Chain Me Knot

The BrokenVerse Book 2

Charmaine Ross

©2025 by Charmaine Ross

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Line edits: Jen Katemi

Proofreading: Kim Cleary

Proofreading: Sue Philips

Cover design: Charmaine Ross

Contents

Dedication

Trigger Warning

1. Chapter One

2. Chapter Two

3. Chapter Three

4. Chapter Four

5. Chapter Five

6. Chapter Six

7. Chapter Seven

8. Chapter Eight

9. Chapter Nine

10. Chapter Ten

11. Chapter Eleven

12. Chapter Twelve

13. Chapter Thirteen

14. Chapter Fourteen

15. Chapter Fifteen

16. Chapter Sixteen

17. Chapter Seventeen

18. Chapter Eighteen

19. Chapter Nineteen

20. Chapter Twenty

21. Chapter Twenty-One

22. Chapter Twenty-Two

23. Chapter Twenty-Three

24. Chapter Twenty-Four

25. Chapter Twenty-Five

26. Chapter Twenty-Six

27. Chapter Twenty-Seven

28. Chapter Twenty-Eight

29. Chapter Twenty-Nine

30. Chapter Thirty

31. Chapter Thirty-One

32. Chapter Thirty-Two

33. Chapter Thirty-Three

34. Chapter Thirty-Four

35. Chapter Thirty-Five

36. Chapter Thirty-Six

37. Chapter Thirty-Seven

38. Chapter Thirty-Eight

39. Chapter Thirty-Nine

40. Chapter Forty

41. Chapter Forty-One

42. Chapter Forty-Two

43. Chapter Forty-Three

44. Chapter Forty-Four

45. Chapter Forty-Five

46. Chapter Forty-Six

47. Chapter Forty-Seven

48. Chapter Forty-Eight

49. Chapter Forty-Nine

50. Chapter Fifty

51. Chapter Fifty-One

52. Chapter Fifty-Two

53. Chapter Fifty-Three

Dedication

First and foremost, my heartfelt thanks to my incredible editing team - your insight, patience, and dedication have helped shape this story into something far beyond my initial vision. To my beta readers, who caught every inconsistency and pushed me to dig deeper into these characters' hearts - your enthusiasm and honest feedback were invaluable.

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For those who've ever felt chained by fear, pain, or darkness.

For those who've struggled to break free from past wounds that hold too tight.

For those who fear they may never trust again.

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Your bonds to the past don't define you—they reveal your strength to overcome.

Your trust was not shattered—it waits patiently to be rebuilt.

Your story is not destined for chains, but freedom and tenderness.

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You deserve safety that doesn't bind.

You deserve healing that sets you free.

You deserve love that asks nothing but your heart.

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This book is for you.

Trigger Warning

This book contains sensitive content related to trauma, mental health struggles, and themes involving suicide and suicidal ideation that some readers may find distressing or triggering. Please ensure you are in a safe emotional space before reading.

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If you find yourself in a dark place or experiencing overwhelming feelings, remember that you're not alone. Please don't hesitate—reach out to a friend, family member, doctor, or mental health professional. There are people who care deeply for you and want to support you.

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Your life matters.

You matter.

You are deserving of love, support, and understanding. Always and without doubt.

Chapter One

Asher

Iscrub a hand across my stubbled jaw, watching the modernist house through the tactical van's tinted windows. Its glass walls reflect the setting sun, all clean angles and expensive minimalism. This is the kind of place that doubles as rich-alpha big-ball energy. My contact swears there's an omega trapped inside, and after eight years heading omega abuse cases, I know the prettiest packages hide the ugliest truths.

“Your complexion's looking a bit green there, Ash,” Phoenix teases, but the strain in his voice betrays his tension. He runs fingers through his messy blond hair, a nervous tell I've known since we bonded as pack brothers ten years ago. “You're not going to puke in the van again, are you?”

“That was my first time on a raid and you know it,” I growl, but the familiar banter keeps me steady. “And if I remember correctly, you weren't exactly composed that day either, brother.”

It was a first raid for both of us, and I’d been worried sick. Literally. The truth was we hadn’t been fast enough to save the omega who’d been reported as living in that abusive situation. Unfortunately, omegas’ living circumstances weren’t reported unless they were dire, which meant they were bad enough to be noticed and someone had been motivated enough to make a call. Oftentimes that was too late to save the omega. Not for the first time I cursed the legislation that stripped omegas of their autonomy, essentially making them property, as well as the people in society who think ignoring the most vulnerable is okay.

“Security system's top of the line,” Soren interrupts from behind his wall of screens, his neat brown buzz cut gleaming under the blue monitor light. “But whoever installed it left a backdoor. Amateur hour.” He glances up, brown eyes sharp with concern. “Although thermal imaging is concerning.”

Phoenix shifts beside me, his muscled frame coiled tight. “Four heat signatures. Three on the main floor, one below.” His jaw clenches. “Underground.”

“Of course it's underground,” I mutter, stomach turning. “They always hide omegas underground.” In the three decades since the Mortalis Strain began decimating omega births, our society's “protective” measures have become nothing but prettied-up prison sentences. Register them, monitor them, control them—all in the name of preservation. The Haven Institute claimed to cherish and protect omegas throughout the seven-year 'training' that followed their designation. Haven promised to match their charges with loving packs. Thank the gods that place is under investigation after Sylvia Mercer’s corruption was discovered by Pack Blackwood.

But broken omegas still come through the station, and no one is listening. My hands are tied by law, forcing me to return them to their abusers, their ‘rightful’ alphas. Their ‘owners’. The thought of another omega trapped in this cycle of abuse churns the ball of barbed wire in my gut.

“Hey.” Soren squeezes my shoulder, his touch grounding. “We've got this, Ash. We're not letting another one slip through.”

“Yeah, well, eight years of these cases is eight years too many.” I check my tactical vest. Each rescue should feel like a victory, but lately, every omega we pull from these gilded cages leaves another scar on my soul. “They should be treasured, protected, allowed to thrive. Instead...”

“Instead, we've got bastards thinking they can chain up omegas like property,” Phoenix finishes, his usual easy smile nowhere to be seen. “But that's why they've got us. The three most devastatingly handsome and capable alphas in the department.”

“Speak for yourself,” Soren snorts, fingers flying across keyboard. “Some of us rely on brains rather than your caveman approach.”

“Says the man who took down three traffickers with 'caveman' muscles last month,” I remind him, grateful for my pack's ability to lift the heaviness, even momentarily. Soren is a muscular bastard, hefting weights every day as though his life depends on it. The results show in the stretched material over his shoulders and biceps. At over six and a half feet tall, people give him a wide berth, eyeing him as though he’s a threat. They don’t give him time to show his soft center.

“How are we going with those locks?” I ask. If the alphas inside knew we were here, the door’s locking system would engage, they’d move the omega, and we’d lose our chance to save him or her.

“Almost there,” Soren reports, serious again. “Give me two minutes and the doors will be disabled.”

Two minutes until I face another reminder of how far our world has fallen. Phoenix and Soren's presence swells through our pack bond. Together, we've saved dozens. But some days, like today, I fear we're fighting a losing battle against our own fucked-up society.

Soren leans back from the console, reaching for his gear. “We're clear. Security disabled. No alerts triggered.”

Phoenix and I share a look across the van's cramped interior. His dark roast coffee scent sharpens with pre-raid focus, mixing with my whiskey and leather markers in a familiar blend.

I send a message to the raid team, hidden from the house, and hear their affirmations in my ear piece. The night air hits my face as we exit the van, my bond brothers moving in perfect sync. Years of practice make our approach silent despite full tactical gear as we charge to the front door.

Phoenix takes position, fingers curled over the handle. One nod from me and he rips the door quietly open before we surge inside, a coordinated wave of tactical precision. Phoenix's voice booms through the space. Like Soren, Phoenix is tall, muscular and in peak physical condition, with a voice that can resonate through walls. He’s the alpha bark we need to force submission before anyone can think. “Police! On the ground! Hands where we can see them!” His scent floods the area, pure alpha authority. The backup team flows around us, securing exits, checking corners.

Three alphas jerk up from a plush sectional sofa, the leather creaking with their sudden movement. On a massive wall-mounted screen, explosions illuminate their shocked faces as some action hero dives from a burning building. Popcorn arcs through the air, scattering across the hardwood floor like pale confetti. Looks like this pack of assholes was having a lovely time while their omega suffers. I work hard to temper the fire that rages under my skin.

The pristine cream walls mock me as I scan the space. No home with three alphas who have a bonded omega should look this untouched. The leather sectional lacks the natural creases and indents of regular use. The glass coffee table doesn't have a single fingerprint. Even the throw pillows sit with artificial precision. But it's what's missing that makes my skin crawl.

There are no sweet omega undertones in the fabric, no personal items, not even the subtle markers that should linger if an omega lives here. The air is sharp with nothing but alpha dominance.

The oldest, clearly the pack's prime, recovers first. Matthew Carmichael is maybe fifty, sporting expensive casual wear and a Rolex that probably costs more than my yearly salary. His lips pull back in a snarl that shows too-white veneers, silver hair disheveled from lounging.

“What is the meaning of this?” Each word drips with the kind of entitled arrogance that only comes from decades of wealth and power. His scent floods the room, aggressive alpha dominance trying to overwhelm us. But I am a stronger alpha. His attempt slides off me.

“On your knees. Now.” I release my dominance in a controlled wave. The two younger alphas, James and Derek Carmichael, drop, but their prime resists, his silver hair catching the light as he tries to stare me down while he grits his teeth, fighting me.

“You storm into my home, without cause—”

“I said, on your knees.” My growl resonates through the room, hitting that precise frequency that demands submission and his knees crumble beneath him. I ignore the daggers he shoots at me from his eyes as Phoenix moves in, securing their hands as they resort to the usual litany of threats and insults.

“Career suicide—”

“My lawyers will destroy you—”

“You have no idea who you're dealing with—”

“I'm a personal friend of Commissioner Axel Turns. When he hears about this…” The prime snarls.

My growl silences them. I've heard it all before. Each word just confirms my suspicions. They're trying too hard, projecting too much confidence. Guilty alphas always do.

“There’s no sign of a basement entrance anywhere, Asher,” one of the tactical team reports, frustration evident in his voice as he enters the living area.

“That's because there isn't one,” Matthew spits, but I catch the sharp spike in his scent that betrays his lie.

I crouch in front of him, letting him see the predator in my eyes. My voice drops to a dangerous rumble. “My tech expert says there's an underground level. Where's the entrance?”

“Your 'expert' is wrong.” His expensive cologne can't mask the sour notes of fear.

“Soren doesn't make mistakes.” I lean close enough to see his pupils contract. “Last chance. Where is it?”

The prime's growing panic stinks. “I want my lawyer.”

“You'll get your lawyer,” I promise, my voice dropping to a dangerous place. “After you tell me where you're hiding the omega.”

Matthew Carmichael’s lips curl back, showing teeth in a sneer. “You’ll find this omega alongside the unicorns in my garage.”

The other two alphas snigger but one sharp look from me shuts them up.

My team filters back in, their faces telling me everything before they speak. “The house is clear. No hidden doors, no suspicious walls, nothing.”

I keep my expression neutral, years of practice hiding the doubt gnawing at my gut. Soren’s scans are never wrong. So where is this omega? Where are they hiding them?

The prime’s scent takes on a triumphant note. “Now, if you're done embarrassing yourself and the department…”

The soft whir of the central air cutting in drowns out the rest of his taunt. Sweet, floral honey mixed with bitterness so burnt it hits the back of my throat and kicks. The scent is impossibly thin, smoke on the wind, but there. My whole body becomes rigid, every instinct screaming to attention.

Matthew’s pulse jumps, a tell I wouldn't have caught if I weren't already on high alert. He’s noticed my reaction. More importantly, he's afraid of my reaction. The scent fades, dispersed by the air system, but it doesn't matter.

I detect the scent as well as the prime's micro-expression of panic.

That sweet honeysuckle and vanilla hooks behind my sternum and yanks me to follow the invisible trail, calling to parts of me I didn't know existed. Each breath brings a new urgency, my instincts firing in ways they never have before.

“Ash?” Soren's voice is distant despite his proximity. “What's wrong?”

“Do you smell that?” My voice sounds strange to my own ears. Rougher. I turn to my pack, searching their faces. “Either of you?”

