beyond a shared meal, it's... nice. To not feel alone. To have someone I can count on, just for a little while, who doesn’t share my blood.

I stifle a yawn as we step out of the diner, my belly full and my eyelids heavy. The cool night air hits me, and I blink, suddenly realizing what I should have noticed hours ago. The streets are alive with the rumble of engines and the chatter of leather-clad bikers.

I’d noticed the growl of the bikes earlier, when Finn first stopped in the parking lot outside this hole in the wall diner, but I hadn’t really processed just how many motorcycles there were. Now, looking at them all, I’m stunned. How did I miss this?

"Bike rally," Finn says, as if reading my thoughts. "White Mountain Thunder Run. That's why I'm in town."

My heart sinks. Of course. That's why he was on the road, why he seemed so at ease on his motorcycle. I feel foolish for not connecting the dots earlier.

"We should find a place to stay," Finn continues, his amber eyes scanning the street.

We walk down the main drag, and I feel increasingly uneasy as we pass motel after motel, all sporting glaring "No Vacancy" signs. The pit in my stomach grows with each neon rejection.

"There has to be something," I mutter, more to myself than to Finn.

Just as I'm about to suggest sleeping in my broken-down car, we spot a small motel at the edge of town. Its vacancy sign flickers weakly, a beacon of hope in the night.

We approach the front desk, and the bored-looking clerk barely looks up from his phone. "One room left," he drawls. "Queen bed. Take it or leave it."

I hesitate for a moment, then reach for my wallet. It's not ideal, but I'm too exhausted to keep searching. As I place my card on the counter, I notice Finn tense beside me.

"Wait," he says, his voice low. "Maybe we should keep looking."

I turn to him, confused. "It's late, and everywhere else is full. Unless you have a better idea?"

Finn's jaw clenches, his eyes darting between me and the clerk. “No,” he says finally. “I guess I don’t.” He turns and says through gritted teeth to the clerk, “We’ll take it.”

And I suddenly realize, as that word of solidarity leaves his mouth once again, what the look he gave me was for.

We will be sharing the room.

The room with one bed.