His grip was unyielding, tightening until it was nearly painful, but I didn't pull away. It was as if he was trying to tether me to him, to something solid and real. I flinched slightly at the intensity, but the trembling in his frame stopped me from saying anything.
He was shaking, his body wracked with a mix of relief and pain; his breath hitched against my shoulder. The sweet scent of his pheromones enveloped me, washing over me like a soothing balm, grounding me in a way I hadn't felt in what seemed like a lifetime.
Tears warmed my shoulder before seeping through my shirt, pooling into cold little wet spots that made his grief and relief feel even more visceral.
When he finally pulled back, his hands lingered on my arms, as if afraid to let go.
His tear-streaked face searched mine, his glassy eyes brimming with disbelief. "You're alive," he whispered, his voice raw and cracking under the weight of his emotions.
Despite being the older sibling, Ryder had always seemed younger in spirit.
As the only other omega in the family, aside from Papa, he was the sensitive one—the soft-hearted counterbalance to my rough edges.