Phoenix takes a deep breath, his brow furrowing. “Just the usual alpha bullshit.”

My boots are silent on the pristine floors as I stalk through the house, every muscle coiled tight. Each step increases the urgency thrumming through my blood until my skin is too tight, too hot. My brothers follow, their confusion palpable through our bond.

“Ash, talk to us,” Soren pleads, but I can barely form words. The scent is stronger now, pulling me toward the kitchen. Forcing each foot in a certain direction. Closer. Closer.

My fingers trail along the expensive marble countertops, every nerve ending hypersensitive as I search. The scent grows stronger near the butler’s pantry, and I'm inside before I consciously decide to move. I shove aside a row of glass canisters. They crash to the floor, organic quinoa and designer pasta spilling across imported tiles. The sound barely registers.

“Ash?” Phoenix's voice holds a note of panic.

I'm already emptying the next shelf, expensive spice jars joining the chaos at my feet. “That scent... can't you smell it?”

It's stronger here, definitely stronger. My movements become more frantic with each passing second, that scent driving me to near madness. Another shelf cleared; more artisanal ingredients scattered.

The woodwork is flawless, the hinges concealed, but there's a draft, subtle enough that I wouldn't have noticed if every cell in my body wasn't on high alert. I feel around until my fingertips catch on a faint seam in the woodwork, so slight it’s a masterpiece of craftsmanship that would fool any normal inspection. I'm far from normal right now, my senses hyped up and firing on another level. A hidden catch clicks under my fingers and a section of wall swings inward with well-oiled silence.

“Holy shit,” Soren whispers.

Everything in me locks down as I stare at the stairs plunging into darkness. That scent slams into me in full force. The sweet honeysuckle and vanilla is thick and cloying. Corrupted. Wrongness claws through my senses, forcing bile to my throat because down there, hidden beneath layers of shadow and agony, is an omega.

Not just any omega.

Our mate.

Chapter Two

Emma

Darkness wraps around me like a shroud, familiar and absolute. I've forgotten what natural light looks like, how it feels on skin that's now as gray as the concrete walls surrounding me. The mattress beneath me might as well be part of the floor. Threadbare, stained, reeking of despair, terror, sweat, blood, slick, alpha cum and absolute hopelessness.

I curl into myself, listening to the house above living its life without me. In spite of me. Each muffled sound is a reminder of a world I no longer belong to, if I ever did. My omega status wiped out any choice I might have had in the matter.

Being omega is a biological prison. I’m nothing more than a hole to fuck. A vessel for alpha seed. An animal driven by heat and need. I don't even blame society for thinking it because I am that animal. Begging, writhing, desperate during the four terrible heats I’ve endured down here. No matter how much my mind screamed no, my body said yes please, Alpha. More, Alpha.

I fucking begged for release from the pain of my heat, but not with them. Not that way. Not with alphas who fill me with revulsion and despair. I’d rather die than be filled with their knots. Yet they still fucked me when I was so delirious I didn’t know what I was doing.

Still forced their knots into me.

Still ordered me to present on the dirty, cold concrete like a good little omega, slick running down my thighs thick enough to make me slide across the floor with the force of their thrusts. Just as Hugo and Lars trained me to do.

Such a good little omega. Such a good little fuck toy. My heats are my only value.

That's what omegas are, society's perfect little whores, programmed by biology to submit, to breed, to serve. They dressed it up in pretty words at The Haven Institute—”precious,” “cherished,” “treasured”—until I was forced into the Basement and the truth was revealed. At least there I had Mira and Leah. They were the only people who made living tolerable.

Here I have no one.

Nothing.

Not even hope.

Just the endless cycling of the gilded lies society chooses to believe of us running through my head. We're nothing but walking wombs, sex-crazed beings who need to be controlled and contained. Our bodies betray us, force us to respond to alpha commands, make us wet and willing even when our minds scream in revolt.

Nothing about being omega is a choice.

Half-formed bonds are the cruelest trap. Their bites mark my neck, forcing their twisted emotions—lust, contempt, dominance—to flood me. I feel it all. Their pleasure in my pain, their indifference when my heat fades, their contempt when they starve me. But they never feel my terror, my hatred, or my silent wish for death. They don’t know what it’s like to be broken in body and soul.

They get their fun, their twisted pleasure, while I drown in their emotions without any way to make them understand mine. Just another way to remind me that I'm not a person to them.

I'm a possession.

A starved, broken one.

My stomach cramped its hunger protests days ago. Now it just sits, a hollow void matching the one in my chest. The sink drips its steady rhythm—my clock, my lifeline, my only source of water when they forget I exist.

I suffered through a total of four sporadic heats locked down here in the darkness. The first one, though, I experienced on the auction block in a room stuffed full of alphas and their pheromones. I was bid on and bundled into the trunk of a car. They brought me down here, bitten and part-bonded before I was lucid enough to know what was happening to me.

I’ve suffered three more heats since that one. Three more hellish heats marked by their cruel attention, their disgusting touches.

I move my legs and the chain connecting me to the wall scrapes on the ground. The cuff around my ankle, stained with blood and a wound that never heals, is heavy steel that marks me as owned. As if the bars I’m locked behind aren't enough to keep me. As if the bite marks scarring my neck aren't enough to stop me in my tracks.

The dripping sink reminds me of my parched mouth. I should get up, should drink. Should fight. But…why? My body made the choice for me when it started to shut down. I haven’t had a heat in months. At least, I think it’s been that long. There’s really no way to tell in the endless darkness.

At least no more heats means no more fuck fest.

I can only be thankful for that survival mechanism. My only defense against my situation.

Paradoxically, without my body doing what it should be doing, I’m worthless. Defective. A heatless omega. A slickless omega. Not able to be impregnated if I don’t go into heat. Thank fuck I never conceived. Maybe fate did smile on me in her own sick and twisted way. I can almost feel her arms opening to welcome me into the void. Maybe finally she’s taken pity on me.

I’ll eagerly slip into the great nothingness if she’ll take me.

The thought of death should frighten me, but it doesn't. Nothing really frightens me anymore. Fear requires hope's shadow, and hope died in this basement a long time ago.

As it does in all basements, no matter what form they come in.

I experienced freedom once, for a few precious hours after Mira, Leah, and I escaped Haven. I breathed in fresh air, stood on soft, cold earth. We'd planned our escape for weeks, knowing our first heats were approaching. Hugo and Lars took sick pleasure in describing what awaited us when biology decided we were old enough to reach omega maturity… the auction block, the highest bidders claiming their prizes, our bodies sold to whichever pack could pay the most.

So we memorized the guard rotations, learned which cameras had blind spots, hoarded the few supplies we could. The night we escaped, we ran until our feet bled and even then we didn’t stop but when I heard the baying of the dogs, I knew we had to separate. It would be harder for the guards to track three targets instead of one. So I’d hugged the only sisters I’d had. We split up and I can only pray to whatever God is still listening that somehow they survived.

I have to believe they escaped the fate Haven planned for us even if I didn’t.

My freedom lasted mere hours before the dogs caught my scent and pinned me down with teeth and claws and the violence they’d been taught. Hugo and Lars weren't far behind. They took me back and sold me to the highest bidders on the same night. My forever alphas. My blessed pack.

Only there was no happily ever after. Instead, there was another basement as my new home. As if my life as an omega is meant to be lived underground, in darkness. Forgotten.

Each soft plink of water against the basin is another moment in this eternal darkness. Each drop is another reminder that I'm forgotten. Each drop is another reason to stop fighting, stop hoping, stop being.

The drip of the sink counts out endless seconds.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

I slip back into my fantasy, where I’m walking on my beach. The wind is freezing, whipping my hair into my eyes. The sand is frozen underfoot. The slate gray sky burgeons with sleet too heavy to hold, but it does. Just. The waves that wash over my toes make them numb. I don’t care because I’m the only person on this beach for miles and miles and miles. The cold keeps everyone away. Keeps me alone and safe. I let the frigid air blanket me. Let the freezing waves wash over my body and seep into my bones. In my mind, the water closes over my head, and I’m surrounded by beautiful, muffled silence. My eyelids grow heavy as unrelenting fatigue cuts a path down to my core.

Maybe this time I won’t wake.

Maybe this time, the ocean will sweep me out to sweet oblivion.

Matthew's rage hits me first through our half-bond, a blistering wave of fury that burns cold and hot. A gasp chokes out of me as my eyes flare wide and the beach is forced from my mind. The prime alpha's anger has always been the worst. Calculated, controlled and only promising retribution. My stomach clenches, knowing that whatever's happening above will eventually be taken out on me.

Derek's rage follows, messier and more volatile than Matthew’s. His emotions are broken glass, the sharp edges cutting through our partial bond. Behind his anger lurks familiar contempt, the disgust he never bothers to hide when he looks at me.

Then comes James's cold disdain, clashing against the others' hot rage. His emotions seep into my veins, churning with his brand of vileness. Sick dread slides through me with an oily promise of what’s to come. I press my forehead against my knees, trying to block it all out but it doesn't work.

It never works.

Thumps and angry voices filter down from above, unusual enough to make my heart rattle. The basement's concrete walls usually muffle everything, leaving me in my own silent hell, but these sounds are distinct. Sweat breaks out across my skin despite the basement's perpetual chill. This is new.

New is never good.

My alphas' rage pounds me, but there's something else. They're afraid. My alphas are never afraid, which means whatever's happening must be truly terrible. And they always take those terrible things out on me. My wish to fade away is too late. I should have stopped drinking from the sink weeks ago, should have let dehydration take me before this moment could arrive. Should have…

Silence.

The sudden quiet sends raking chills down my spine. Every hair on my body stands on end. Then I hear the distinct sound of the basement door click open. My heart threatens to burst from my chest as I struggle to sit up on the thin mattress, but my limbs are weak from hunger and fear. I manage to push upright just as heavy footfalls start down the stairs.

One step. Another. Slow, deliberate.

A delicious scent rolls over me. Smoky whiskey and worn leather. It's warmth and protection and... and home. The scent wraps around me, promising safety even as my rational mind screams that safety doesn't exist.

Two more scents follow that first intoxicating wave. Rich black full roast coffee, then spiced sandalwood touched with cold freshness. The combination of all three wash over me, through me, become me. Each scent promises something different. Protection, strength, safety. Lies my body wants to believe even as my mind knows better.

Light floods the basement, harsh and blinding from the single bare bulb. I cry out, throwing an arm over my eyes. After so long in darkness, this weak light is like staring into the sun. Tears stream down my face as my eyes burn and struggle to adjust.

Three low growls echo off the concrete walls, the sound reverberating through my bones. My heart threatens to explode from my chest as I blink desperately, trying to clear my vision. Three massive figures fill the stairwell, blocking any hope of escape., I can’t see their faces properly in the basement shadows, but I don't need to see them to know what they are.

Alphas. Three huge, powerful alphas bigger, stronger and more terrifying than any alpha I’ve had the misfortune to cross. Terror claws up my throat, threatening to choke me. My body trembles so violently I can barely stay upright but it’s better than awaiting my fate lying down. Three new alphas. Three new potential tormentors. Three more sets of hands to hurt me, to use me, to…

My mind shuts down and I start to hyperventilate.

“Omega.” The word rumbles from the largest alpha, and I jerk at the low, urgent tone. The chain around my ankle rattles, metal scraping against raw flesh. A whimper escapes as pain streaks up my leg, the sound pathetically small in the concrete space.

Smoked whiskey turns to burning oak, filling the basement with the acrid stench of violence. His massive hands grip the bars of my cage, muscles bunching under black tactical gear as he rattles the entire structure. “What the fuck is this?”

Gods. Has Matthew sold me to other alphas? Forever? Or just for now? He always threatened me. Told me they’d spent too much money on a defective omega. I didn’t have to be in heat to be fucked. Told me I’d pay for all the money they’d spent when they bought me. I told them it hadn’t been my choice to be sold at all. It took three months to heal after their ‘corrective measures’ and I never said another word when Matthew rambled on about how much of a bad deal I was to them.

I press against the wall, trying to become one with the concrete. The whimper in my throat turns into a terrified keen as the alpha’s rage fills the basement. Is he enraged because of my stench, or what I look like? Did he expect some clean, curvy omega down here? If I had access to a shower, perhaps. Or food. But I’m trapped here and have only been able to rely on alphas who treat me worse than an abused pet.

“Asher,” one of the other alphas warns. The one who smells of fresh, piney sandalwood. “You need to calm down, brother. You're losing control.”

Asher. The big alpha has a name. Names make them more real, more terrifying. Names mean they're people, not just nightmares, and people can be so much crueler than shadows.

“Calm down?” His voice thunders off the cinder blocks. “They put her in a fucking cage, Soren! Like an animal!” Another rattle of the bars makes me flinch so hard my teeth clack together. “Where are the keys? Where?”

A scuffle of movement, then the metallic clink of keys sounds. I know exactly where they are, hanging on the far wall out of my reach. Taunting me with false hope of freedom.

“Got them,” the third alpha says, his coffee-dark scent sharp with tension, but Asher's already snatched them away with a growl that makes my stomach turn to water.

“Brother, you need to get control,” the sandalwood alpha—Soren—tries. “You're terrifying her.”

But Asher is beyond reason, his rage a living thing that fills the space. His scent has turned dangerous, primal. Burning oak and ozone-tainted lightning strikes. This alpha's rage will destroy everything in its path, including me. Including whatever's left of my broken self.

“Please,” I sob, the word breaking on my tongue like glass. “Please don't hurt me. Please, alpha, I'll be good. I'll be so good. I'll do anything you want.” The words tumble out, desperate and meaningless. They've never helped before, but they're the only defense I have.

The key rattles in the lock, metal scraping against metal. The sound might as well be a death knell. The door swings open with a screech of hinges, and my world narrows to pure, animal terror.

Present. I have to present. It’s the only thing I know how to do in the face of this magnitude of alpha aggression. I force myself onto my hands and knees. My arms shake so badly they can barely hold me up. The thin shirt I wear hangs in tatters, exposes too much skin, but modesty died in this basement long ago. Maybe if I show him I’m a willing omega, his rage won't destroy me completely. Maybe if I submit perfectly enough, he'll be quick about it.

But the alpha doesn't mount me. Instead, he sinks to his knees in front of me and... gathers me into his arms? My mind stutters, unable to process this deviation from the violence I expect. Why isn't he taking what he wants? Why are his hands gentle where they cradle me against his chest? This isn't how it works. This isn't what alphas do with omegas hidden in basements.

His touch is gentle, so gentle it hurts more than violence would. Because gentle isn't real. Gentle is a lie. Gentle always, always, turns to pain. He rips off his helmet, and I catch a glimpse of wild features. Dark hair falling over his forehead, olive skin flushed with emotion, stubble shadowing his jaw, but it's his eyes that freeze me in place—dark brown and filled with something I can't comprehend. Something that looks almost like... pain? Anguish? No, that can't be right. Alphas don't feel pain over omegas. We're nothing to them. Nothing but—

“Mate,” he growls, the word vibrating through his chest where he holds me against him.

The word makes no sense. Mate? I'm already claimed, already bound, already broken. There's nothing left to mate. Nothing left to…

His mouth opens and he lunges at my throat. Sharp teeth sink into my flesh, and the world explodes into sensation. His warm venom slides through my blood, merging, becoming one with me. The first wave of his essence hits me like a drug, his satisfaction, his alpha pride at claiming. That I expect. That's normal. But then...

A tsunami of anguished horror crashes over me. Intense self-loathing steals my breath. Acid guilt flows through me, followed swiftly by brutal shame. His emotions are raw, visceral, and make me recoil deep into myself. The weight of hatred crushes me. Bones, muscle and sinew implode.

The black hole of his unending horror winds around me and sucks me down. I must be truly worthless. So disgusting, so broken, that I've made an alpha hate himself for following his instincts.

Chapter Three

Soren

I've never seen Asher lose control. Not in ten years as bond brothers. Not through countless raids, not through the darkest cases, not even when we found that omega adolescent last summer on the cusp of maturity being cornered in an alley by a pack of alphas desperate to claim an omega for their pack. Our prime alpha is our cornerstone. Steady, ethical, the one who keeps us anchored when cases threaten to break us, but the moment that cell door swung open, something shattered in him.

His scent turned savage. The sound he made when he gathered the omega into his arms wasn't human. Neither was the way his teeth found her neck as he bonded with her outside her heat because he could. Phoenix and I were frozen in horror at what we witnessed. The moment Asher snapped and his control broke is seared in my psyche. This... this is everything Asher stands against.

Everything he's fought to prevent.

Everything that's given him the nightmares I've talked him through for the past decade.

Forced claiming.

Non-consensual bonding.

The very crimes he's dedicated his life to prosecuting. And now he's become what he hates most.

But the omega... Gods, the omega. Not just any omega, but ours.

Ours.

Our fated scent-matched omega. The omega who will complete our pack in a way no other can. The chance of finding her was miniscule and now he’s force-bonded her with the potential to ruin anything we might have had with her before it had a chance to begin.

His mistake is monumental. For him. For us. For her.

The sight of her pitiful condition makes me physically ill. She's barely more than bones draped in filthy rags, her skin ghost-white where it isn't mottled with grime and bruises. The chain around her ankle has rubbed the flesh raw, an angry infection creeping up her leg. Her blonde hair hangs in matted, filthy clumps, and she's so thin I can count every rib through what's left of her shirt.

How can anyone treat a human being like this?

I catalogue her injuries even as my instincts scream to protect. Even as I feel Asher's horror and self-loathing crash through our pack bond with enough force to make me stagger. Severe malnutrition. Dehydration. Multiple infection sites. Possible sepsis from the ankle wound. And those are just the physical injuries. The psychological trauma...

She'd scrambled into presentation position when Asher opened the cell, her movements speaking of long practice and desperate fear. The acrid scent of her fear still clogs my nostrils. Even now, unconscious in his arms, her face shows no peace.

What have they done to her?

What have we done to her?

Because that claiming bite—as wrong as it is, as much as it goes against everything we believe—has just made her our pack omega.

Asher will never forgive himself.

And our omega might never recover from his rash action.

A sound escapes Asher that breaks something inside me. Part whimper, part growl, pure anguish. He clutches our unconscious omega to his chest, rocking back and forth like he can somehow protect her from what he's just done. Self-loathing resonates through our bond, blackening the air with its thickness.

Phoenix collapses beside them. His hand trembles as he reaches for her, hovering over her like he's afraid she'll shatter at his touch. My knees hit the concrete floor moments after his.

Asher lifts his head, and the hollow look in his eyes will haunt me forever. “I couldn't...” his voice cracks. “I couldn't help it. The moment I scented her...” He drops his gaze to her unconscious form. “She's ours. She was always meant to be ours.”

She’s our scent-match, and because of that we can bond her outside of her heat, where otherwise a bond can only take place between an alpha and omega during their heat. Then I see the other bond marks marring her shoulders. Cruel, half-formed claiming bites that can mean only one thing.

She’s only partially bonded.

“Holy mother of gods. Those claiming bites,” I wheeze.

A half-bond is the ultimate form of torture. All the violation with none of the responsibility. This is calculated evil. These monsters would have deliberately created an uneven bond to maximize her suffering. To ensure she'd feel every ounce of their cruelty while remaining blind to her pain. It would have been done to her during the delirium of her heat without her consent. Outside a scent-match, it’s the only way to bond an omega.

“This is inhuman. How could they do this to such a precious creature?” Phoenix chokes out.

“She's not going back to them,” Asher growls, the sound vibrating through the concrete walls. “They'll never touch her again. Never. I'll kill them before I hand her over.”

I've never seen him this close to feral, not in all our years together. I can’t imagine the psychological torment she’s lived through. Rage builds in my chest. Those alphas had this precious omega, and they treated her like this? Chained her like an animal? I start cataloguing charges—abuse, neglect, illegal imprisonment—the alpha in me hollowing out because, as bad as they are, those charges won’t stick because she’s an omega. Not with the current laws.

The alphas upstairs in cuffs, Pack Carmichael, are officially her pack. They can do whatever the fuck they want to her. It’s legal and fucking bullshit.

But now, so is Asher.

And she’s our scent-match, which trumps their bond.

It’s fucked up, but because he lost his shit and bonded her, it’s quite possibly the only legal thing on our side.

“I'll bury them.” Asher's eyes have gone dark, deadly. His finger traces a bruise on her cheek with heartbreaking gentleness that contrasts with his tone. “They’ll pay for every mark on her skin. For everything they’ve done to her. I’ll make sure of it.”

All of us will. I have a new calling and its name is vengeance.

“We need to get her to a hospital. But first...” Phoenix’s eyes fix on the chain around her ankle.

“I’ve got it, brother.” I find the smaller key on the ring Asher ripped from the wall. My stomach lurches as I follow the line of her leg to the thick metal cuff around her ankle. Angry red streaks climb up her calf from where the metal has eaten into her flesh.

The cuff speaks of a whole other level of cruelty, as though being locked in a basement behind thick iron bars wasn’t enough to contain her. This was meant to fuck with her mind, and I have to wonder just how damaged she is, inside and out.

“They’re not going to be buried, brother. The pieces of their bodies left after we’ve shredded them with our bare hands won’t be big enough for any grave.” This is my solemn vow.

I take several deep breaths before I can steady my hands enough to work the key into the lock. I ease the cuff off her skin as gently as I can and throw it into the farthest moldy corner of the dank cell.

Phoenix's voice shakes as he radios for medical support. “We need an ambulance. It’s urgent. We’ve found the omega and…there’s multiple trauma, severe infection, possible sepsis.”

The tremor in his voice echoes what we're all feeling. Rage, helplessness, and a burning need for justice we might not be able to deliver because the same laws we are meant to enforce are the same laws working against us.

The stairs creak under our combined weight as we emerge from that pit of hell. My eyes burn adjusting to the bright kitchen lights after the basement's darkness. Even my gear is heavier, like it's absorbed the damp misery from below. The stench follows us up, the mold, infection, human suffering a stark contrast to the wealth above.

Who keeps this much food on hand when they’re torturing someone below it? The thought hits me as I take in the obscene display of abundance. Fresh fruit overflowing from ceramic bowls. Half-eaten pizzas left in boxes stacked on the counter. Bottles of soda and wine, top-of-the-line appliances gleaming under recessed lighting. Through the glass-front refrigerator, I glimpse shelf after shelf of gourmet meals—so much plenty just a floor above someone’s suffering.

I don’t contain the growl that rattles from me.

They had all this, and they fucking starved her.

Defiled her.

Tortured her.

Asher cradles our omega, her head lolling against his shoulder. The overhead lights are cruel, highlighting every shadow of abuse on her body. Each pronounced rib, every bruise, the cadaver gray pallor of her skin. It hits me how close to complete physical failure she is.

In the living room, our squad has the three alphas face-down, surrounded. Matthew Carmichael starts thrashing when he sees us emerge with her. The entitled rage in his expression tells me all I need to know.

“Give it back. That's theft!” he shouts, trying to push himself up despite the officer's knee in his back. “You can't take my property! I'll have your badges for this!”

The word 'property' rips another growl from me. Phoenix's reaction is more direct. He takes a step toward the restrained alpha. “Property?” His voice drops to something dangerous. “You kept her chained in a basement. Starved her. And you dare—”

“Phoenix.” I grab his arm, feeling the tremors of rage running through him. Not that I blame him. Every instinct I possess screams to let him go, to watch these monsters learn exactly how it feels to be treated like property.

“Don’t give them a reason to take her away from us.” He vibrates under my touch, but at least he stops in his tracks.

Asher doesn't move, doesn't speak, but his stillness is more terrifying than any rage. Our unconscious omega looks impossibly small in his arms. A muscle in his jaw works as he stares down at her captors, and I recognize that look. It is one that would have me pissing my pants if I weren’t his bond brother.

“She's mine by law,” their prime spits, either too stupid or too arrogant to recognize the danger he's in. “My omega. My property. And when I get out…”

The temperature in the room drops. Asher's voice, when it comes, is barely above a whisper. “When you get out?” Matthew finally looks at Asher’s face, and whatever he sees makes the man flinch. “Bold of you to assume I won’t go out of my way to bury you under enough charges to rot away in a prison cell for the rest of your life.”

“I can treat my property however I see fit and if you don’t hand it back over to us…”

It. Our mate isn’t even a human being to this piece of shit. My fingers tense around the handle of my gun, itching to put a bullet through Pack Carmichaels’ brains. I restrain myself, because if we go down, our omega will have no one on her side. Again.

Asher's growl fills the room, silencing everyone. “Get them out of my sight,” he orders, voice deadly but quiet. “Full restraints. Separate cars. Separate holding cells.”

The prime alpha's face purples. “It's mine! My omega! You—”

“One more word,” Asher says, “and I'll add resisting arrest to your long list of charges.” His arms tighten around our unconscious omega, and I catch the slight tremor in them. He's barely holding onto control.

“Let’s get her out of here, brother,” I say.

His eyes flick to mine and thank fuck reason returns in his stark expression. He turns his back on the pack of abusive assholes, protecting her with his body, and strides out of the house of horrors and into the night as though she's made of glass. She hasn't stirred once, hasn't made a sound. The only sign of life is the shallow rise and fall of her chest and her open eyes that stare into nothing. She’s awake, but not present.

The paramedics are waiting, gurney ready, but Asher hesitates before laying her down. It’s only her pressing medical needs that allow him to place her into their care. The moment she leaves his arms, she looks even smaller, more fragile. The paramedics snap into action as they load her inside the ambulance. They insert an IV into her thin arm, measure her vital signs and use medical terminology that my training translates into increasingly dire assessments. When we try to follow her in, a paramedic blocks our path with an apologetic but firm hand.

“There's no room. We need space to work.”

It’s only the need to make sure she’s taken care of properly that allows me to stand back as they close the doors.

“Van. Now,” Asher snaps.

He doesn’t have to tell us twice. We scramble to our van, Phoenix already in the driver's seat, engine running. The drive through the city is a blur of red lights and near-misses as we follow the ambulance. None of us speak. What is there to say? We've just found our omega, our scent-match, the missing piece we never knew we were looking for, and we found her chained in a basement, half-dead, only to watch our prime lose control and claim her without consent.

Chapter Four

Emma

Ijerk awake, heart hammering against my ribs. Something's wrong. The perpetual darkness that I normally wake to... is not dark. Light filters through my eyelids, foreign and frightening. I force my eyes open, then slam them shut against the assault of light, color, movement.

Slowly, carefully, I try again. I see a window through my hazy vision. An actual window. But that… that’s impossible. There are no windows in my basement and yet trees sway outside the glass in a breeze I can't feel, their leaves a green so vibrant it hurts to look at. Cars glide past on a street below, the sun glinting off metal and glass. People—actual people—walk along a sidewalk, going about their lives as if everything is normal. As if the world isn’t just darkness and concrete and chains.

And above it all, the sun hangs in a blue sky. My forgotten friend. My eyes water as I drink in its reality. I haven't seen the sun in... how long? The sight is so surreal, so impossible, that hysteria bubbles up in my chest. This can't be real. This has to be a dream, or maybe I'm finally, blessedly dead.

Hope flutters in my chest, a dangerous sensation that makes me want to sob.

Maybe my prayers were finally answered. But then my alphas’ rage crashes through the travesty of a half-bond, freezing whatever warmth the sun might give me. Their emotions slash through me like well-worn knives, reminding me that I'm not that lucky.

Surely death wouldn't include their toxic presence.

But there's something else alongside their toxic-waste emotions. Another presence in my mind, unfamiliar yet somehow... right. It floods me with self-hatred so deep it takes my breath, despair that matches my own, self-loathing that’s oddly protective. Where my other bonds hold only darkness, this one carries light. Painful light, but light nonetheless.

My hand flies to my neck, finding thick bandages where teeth tore into my flesh. The memory hits me of the massive alpha with gentle hands and anguished eyes. The way he gathered me close instead of taking what he wanted when I’d offered my singular worth. Mate, he'd said. But that's impossible. I'm already claimed. Already bound. And I wasn’t in heat.

I look down at myself. Clean white sheets surround me. Antiseptic instead of mold stings my nostrils. A hospital gown covers skin that's been washed so clean I barely recognize my own arms. An IV drips clear fluid into my vein, a pulse monitor on my finger.

I'm in a hospital room. With windows and sunlight and machines that beep steady rhythms. My chest constricts as panic sets in. This isn't possible. This isn't allowed. I shouldn't be here, getting this sort of treatment. They'll come for me, and they’ll make me pay. They always come for me. Always make me pay.

The sunlight is suddenly a spotlight, exposing me, marking me for punishment because good things don't happen. I don't get windows or sunlight or clean sheets. I get darkness and pain and half-formed bonds that let my alphas torture me from the inside out. And now there's a new bond, a new alpha, a new way to be broken. A new alpha to find more depths of hell to put me in my place. To brand me. Own me. Make me do more unspeakable things because he has that power.

My heart rate spikes as I stare at the window. At the freedom it promises beyond. I’m alone in this room. There’s nothing but glass between me and the outside world. Between me and escape. I might never get another chance like this. No chains, no locked doors, no alphas watching my every move.

I force myself to sit up, muscles screaming in protest. My arms shake with the effort of supporting my own weight and black spots dance across my eyes. The simple act of sitting upright leaves me dizzy and gasping. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters except getting to that window.

The sheets slip away as I swing my legs over the side of the bed. A thick bandage wraps around my ankle where the cuff used to be, but there's no metal biting into my flesh any more. No chain rattling with every movement. Nothing to bind me down.

I rip the IV from my arm and toss the needle aside, watching with detached fascination as blood drips from the wound. I feel nothing. The heart rate monitor comes next, its steady beeping cutting off in a shrill alarm that makes me flinch. The sound pierces my skull, sets my teeth on edge. I have to move before someone comes.

Will I be charged if I steal myself? Can that actually happen? Perhaps not, because omegas aren’t people and property can’t steal itself.

My feet touch the floor, and my knees buckle. I catch myself on the bed rail, fingers white-knuckled as I refuse to fall. My legs are made of water, threatening to collapse with each shuffling step a battle against gravity. It takes forever to cross the room and I struggle to retain my balance. Smears of blood on the floor mark my painfully slow progress but I make it. My hands shake as they touch the window frame, searching for the latch, for any way to open it. The glass is cool under my palms, the world beyond so close I could cry.

There’s nothing. No latch, no handle, no way out.

I bang my palms on the glass. “No!” My voice is hoarse. Unused.

My fingers scrabble against unyielding glass, desperation making my movements frantic. There must be a way. Has to be something. I can't go back to the darkness. I can't let them chain me again. I can't…

The door opens behind me.

“I need help in here! She's pulled out her IV!” A male voice shouts, raw with panic. His voice cracks with something that sounds like genuine fear. Not anger. Not cruelty. Just... fear. For me?

I sob as arms close around my waist, lifting me off my feet. My body turns rigid, waiting for the pain, the punishment, the inevitable reminder of my place. Instead, I’m cradled against a warm, firm chest.

His scent hits next. Masculine. Alpha. Prime alpha that makes Matthew’s scent a draft in the wind in comparison. This scent is thick. Filled with power. Smoked whiskey and worn leather wrap around me, and something inside me... shifts. The scent is nothing like the toxic markers I’m used to. This is safety and warmth and home, promising protection even as my mind screams not to trust it. It seeps into my bones, makes my muscles slacken against my will. I’m wrapped in warmth after an eternity of cold. I’m coming in from a raging storm.

“It’s okay, omega. You’re safe, I promise,” his deep voice whispers in my soul.

I tilt my head back, needing to see the face that belongs to this scent. Dark hair falls across his forehead, mussed and spiked in all directions. His olive skin is shadowed with stubble that hasn't seen a razor in days, and there are dark circles under his eyes that speak of sleepless nights. A muscle ticks in his strong jaw. His name drifts to me, remembered on the wings of a horrified tone. Asher.

The alpha who claimed me.

Asher peers down at me, the endless deep brown filled with something I can't name. Something that looks like pain and guilt. Like he's the one who's been hurt.

He's also beautiful. Strong jaw, full lips, the kind of face that belongs on billboards. But it's the exhaustion etched into his features, the worry lines around his eyes, the way he holds me so tenderly, as though I might shatter if he grips too tight, that makes me want to hide from the raw emotion on display.

I flinch at the movement at the door and press back against the alpha holding me. Two more men burst in, one with neat brown hair cut military-short, the other with disheveled blond waves. Both wear rumpled black uniforms like they've slept in them; both stop short when they see me. I recognize them too. These are the other alphas who came to me in the basement.

“Gods, she's out of bed!” The blond one's voice cracks with what sounds like shock. His blue eyes widen, darting from me to the bloody trail I've left across the floor. “Ash, she's bleeding.” His hands hover in the air like he wants to reach for me but is afraid I'll break.

Ash. That must be short for Asher.

“I know she’s bleeding,” Asher says, his voice harsh as his beautiful full lips twist.

“Nurse!” The blond sticks his head out the door, bellowing down the hall with enough force to make me cringe. My heart flips in my chest like it’s a hammer pounding hot metal into shape. I’m about to lose my shit with the sudden noise. The attention. Their scents and just…them.

“We need a nurse in here now!” When the blond turns back, his face is twisted with apology when he takes in my state. “Didn't mean to shout, Omega. Just... you're hurt and...”

“Tone it down, Phoenix. She’s jumpy enough as it is,” Buzz-cut rasps. His voice is gentle. Solid. As though I could lean up against him in a storm and I’d be safe. I remember his name too. Soren.

The blond, Phoenix, gouges his fingers through his hair as he looks at me. “I’m so sorry.”

Why is he apologizing?

Their scents flow over me, dark roast and spiced wood and my muscles loosen from the death grip on my bones. The combination should be overwhelming, terrifying, but these scents... the scents wrap around me like Asher’s, promising all the things I thought I wanted but were beaten out of me.

Dangerous.

So, so dangerous because the promise makes no sense.

“How did she make it to the window?” Soren asks, his voice tight. He takes a careful step forward, hands slightly raised like he's approaching a wounded animal. Which, I suppose, I am. “She shouldn't even be awake yet. The doctor said...” He trails off, swallowing hard as he looks at the blood dripping down my arm.

“Determination, brother,” Asher says, his arms tightening fractionally around me. Not restraining, but... supporting? “Pure determination.” There's something in his voice that sounds almost like pride, but that can't be right.

Phoenix moves closer, completing their circle around me. But it doesn't feel like being trapped. Doesn't feel like being cornered. It’s like... shelter? Protection? My mind can't process this reversal of everything I know about alphas and their behavior.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Phoenix says softly, his blue eyes full of gentleness that makes me think I’ve lost my grip on sanity. “Let us help you back to bed before you do harm to yourself. We can’t have that. Not when everyone has worked so hard to save you. The nurses here would hand my ass to me on a silver platter. They are that scary.”

An almost-laugh bubbles up in my chest. The sensation is so foreign, so forgotten, that it dies before it reaches my throat. When was the last time anyone tried to make me laugh? When was the last time anyone spoke to me like I was... human?

My thoughts scatter like startled birds. I don't know what to feel, what to think.

“What's your name, honey?” Soren asks.

I freeze. My name? It's been so long since anyone called me anything but 'omega' or ‘whore’ or ‘slut’ or... other things, bad things I try not to remember. My name is distant, belonging to someone else. Someone who existed before the basement, before the darkness, before I learned what being omega really means.

The girl who had that name died a long time ago. She died the day her parents died. Just after her omega designation sentenced her to this life. The day those alphas put that chain around her ankle. I'm not her anymore. I'm nothing but the ghost of that girl, and ghosts don't need names.

I shake my head. Speaking is dangerous. Everything is dangerous. Panic claws up my throat. Too many alphas.

Too close.

Too much.

I twist from the alpha who holds me, desperate to get away. I slap my palm on his chest, heaving out of his arms, surprised when he lets me go. One thing I’ve learned about alphas is that they're hyper-focused, unmovable, and if they don’t want to let their prey go, they do not. My legs give out the moment my feet touch the floor, and I sprawl at the massive alpha’s feet.

The alpha looming so tall reaches for me. I try to scramble away but all I can do is flounder on the floor, coating myself in blood, tears and snot. I hear a terrible sound. A wounded sound. Some animal is being tortured nearby, I’m sure of it, and then I realize the sound comes from me.

Asher crashes to his knees in front of me, but all I see are hands reaching for me. A scream tears from my throat, and I throw my arms over my head. My bladder releases, warm liquid spreading beneath me on the cold tile, but I'm beyond shame. Beyond everything.

Voices shout around me. Running footsteps. The squeak of rubber soles on tile. Someone calling for help, but I'm already retreating, falling back into the safe place in my mind where no one can touch me.

I’m back at my cold, freezing beach. Gray waves crash against dark rocks. Wind whips my hair. I shiver, but it’s better than hands on my body taking what I don’t want to give.

Taking, taking, taking.

Here, I'm alone. Here, I'm safe. Here, nothing can hurt me. I rock back and forth on my frozen shore, letting the sound of waves drown out everything.

Let them do what they want to my body. They can't touch me here.

They can't touch me here.

They can't touch me here...

Chapter Five

Phoenix

“Asher, get back!” I grab my prime's shoulders, hauling him away from our terrified omega as medical staff flood the room. His muscles are iron under my hands, every fiber of him straining toward the broken figure rocking on the floor with her thin arms over her head.

The heap of skin and bones under that hospital gown can’t possibly be a full-grown omega. She’s huddled in a ball, eyes open and staring into space the same way she did when we discovered her in that basement. Awake, but not present. Hiding in the confines of her mind.

The screams she made before she mentally disappeared echo in my head.

In my bones.

I've heard a lot of sounds in my years on the force, but nothing like that. Nothing that raw, that broken. Nothing that spoke so clearly of absolute terror.

“Let me go!” Asher roars, fighting against my grip. Soren grabs his other arm as our prime tries to surge forward again. It takes both of us to hold him back, and even then, it's like trying to restrain a freight train.

“Pull yourself the fuck together, Ash,” I yell, hauling him away. His instincts are working against him. Against us. Everything inside him will be making him want to protect our omega and the best way to do that is let the medical staff give her the attention she needs.

His eyes have turned feral, pupils blown wide with rage. Sweat darkens his hairline as he struggles against us, and the emotions bombing our pack bond nearly bring me to my knees. Guilt and fury and helplessness crash together in waves that threaten to drown us all.

“I have to…” His voice breaks with a note that’s hard to hear.

“You have to let the nurses help her,” Soren grunts, barely maintaining his grip. “Please, brother. She needs their help.”

Some semblance of sanity returns to his face. He sags in our grip and we haul him away from the tight huddle around our omega. She’s so still. So unresponsive despite whatever they’re doing to her.

Pale.

Lifeless.

Broken.

She blinks every so often, but that’s the only response she gives to anything they do to her. Asher vibrates in my hands as he fights his instinct, fights us, fights the despair over his actions. His biceps push the limit of his shirt, the material straining over his shoulders as he wars with himself. A nurse moves after laying our mate on the bed and I catch a glimpse of her face.

Pale. Too pale.

Mouth slack.

Eyes the color of a summer sky are open but vacant. So fucking vacant. It takes all my concentration not to become swept away in Asher’s spiral.

The medical team moves around our omega's frozen form. Dr. Chen carefully inserts a new IV while another checks her vitals. They speak in soft, measured tones, treating her like the wounded person she is.

“Severe anxiety response... catatonic state... previous trauma...” Their clinical observations feel like accusations. Each word drives another spike of agony through our pack bond as Asher watches them work.

“I’m starting a low-dose sedation,” the doctor announces, injecting something into her IV line. “We need to reduce shock.”

Asher makes a sound I've never heard from him before, part growl, part pure anguish. His knees give out. Soren and I guide him to the floor. “I did this. Claimed her without consent, and now...” His hands shake as he runs them through his hair. “What have I done? What have I done to her?”

The despair pouring through our bond makes it hard to breathe. He sees himself as no better than the monsters we hunt. He hurt her, but this isn’t just the result of his bite. Her trauma has taken systematic years of abuse to form but he bonded her, and she’ll feel everything he does. We have to calm him down.

“Let's get him out of here,” I say to Soren.

We drag his ass out of the room and I slam him against the wall in the corridor outside. He slumps against the wall, chest heaving, bond burning as he beats himself up.

“Ash.” I grab his shoulders, forcing him to look at me. “You need to get control of yourself. If we can feel you through the pack bond, she will too.”

“Pull yourself together, brother. You're our prime. Act like it. Your emotional meltdown is flooding through to her, and she can't handle it right now,” Soren speaks in a biting tone.

I shake Asher. “I know you're drowning in guilt. But she's drowning in your guilt too. You can’t take that bite back. Man the fuck up and deal with the fallout.”

Asher's eyes finally focus on us, some of the raw anguish replaced by understanding. And shame.

“You made a mistake. A fucking massive one. But having a breakdown isn't going to help her. She needs you to be stronger than this. We all do,” Soren says.

I hammer the nail in our prime’s coffin hard enough I hope it snaps him right the fuck back into the present. “Our scent match is in there fighting for her life. And your emotions are probably pushing her further into shock. Get it together, Ash. Be the alpha she needs right now, not one who is wallowing in self-pity.”

The words are harsh, but we need him focused. Need him functioning. Because this situation is fucked enough without our prime falling apart at the seams.

Finally, Asher's eyes clear, that haunted look replaced by something harder, more focused. He wrestles his emotions under control, forcing down the guilt and self-loathing. It's not gone, but it's contained. Manageable. Just in time, because Dr. Chen emerges from the omega's room.

Asher straightens, pushing away from the wall. “Doc, how is she?”

The prime alpha we know is back online, and thank fuck for that, because if there's one thing our broken omega doesn't need, it's a broken alpha trying to protect her.

Dr. Chen adjusts his glasses, eyes flicking between us. “I won’t lie. The next twenty-four hours will be critical. Her body’s under enormous strain from malnutrition, infection, and now she’s battling competing bonds from two packs.”

Asher’s jaw tightens; the smolder of our bond flares. I press a hand to his bicep, sending a silent warning to stay steady.

“Do you think she’s going to…” Make it. My throat tightens; I can't finish.

Dr. Chen’s gaze is heavy. “Her BMI is dangerously low. She’s malnourished. Dehydrated. She has multiple infected wounds, especially around her ankle, and needs aggressive antibiotics. There is evidence of repeated trauma, old and new. But the worst is systemic.” He clears his throat, shifting on the linoleum floor. “Her omega biology has also essentially shut down. It’s a survival response we sometimes see with extreme trauma. Her hormone levels are near nonexistent. Blood work shows she hasn’t cycled into heat for months, maybe even a year.”

I share a horrified look with Asher and Soren. She can’t be more than mid-twenties, an omega in her prime. Omegas normally have four heats a year.

“Will she recover?” Asher chokes out.

Dr. Chen’s voice falters. “It’s unclear at this stage. There are many factors to consider. Her body has rewired itself to block heat cycles. And now, with an additional claiming bite…”

A guttural sound escapes Asher. I grip his shoulder, grounding him and myself.

“On one hand, the new bond complicates everything. After so long with three partial connections testing her limits, a fourth only piles on the pressure she’s already struggling to manage.”

“What are you saying?” My chest tightens, breath shallow.

“Her omega functions may never normalize. She might never go into heat or form proper bonds.” The weight presses down.

Asher’s eyes blaze with fierce need. “How do we fix this? Can we fix this?”

Dr. Chen glances down the corridor, voice lowered. “Legally, I shouldn’t say. But there’s a chance and I owe it to that omega in there to give her every chance. You’re her scent-matches. That changes things biologically.”

Soren’s brow furrows. “What does that mean?”

“Instead of taking from her system, it may act the opposite way and help her.”

“What do you mean?” I ask. Please let this be the Hail Mary I’ve begged for all night long.

Dr. Chen removes his glasses, face grave. “Those alphas only created partial bonds. Control without connection. There’s not a lot of research, but you’re her true scent-matches; a full bond might override theirs.”

“Might?” I press.

“If she’d been fully bonded to her pack, this would not be possible.” His lips tighten, giving me an inkling of what he thinks of Pack Carmichael. “Their cruelty left a window. The biological drive toward true scent-matches is powerful. If she chooses to complete that bond with you...” He casts a harsh gaze at all of us, as if daring us to do what he suggests. “It could break their hold and her system would normalize. In theory. Bonds formed by choice and scent compatibility are far stronger than any forced connection.”

Hope hangs fragile between us.

“This isn’t simple. An omega who’s suffered this trauma may never trust again; never bond fully. You need to respect the depth of her pain,” Dr. Chen warns.

The hum from the fluorescent lights above us fill the silence.

We’ve seen the chains. The basement. What they did to her.

And now…

We’re part of the nightmare.

Heavy footsteps thunder down the corridor, and my heart stops when I see who's approaching. Matthew and his pack storm toward us, surrounded by officers I recognize from the precinct. My hands curl into fists. I’d be happy to grind their smarmy faces into blood and bone and even that wouldn’t be payment enough for what they’ve done.

“How the fuck are they already out?” Soren says, voicing my thoughts.

“Where is she?” Matthew snarls, trying to shoulder past the police escort when he sees us. His expensive clothes are rumpled, but he still carries an air of entitled arrogance. “Where's my omega?”

The word 'my' triggers something in Asher. He lunges forward with a growl that makes the fluorescent lights flicker. “She’s not yours, you fucker.”

Soren and I barely catch him in time, muscles straining as we hold him back. The rage pouring through our bond is nuclear. Asher wants blood. I’ll happily draw it out of their bodies for him.

“Emma belongs to us,” Matthew continues, either too stupid or too arrogant to recognize the death in our eyes. “You have no right to keep her here. We own her. The contracts are clear—”

“Emma?” I wheeze, sharing a glance with Asher and Soren.

That’s her name. Our omega. Our mate. Her name is Emma.

“That's right,” Matthew sneers, clearly mistaking our stillness for submission. Stupid fuck. “And you're interfering with legal property. We paid good money for that female. I demand you hand her over.”

“For what?” I snarl, my control slipping as images of Emma's bruised body flash through my mind. “For the right to torture her? To starve her? To chain her like an animal again?”

“I have the law on my side.” Spittle flies as Matthew speaks.

“The law?” Asher's muscles coil under my grip, ready to explode. “Like anything is legal about the way you took such good care of her in that basement?”

“She’s our property to do with as we wish,” Matthew says.

A growl comes from deep within Asher’s chest. “You males are fucking degenerates.”

“Degenerates with the law on our side.” James speaks up for the first time. I don’t think he realizes the insult he agreed with.

“Despite the law or legal ownership, there’s no way I’d clear Emma to be discharged at this stage. I’m legally obligated to place her under a medical hold to ensure she remains here for close monitoring and treatment until she’s stable. In this instance, the law is on my side,” Dr. Chen says.

Matthew's eyes narrow as he looks between us, finally seeming to register the lethal intent radiating from all three of us. “I don’t give a fuck who you are or what jobs you do. This isn't over.”

“No,” Asher agrees, his tone laced with menace. Every syllable carries a threat of retribution. “It isn’t. But if you ever come near Emma again, it will be. Permanently.”

“Is that a threat, officer?” Matthew says.

“That’s a promise,” Asher growls. “Now, fucking leave before I throw you out myself.”

“Oh, we’ll leave all right. You can be stuck with the medical bill before we reclaim her. She’s already cost us enough.” Matthew’s features twist with smugness. Did I miss something of vital importance? “Don’t forget, the commissioner is a personal friend of mine. When I come to claim my omega, I’ll be taking it along with your jobs.”

The threat hangs in the air as Pack Carmichael shoulder their way past the officers surrounding them. I watch them stalk down the corridor, all old money and entitlement and I know an alpha like that doesn't make threats lightly.

The moment Pack Carmichael disappears around the corner, a heavy silence settles over us, thick enough to choke on. I glance at Asher, his jaw clenched so tight a muscle jumps visibly beneath his stubble. A wave of foreboding twists my stomach, cold fingers of dread snaking down my spine.

“That’s the second time they’ve mentioned the commissioner,” I say.

Asher gives a tight nod, eyes fixed on the empty corridor. “I heard him.”

We’ve been quietly investigating Axel Turns, looking for hard evidence linking him directly to the omega auctions. So far, we've come up empty. There's plenty of smoke, subtle connections and suspicious coincidences, but nothing solid enough to hold up in court. With someone as powerful as Axel, we have to be absolutely certain before making a move.

“If Pack Carmichael are in bed with the commissioner, Emma could be in far more danger than we expected,” Soren says.

I swallow down the anxious knot sitting heavily in my throat. “Then we can't underestimate their threat or the lengths to which they'll go. If they're willing to openly warn us like this, they're confident they've got us cornered.”

“We’re going to have to play this very carefully,” Soren says.

If we could get Emma to bond with us, it would make this all go away, but that is only a slim chance at the moment. We just need time—time we don't have.

I curse under my breath. Being scent-matched works in our favor, but only if our omega can find a way through her trauma.

And only if she can choose us in return.

Chapter Six

Emma

Isurface slowly from darkness, confused to find myself back in the hospital bed. The IV is in my other arm, secured with extra tape that goes all the way around my arm. My failed escape attempt and consequent freak out is a distant nightmare, but the ache in my muscles tells me it was real.

A beta doctor stands at the foot of my bed, reading through a chart. He looks up, offering a gentle smile that doesn't quite hide his concern. “Hey, sweetheart. I'm Dr. Chen. How are you feeling?”

A laugh tries to bubble up. Bitter. Broken. I swallow it down. How am I feeling? Like I've been living in a basement forever. Like I'm trapped in a body that's more bruise than skin. Like I'm drowning in bonds I never wanted. That were never my choice. And someone is asking how I feel as though they care? I might be dreaming, but the headache punching behind my eyes is all too real.

“Tired,” I manage. Gods, my voice sounds rough, probably because of not being used in years.

He nods, tucking the chart away. “I need to discuss your condition with you. Are you up for that?”

No. I’m not up for anything, but something in his eyes confirms that I’ll want to know what he tells me, so I nod.

He presses his lips together for a moment before speaking. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, well, worse news than what you’ve been through.” He winces, then continues. “Nothing is going to make what I have to say better, so I’m going to just come out and say it. Rip the band-aid off, as it were.”

He pauses and I wait, nerves so jangled my mouth dries.

He clears his throat and the sugar-coating stops. “I’m afraid you're in a medically dire situation. Your body is severely malnourished and dehydrated. Your blood work shows concerning deficiencies, and there are multiple infections we need to address.”

There’s no need to soften the truth. I already knew all this. Lived it in multicolored horror.

“My alphas didn't exactly look out for me,” I mutter, then immediately regret the words.

Haven training runs as hard as my heart racing in my throat.

Do not speak out. Do not upset anyone.

Every muscle in my body clenches, wondering what punishment the doctor deems suits this crime, but Dr. Chen’s face merely flickers with pity. I drop my gaze because pity is the last thing I need.

Pity won’t help me escape my biology.

“I'm sorry,” I whisper, though I'm not sure what I'm apologizing for. For being difficult? For being omega? For existing?

“You have nothing to apologize for. Nothing that happened to you was your fault,” he says.

He’s wrong. Everything that's happened to me has been my fault. Because I presented as omega. Because I survived when my parents didn't. Because I keep breathing when it would be easier to stop. My fingers brush over the fresh IV tape.

“Please leave this one in. The nurses are getting tired of replacing them.” The doctor attempts a small smile, probably trying to lighten the mood, but humor is a foreign language I've forgotten how to understand.

My eyes drift to the window again, to the world beyond that’s both too close and impossibly far. Freedom just behind glass I can't break.

“That's a five-story drop.” Dr. Chen follows my gaze. “And you've survived too much to end it that way. You're safe here.”

Safe. The word tastes like ash in my mouth. I would be safe, maybe, if it weren't for those delectable scents seeping under the door that make my nipples bead under the blue gown and goosebumps break out like hives. How can they affect me so much? Pack Carmichael did nothing for me. With them, I shriveled up in fear. Nothing like the alphas who picked me up off that basement floor make me feel.

“Are they...” My voice cracks. “Are they still here?”

“Yes.” Dr. Chen's expression turns serious after he throws a glance over his shoulder at the closed door. “You might not want to hear this, but you need to. As your scent-matches, they're actually your greatest protection right now.”

Scent-matches?

“What...” I swallow hard, hating how weak my voice sounds. “What are scent-matches?”

Dr. Chen's eyebrows rise, then furrow. “You don't know about scent-matches?”

I shake my head, my hands scrunching in the pristine sheets. I’ve never heard of scent-matches before. The only thing Haven taught was how to mindlessly obey an alpha. How to present. How to clamp your mouth shut even when you hate every unwanted touch. How to be a willing hole and take a knot no matter if you want it or not. That was my education about being omega.

His face darkens. He pulls up a chair and sits, his expression turning soft. “Then you should know a scent match is about much more than simply liking someone’s fragrance. It's about biological compatibility on a visceral level. Your scent isn't just appealing—it's actively communicating with your cells, your omega instincts. It's your body's way of recognizing an alpha who perfectly complements you genetically, hormonally, physically…in every way that matters. When you find your scent match, your biology aligns effortlessly, instinctively knowing it’s found someone who can truly fulfill and balance your deepest needs.”

I…never knew something like that could exist. That a bond could ever be that way between an alpha and omega. It sounds like a fairytale, and probably is.

“My alphas said I was their mate.” I never believed them, and they hated when I never reacted to them the way they thought I should. I might be naive about mates and bonds, but I’m not stupid. Anything Pack Carmichael said to me was a way to control me. My fingertips trail over the hated bite marks marring my neck.

“The alphas who held you in their basement? You were never their mate. They only gave you one-way bonds created without your consent. Am I correct?” I wisely say nothing, and the doctor goes on. “They're nothing like true scent match bonds. Those partial bonds are weaker, biologically speaking. A true scent match will override any partial bond you have, my dear.”

My head spins with this new information and nausea rises in my throat. More alphas with more control over me? Is that what Asher is to me now? The rush of emotions I felt from him didn’t say that but what would I know? My stomach heaves at the thought. I've had enough of alphas controlling me, owning me, using me. The last thing I want is another set of alphas having an even more powerful hold over me.

My hand clenches over my chest where alpha hatred simmers and hisses. The newest alpha to claim me is quiet. As though he’s dialed down his emotions, but no. That can’t be true. Alphas don’t care how loud they are to me.

“What...” I swallow hard, hating how small my voice sounds. “What do you mean, override?”

If there’s even the slightest possibility of freeing myself from Pack Carmichael, I owe it to myself to hear them out, no matter how unbelievable it seems.

“A true scent match is so powerful that it has a chance to break the partial bonds your current alphas forced on you,” Dr. Chen says.

Hope flares in my chest, bright and dangerous. The first real possibility of freedom from the poison Pack Carmichael left in my mind. To be free of their emotions, their cruelty, their constant presence in my head...

“However, it would require you to accept the scent match bonds. To claim them in return.”

Hope dies as quickly as it sparked. Trade one set of bonds for another?

Chain myself to more alphas?

No. The price is too high. I'd rather live with the partial bonds, with the toxic emotions flooding me than willingly submit to more claiming bites.

Why does it have to be that way? Why can’t I just be on my own without any alpha in my head? I just want my beach. To be alone. To breathe air that isn't tainted by alpha scents or bonds or promises that always, always, turn to chains.

“I have to ask you some personal questions to help me assess exactly where you are medically speaking, if that’s okay?” Dr. Chen asks gently, redirecting my spiraling thoughts.

I nod, because there’s no use in denying the first proper medical care I’ve had in years.

Dr. Chen remains professional, thankfully. “How regular have you had your heat cycles?”

I close my eyes, trying to block out the memories that question triggers. “I went through four heats in that basement.”

Thank the gods for heat delirium. It blanked out the worst of what they did to me. But I always knew how bad it was when I came out of it, when I saw the fresh bruises, the bite marks, the... other damage. They'd leave me there afterward, lying in my own filth – sweat, slick, their releases, worse. Nothing apart from a rag and however much water I could fill in the sink to clean myself. No comfort. Nothing but the evidence of what they'd done dried on my skin. After they left I’d had nothing but time to scrub and scrub and scrub.

They'd disappear for days after, only coming down occasionally to throw some food at me like I was a dog they'd grown bored with. I hate them. I hate what they did to me. But most of all, I hate my omega biology that made their power over me possible.

“And how long were you in that basement?” Dr. Chen asks.

“I didn’t have a window, let alone a clock,” I say. I have no idea how long I was chained down there. It felt like lifetimes spent in darkness.

“I’m only trying to work out how regular your heat cycles were because your tests revealed that you haven’t had a heat in a long while. Did you know omegas are meant to have four heat cycles a year?” He continues quickly, no doubt reading the tightness on my face because I knew that, and it was the only thing that saved me. “I’m only asking because I’m trying to work out when your body started shutting down, as I’m sure it did living under those circumstances. I only want to help you by understanding. I don’t want to distress you.”

I shake my head. I’m embarrassed about how little I know about my biology. My real biology. Not the bullshit I was fed that served others.

I can’t go back down there. Not now I’ve glimpsed the sun. The doctor seems sympathetic. Maybe he knows a way I can disappear. Maybe he will help me. He’ll know handing me back over no matter what the law says will mean my death sentence.

“Please.” I try to rise but I’m so damn weak. “Please don't let them take me back. Don't give me back to Pack Carmichael. Please...”

“They were already here,” Dr. Chen says, and my heart stops. “They tried to collect you, but your scent match alphas prevented it.” He adjusts his glasses and levels a look at me. “Those alphas haven't left since you were brought in, and to be totally honest, they're your best protection right now. They will defend you with their lives.”

I shake my head, disbelieving.

“If you don't believe me,” he says softly, “reach out through the new bond. Feel what your alpha is feeling right now.”

I filter through the acidic bond, feeling Matthew’s familiar assault of cruelty, and Derek and James’s malignity. As I pass over them, claws reach up to gouge my soft underbelly. I cringe into the familiar harshness, knowing their intentions if they get me back into their clutches. As though their neglect, the raid and me being put into hospital, is my fault.

I stumble to the new bond that was never there before. I have to sink down deep to find the cord, as though he’s muted himself somehow, but when I do I’m hit with a tsunami of raw feeling. None of it carries the malice I'm used to. There’s loathing, yes, but it’s self-loathing, all of it directed inward, not at me. It's... strange. Unsettling.

But I slam those observations away, lock them behind walls built from hard experience. Anyone can manufacture emotions. James used to make himself feel 'sorry' right before his fist would strike my face. This must be another trick.

It has to be.

“Is there anyone you'd like to talk to?” Dr. Chen asks, clearly seeing my skepticism. “Someone who might help you feel safer? Anyone you trust?”

The question catches me off guard. Trust? The word is foreign on my tongue. But...

“I have…friends,” I whisper, the words coming before I can stop them. I've kept their names locked away, protected them from my alphas' interrogations. But now, with freedom tantalizingly close... “Mira and Leah.”

I'm not going to tell him they're omegas. Or that deep down, I’ve given up hope of ever seeing them again. The words stick in my throat as memories flood back. Three terrified girls plotting escape in whispers, knowing what waited for us when our first heats hit. But telling him they're omegas would be pointless. How do you trace someone who legally doesn't exist?

We're not like betas or alphas. We don't have jobs or bank accounts or driver's licenses. We don't own property or have credit cards or show up in a system that matters. We're possessions, things to be owned and traded. Our only paperwork are our designation certificates and transfer of ownership papers.

I need to know if they made it. If they're safe. If this doctor can find them, why not let him try? I hope they didn’t end up like me, chained in dark places with cruel alphas and subjected to partial bonds.

We had a plan for after our escape. When we were safe, we’d place an ad in The Daily Herald but if they were caught like I was, if they ended up owned by alphas who keep them locked away... The chances of them seeing a newspaper, let alone being allowed to place an ad, are non-existent.

Still, I need to know. Need to believe that at least one of us made it. That all our planning, all our dreams of freedom, weren't completely in vain, but I'm fading fast, my body heavy with exhaustion. Even this short conversation is draining what little energy I had.

Dr. Chen pats my hand. “I'll send a nurse to help you get cleaned up. When you’re done, I’ll have a meal ready for you. You’ll feel better after that.”

I can barely believe he’ll go to all that trouble for me, but when he moves to the door, I hear urgent voices outside. Through the door, I hear their voices overlapping in urgent tones.

“How is she?”

“Is she in pain?”

“Does she need anything?”

“Can we see her?”

Those alphas, my scent-matches, sound desperate, worried. Their deep voices make my heart rate spike until I hear the doctor's firm but gentle reply. “She's awake but needs care. Please don't disturb her.”

“But—” That's Asher, his protest carrying through the doorway.

“No buts,” Dr. Chen says. “She needs time. Space. And right now, three large alphas hovering over her will do more harm than good.”

“At least tell us if she's eating,” one of them pleads. “If she's—”

“I will update you on her condition regularly. Now, please. Let her rest.” The doctor moves through the door and shuts it with a firm click. The silence in the room is both unsettling and a relief.

Through Asher's bond, I feel his discontent, his desire to come in, to check on me. The emotion rolls through our connection. Concern, worry, the need to protect, but he stays outside. That's... unexpected.

A beta nurse enters, her movements efficient but kind as she helps me to the bathroom and onto a seat in the shower. The water is heaven. Pure, clean heaven. It's almost too much—the warmth, the pressure, the ability to actually get clean.

The nurse checks the IV drip in my arm with practiced care before preparing a basin of warm, soapy water. Her touch is confident yet kind as she gently wipes away layers of dried blood, carefully avoiding my bandaged sores and the tubes trailing from my veins. Warmth and cleanliness seep into my skin with every stroke, almost too much after so long in filth and discomfort. The nurse never loses her professional composure, even as I flinch or tremble. When my arms grow too heavy, she murmurs encouragements, washing my hair in sections and expertly teasing out the tangles. All the while, she speaks in a soft, soothing voice filling the silence, though not expecting me to answer.

My skin is mottled, bruised and scarred. My bones poke under my skin and I almost wish for the filth back. That, at least, hid my ordeal, but the nurse helps me into another clean hospital gown that feels like silk on my skin and I’m all covered up. Even better, the gown doesn't smell of basement or fear or alpha or pain.

She settles me back into bed and brings me food. Simple broth and crackers but it’s more than the stale peanut butter sandwiches I’ve lived off for so long that it’s like fine dining to my taste buds. I manage a few spoonfuls before my stomach fills and exhaustion pulls me under.

A knock wakes me. I blink as the door opens.

My heart stops. Starts. Stops again.

The woman who looks at me is... healthy. Clean. Her auburn hair is neatly styled, her clothes are nice.

There's no haunted look in her eyes.

No signs of the terror we shared at Haven.

I'm either dreaming, or at least one of us made it to freedom after all because the woman with tears running down her cheeks is Mira.

Chapter Seven

Emma

Asound escapes me, a wounded sob that has no right to be in my throat, as Mira rushes to my bedside. Her hands hover over me like she's afraid to touch, afraid I might break. Or maybe afraid I'm not real. Like I'm some ghost conjured from her memories.

“Emma,” she whispers, her voice catching. “Oh gods, Emma.” Her tears fall faster as she takes in my condition.

My eyes cloud over as I reach for her hand, needing to feel that she's solid, that she's really here. Her fingers wrap around mine, warm and real.

“Are you…actually here? Tell me I’m not dreaming,” The words catch in my throat as I study her. Healthy. Whole. There are roses in her cheeks and a spark in her eyes that has never been there before.

She sits on the edge of my bed, careful not to jostle me. “It’s impossible to be in the same dream.”

“Are we dead and this is the afterlife?” This afterlife I can deal with. It’s a step up from the hell I’ve lived in.

She shakes her head, her lips curving into a smile. “This is definitely real and we are definitely alive.”

It’s then I see the silvery scarring on her neck. She’s been bitten. Claimed. Mated. I swallow hard. I can’t take my eyes off those marks of ownership.

“Are they...” My voice cracks. “Are they hurting you? Dr. Chen, he might be able to help. Like he's helping me. We could run again, Mira. We know more now, we could…”

My thoughts spiral, memories of running through rain mixing with basement darkness. We could hide better this time. Find somewhere remote. Maybe if we—

“Emma.” Mira's voice cuts through my rising panic. She takes both my hands in hers, forcing me to focus on her face. “My mates are wonderful. They're my scent-matches. They love me. They protect me.”

Scent-matches…she found scent-matches too?

I shake my head, unable to process her words because what she’s saying is impossible. “No alpha truly helps omegas. They can't. They don't know how to be anything but cruel.” The evidence is written all over my body, carved into my soul.

“The alphas Haven gave us to were cruel. But they are the exception. Not the rule. I’ve seen what true alphas are like and they are nothing like those inhuman jerkoffs.” The light dims from her eyes as she really looks at me. At the bones pressing against my skin, at the rainbow of healing bruises, at the way I can't stop trembling even now. Her fingers tighten around mine.

Her gaze traces the bandage on my neck, the marks on my wrists where chains rubbed the skin raw. “What did those assholes do to you?”

The question hangs between us, heavy with two years of darkness. But I can't answer. Can't put words to what happened in that basement.

“It's over now.” My fingers squeeze hers. “I’ll never get caught like that again. I won't be anyone's fuck toy ever again.”

A desperate and wild spark flares to life. I'm going to find a beach. A real one. Not just the one in my head but an honest to gods beach with water and sand and no alphas within a hundred mile radius.

“You won't get far without your alphas,” Mira says.

I try to cover their marks with my palm. Their partial bonds simmer in the back of my mind like poison, forever carved there. I’ll never call them my alphas.

They’re a cancer.

“Asher bit you too,” Mira says softly. Not a question.

Surprise jolts through me. “How did you know? How do you know him?”

“He's friends with Adrian, my prime alpha. They've known each other for years.” She leans forward. “Emma, he's destroyed over what he did. He bit you because you're his scent-matched mate. His fated. He'll do anything for you.”

A bitter laugh escapes me, sharp enough to cut. “If he wants to do anything for me, he can forget I exist. I don't need another alpha's version of 'help,' no matter who the fuck he's meant to be to me.”

He's just another alpha who took my choice away. Nothing less. Nothing more. The claiming bite on my neck throbs with his emotions, a constant reminder of my stolen autonomy. One more alpha deciding what happens to my body without my consent. The fact that he regrets it now doesn't change what he did. The fact that he's my “scent-match” doesn't give him the right to claim me without permission.

Haven taught me what alphas are. Pack Carmichael confirmed it. They take. They own. They control. Some do it with chains and darkness, others with pretty words and gentle touches, but the end result is the same… an omega without choices, without freedom.

Scent-match. Just another word for harder chains to break, for bonds that dig deeper, for more complete control. Fate's cruel joke, matching me with yet another alpha who helped himself to what wasn't his to take.

Though... I never felt remorse from Matthew or Derek or James. Never felt guilt or self-loathing or regret through our partial bonds. Asher's emotions are different, layered with something that’s almost like... care?

No. I can't trust that. Can't trust him. Can't trust any alpha, ever again. His actions proved what alphas truly are, no matter how much he might regret them now.

Round and round these thoughts chase each other, an exhausting circle with no exit. Trust and mistrust. Hope and despair. Anger and something dangerously close to yearning.

“I understand. I felt the same way about alphas for years. But Emma... not all alphas are like the ones Haven prepared us for. Things are changing. Haven's walls are crumbling,” Mira says.

I stare at her, uncomprehending.

“Sylvia Mercer is dead, Emma. Mercer is dead,” she continues, and my heart stops. “My alphas fight for me. For all of us. Adrian tore apart his assistant when he kidnapped me, and Asher...” Her voice drops. “Asher shot Mercer himself when she threatened me. He’s one of the good guys. I promise.”

The words don't make sense.

“Wh…what..?” Asher shot Mercer? The alpha who bit me against my will killed the woman who tormented us for years? My thoughts tangle and snag as I try to reconcile these contradictory images. Asher the alpha who claimed me without consent versus Asher the alpha who put a bullet in Sylvia Mercer.

How can they be the same person?

How can hands that took my choice away also pull a trigger in defense of omegas?

Mercer was untouchable. Powerful. The woman who smiled while explaining exactly how alphas would use us, who watched during “correction sessions,” who prepared us for lives as possessions. And Asher... stopped her?

A traitorous whisper flickers in my chest that this alpha is different to the monsters who kept me chained, but I shut down that thought before it can take root. That's exactly how they trap you. With stories of heroism, with glimpses of goodness, with complexity that makes you doubt your own judgment. I can't afford that kind of doubt. Not when my freedom hangs by such a fragile thread.

But still... Mercer is dead.

And apparently, Asher pulled the trigger.

“There are investigations now,” Mira continues. “Into Haven, into the Basement at Haven. Asher's been given authority to investigate everything. He's already saved so many omegas.”

He still took my choice away.

“The public is outraged. They're demanding answers about omega rights, about the omega birth crisis. Senator Hardwick can't maintain her power anymore. Not with what's being revealed.” Mira's eyes gleam with fierce satisfaction. “My alphas are powerful, Emma. They're out for blood, starting at the top. Mercer paid for what she did to us, and Hardwick will pay in blood, too.”

I struggle to breathe, to process this impossible information.

“Asher, Soren, and Phoenix head up a new division focused on changing how omegas are seen and treated.” She leans forward, face alight with purpose. “I run a therapy program at Pinnacle now, helping omegas recover from trauma. And I... I want you to come there. To help you. When you’re ready.”

It's impossible. Too hopeful.

Too much.

“Things don't change.” Why would any alpha want to give up control? Not when they have an entire designation at their beck and call. Their gods complex is too big to even conceive of changing. A knock at the door makes me flinch, and I hate that. I hate not being in control of my own body's reactions. This isn't me.

Or at least, it wasn't me before.

I used to be a girl with dreams, with plans for a future that extended beyond my next heat. A girl who didn't flinch at knocks, who didn't measure rooms by escape routes, who didn't calculate the risk-reward ratio of every word before speaking.

Being omega stole that girl from me.

Stole my life, my future, my very self.

And I hate my biology with a fury that burns hotter than any claiming bite.

I hate how I've been forced to become a person I don't recognize, someone small and scared and broken. Someone whose greatest aspiration is no longer to change the world but simply to survive it.

“Emma?” Mira's voice pulls me back to the present. “Are you okay?”

No. I'm not okay. I haven't been okay since the day my designation test came back ‘omega’. And I don't know if I ever will be again.

The door opens and an unknown alpha peers in. He's beautiful in that devastating way all alphas are. Olive skin, dark hair swept back from his forehead, stubble shadowing a strong jaw.

He half stands in the doorway, huge shoulders punching out an expensive business suit. Matthew and his pack were wealthy, not that I experienced any of their lifestyle apart from the fact they were wealthy enough to buy me, but this alpha is clearly on another level. If wealth had a scent, he could launch his own cologne line.

I want to curl in a ball and hide under the blankets, but I don’t fully succumb to the usual panic attack. There's something different about him. Something in how he holds himself, how he waits in the doorway instead of barging in. His eyes find me first, and I brace for the mocking look my alphas gave me whenever they came into the basement. Instead, I see concern. Compassion. Nothing more.

His gaze slides to Mira, and the transformation in his expression steals my breath. Pure love softens his features and warms his eyes. This alpha looks at Mira like she's precious.

Like she's everything.

Mira's face lights up. “Adrian,” she says, and there's joy in her voice. Actual joy. She turns to me, “This is Adrian, my prime alpha.”

He turns to me, his gaze commanding yet somehow gentle. “Emma. I'm so glad my Mira found you and that Asher saved you from that hell.” Anger flashes across his face, darkening his features.

“They’re going to rot for what they did to you, Emma. We’ll make them pay.” The smile Mira gives me should be chilling—all teeth and promised violence—but instead it's reassuring.

This isn't the same Mira who whispered escape plans in Haven's basement. She's grown stronger. The fearful omega girl is gone, replaced by a woman who stands tall, who speaks with authority, who knows her worth.

I study her with her alpha, the way she leans into him without flinching, the way she glows with health and purpose. No collar. No bruises. No dead look in her eyes. Maybe Adrian deserves a chance. He's clearly done something right. The Mira I knew would never be so relaxed around him if he were a monster. At least one of us has a happy ending.

“Have you...” I swallow hard, afraid to hope but needing to know. “Have you heard from Leah?”

Mira's expression falls, shadows crossing her features. “No. I've been putting our advertisement in The Daily Herald as we planned, but...” She shakes her head, fingers tightening around Adrian's. “Nothing yet. I’ll keep putting in that ad and waiting for her as long as it takes, but now you're here...” Hope lights her features, taking some of our shared pain away. “You need to focus on getting better and then we’ll find her together. There isn’t a reality where we won’t be together again.”

I wish that were possible, but I don’t trust the curveballs life throws. I wish I could strip away the years we both suffered, back to a day where we were young. Before our designations sentenced us. Before alphas. “I hope she hasn’t suffered.”

Silence hangs heavily between us, Mira's eyes glistening in the muted hospital light. Past and present collide, reminders of all we've lost, all we've endured, fracturing any illusion of safety. Mira leans closer to Adrian, the simple gesture making my stomach twist. The ease between them reminds me of bonds I've never trusted, bonds I never asked for, carved into my skin by alphas with cruel intentions.

She must sense the direction of my thoughts because her gaze softens, cautious but determined, as though bracing herself for a reaction I’m unlikely to welcome.

“Emma…we need our alphas. And you've been claimed by one of your scent-matches. Being away from them...” She hesitates, choosing her words carefully. “It could be dangerous for you.”

“More dangerous than chains? More dangerous than that basement?” Nothing could make me risk facing that kind of nightmare again. I’d rather die than endure anything like it.

Mira's expression turns serious as she weighs me up. “When Dr. Chen clears you, I'll help you understand everything Haven kept from us. There's so much we didn't know.”

“Can you reverse a bond?” I cut in, desperate for the only information that matters. Right now, I don’t care about scent-matched bonds overriding partial bonds, no matter how bad the latter are. I don’t want any bond. I just want to be free.

The claiming bites around my neck throb as if knowing I'm plotting their destruction. I reach out and clutch her hand. “In the basement I didn’t have access to anything sharp, but I’m in a hospital. Is there an operation where they can remove the skin? I don’t care how painful it is, I just want them gone.”

Before she can answer, a crash echoes from the corridor. Shouting voices follow—sharp, overlapping, frantic—mingled with the staccato of running feet pounding against the floor. My heart rate spikes, a wild, erratic thudding that drowns out everything else. Adrian moves with inhuman speed, one large hand wrapping around my bicep helping me out of the bed as he sweeps Mira to his side with an arm around her waist. His massive arm bands around me as he clutches the IV pole and he crushes me to his other side.

“Get in the bathroom,” he growls, shoving us through the door. The sound rumbles from his chest, pure alpha command, and my body betrays me instantly. I shrink back against the cold tile wall, trying to make myself smaller. Shadows bleed over the white tile and absorb the light from the fluorescent shine from above.

They’re coming for me. They’re going to take me back to the basement. They’re going to show me what a good omega should be like. I’ll never see the light of day again.

Can't breathe.

Can't think.

Adrian's protective stance becomes Matthew's looming shadow. The antiseptic hospital smell turns to mold and fear and old blood.

“No, no, no,” I whimper, my voice barely audible, a broken plea swallowed by the rising tide of panic. My knees buckle, and I slide down the wall, the tiles scraping against my back as I collapse into a heap. My fingers claw at the claiming bites that throb beneath my skin. My nails dig in harder, desperate to tear them out, but all I find is my own skin, hot and slick with fresh blood.

Somewhere far away, Mira’s voice cuts through the haze. Soft, insistent, a lifeline I can’t grasp. “Emma, look at me. You’re here. You’re safe.”

I want to answer her, to claw my way back, but her voice drowns beneath blood rushing in my ears. I’m lost in the space between basement memories and bathroom tiles, between past terror and present fear. The world narrows to the sound of my own harsh breathing, to the phantom feel of the chain around my ankle, rough hands reaching for me, the stench of my alphas’ arousal and growled commands my body can’t disobey to slick so they can fuck.

A wounded, terrified sound rebounds off the bathroom tiles. High-pitched. Raw. Relentless. The shrill cry amplifies the chaos in my mind, spiraling endlessly until I realize it’s coming from me. I’m the one making that noise, but even knowing so, I can’t stop. I can’t force my mouth closed; the sound just keeps tearing out of me, rising higher and higher and higher.

Then, suddenly, there are arms around me, encircling me like a shield. I'm cradled against a broad chest, a steady heartbeat drowning out the chaos in my head. A deep purr vibrates around me, the sound so pure and perfect it resonates through my bones and wraps around my soul. My cries die away as I lose myself in that beautiful sound. I melt into the vibrations that sync with my heartbeat.

Large hands stroke my back in slow, soothing circles, and the red haze in my mind dissipates. I jam my nose against warm skin, inhaling deeply. A scent envelops me as perfectly as the purr. Delicious smoky whiskey and leather, a rich, intoxicating blend that’s more dry leather than smoke.

I don't know how long I stay like that, wrapped in warmth and that impossible scent. Time loses meaning, marked only by steady heartbeats and gentle touches, but somehow, I manage to lift the weight of my eyelids and blink reality back into focus.

I'm still in the bathroom but it’s not Mira’s gentle reassurance or Adrian’s grave presence that seizes me. It’s the burning heat in the chocolate-brown eyes staring down at me. Those eyes, deep and molten, lock onto mine with an intensity that commands my full attention. There’s no growl in them, no threat, just a fierce, unspoken vow that pins me in place and makes my breath catch for an entirely different reason.

Asher.

I’ve been breathing his scent. Been anchored by his heartbeat. Have taken comfort in his arms.

“Are you better now, Emma?” he asks, his voice rough with concern, with something deeper that makes me want to curl into him and never leave… and fuck, I don’t want to feel like this.

“Stay away from me!” I scramble away on the cold tiles, putting distance between us before I can give in to the urge to flatten myself against his chest and beg him to make that purr again. Because I can't want this. Can't need this. Can't let another alpha have this much power over me. No matter how much his claiming bite burns to complete this one-sided bond.

Chapter Eight

Emma

Pain flashes across Asher's face, quickly masked by understanding that somehow hurts worse. Matthew would have struck me for pulling away and then barked at me to shut up and do what he wanted but Asher just raises his hands, palms out, and inches back.

“It's okay,” he murmurs. “You're safe. No one's going to hurt you.”

I press my back against the cold tile wall, the chill soaking into my skin. Drops of blood dot my gown and one part of my brain tells me I’ve ripped out my IV again. I don’t care. I also don’t waste breath telling him how much I don’t believe him, how empty those words sound, because hurt is all I’ve ever known. Terror claws up my throat, saturated in fear of him, fear of myself, fear of the treacherous sense of safety whenever his scent surrounds me.

“Emma.” He tries again, voice staying gentle. “Whatever's happening outside, you don't need to be afraid. We will protect you.”

“Stop making those promises!” I wrap my arms around myself, wishing I could dissolve into the bathroom walls, disappear into the grout between tiles. “Just stop. Please.”

We both know if it weren’t for alphas I’d never know what it is to be truly afraid. They have made this world the scary-as-fuck place it is. I’d be happy if the human race never had designations. Life would be so much easier if we were all betas. No packs. No scents. No bonding and no one designation having total and complete control over another.

Two massive bodies cram into the open doorframe. Both alphas look as though they've been in a battle. Disheveled clothing, a bruise forming on Phoenix’s cheek, blood on Soren’s knuckles. Their frantic eyes scan the room, locking on me huddled against the wall.

“Are you okay?” Phoenix asks, his voice tight.

I can't take it. Can't handle more alphas, more concern, more confusion. I lunge toward Mira, the only safe person in this room of predators. She opens her arms without hesitation, and I all but climb into her lap, burying my face against her shoulder, hating myself even more that I need to do this.

Adrian’s jaw tightens as I cling to his mate, and I realize I’ve made a grave mistake. Every instinct screams that he'll tear me away, that he'll punish me for touching what's his. I freeze, waiting for the violence, but it doesn't come. Instead, Adrian hauls Asher to his feet when a rumbling growl vibrates the tiles.

“Take it down a notch,” he growls at Asher. “Your pheromones are choking me. I can’t imagine what it’s doing to your omega.”

I don’t miss the way he says ‘your’ omega, and that’s the thing. I’m always going to belong to someone else. Never to me. That’s a fleeting thought because my terror is making sure an invisible band constricts around my chest. I clamp my jaw when my teeth start to chatter but that only makes an ache spread through my temples.

I’m falling apart in a way I never did in the basement. Survival helped me contain my reactions. Helped me to maintain control, but since Asher, Phoenix and Soren literally tore the chain off my ankle, every defense I relied on has crumbled to ash.

Being rescued broke me more thoroughly than being held captive ever did.

“What the hell happened out there?” Adrian demands, still gripping Asher's shoulder.

“Pack Carmichael.” Soren's voice shakes with barely contained rage. “They brought reinforcements.”

“They got into the hospital too easily. Slipped right past our officers,” Phoenix says, his face grim as he just stands there staring at me. “It's not safe here.”

I choke off the whine that claws up my throat.

“Hey, hey,” Mira whispers, arms tightening around me. “Breathe with me. In and out.”

She wraps her hands where I’m digging my fingers into her shoulder. I must be hurting her, but I can’t unclamp my grip. All I can see is the basement, the darkness, the chains. If Matthew gets me back, if they lock me down there again...

“—not going to happen,” Asher's voice breaks through the ringing in my ears. “They will never touch her again. Never.”

“We need to move her,” Soren says, his words cutting through my spiraling thoughts. “The police compound is safe. The protocols there are ironclad. We can monitor anyone coming into and going out of the gates. There are guards stationed everywhere, and security camera’s provide a comprehensive view of the ground and inside each building. For now, it’s the best protection we have. It’s safer than anywhere else in the city, including our apartment.”

My head snaps up. Police compound? Another prison? My breathing quickens again.

“No. I…I’m not going. I…I don’t want to.” I don’t care if I stay in this sterile little hospital room burrowing under stiff white sheets, I don’t want to go anywhere with any alpha.

Asher drops to his knees, his hands reaching for me before they fall onto his ridiculously thick thighs when I jerk away from his touch. “We won't take you anywhere without your permission. You don’t have to go there if you don’t want to. If you want to stay here, we’ll put other things in place. Protect you another way.”

I blink at him stupidly, certain I've misheard. At least my shock eats into the liquid terror that’s infused into my bloodstream, helping me to finally take a full breath, but he continues even when I want the world to stop turning just for a little bit. “But you need to understand the situation before you make your decision. The hospital has multiple entry points with minimal security. The Carmichaels got in once. They'll try again. I’ve seen alpha packs like this before. They don’t stop, Emma. They keep coming and coming because they think they own you.”

If there is anything I’m sure about, it’s this. He’s right. Matthew and his pack won’t stop coming for me. Even when I stopped going into heat and became useless to them, they still didn’t let me go. They’d rather me die a slow death of starvation than give me up. It didn’t matter how they got me. I’m claimed and that’s all the law cares about. I’m nothing but a useless piece of garbage. A toy that doesn’t wind up any more.

Asher’s eyes never leave mine as these thoughts run through my head. He sees too much. “The police compound has security fencing, armed guards, and a safe house specifically for protecting omegas. We've used it before. No one gets in or out without clearance. They can’t touch you there.”

They can’t.

But you can.

Phoenix kneels next to Asher. A dark bruise is starting to bloom high on his right cheek. Pack Carmichael came close enough to land a fist and I know how hard they strike. “You'll have your own room. With a lock on the inside, not the outside. No chains, no basement. Just safety. I promise.”

I search their faces, looking for the lie, the trap, the moment when the mask falls and reveals the monsters underneath, but all I see is... concern? Determination? Something that looks dangerously like care.

“It's your choice, Emma. We’ll do whatever you need us to do. If you don’t want to go there, we’ll sleep outside your door until you decide where you want to go,” Soren says.

I don't want to trust them. Don't want to trust anyone. But the alternative is Matthew finding me. Taking me back to that basement. The pack finishing what they started—the systematic destruction of everything I am.

They were so close to succeeding.

There’s no non-shitty choice. I have to choose the monster I know or the one I don't, and right now, these alphas are the lesser evil.

“Okay,” I whisper, the word torn from my throat. “But not because I trust you. Because I'm out of options.”

“That’s fair enough. Let’s get you off this cold floor. I'll organize everything, but right now you’re too cold. We need to warm you up a little,” Asher says.

Warm up? I’m shaking. Near-death experiences do that to a person but there’s no warmth in the tile and I'm still clutching Mira like a lifeline.

“Sorry,” I whisper to her, horrified that I've left marks on her.

“Don't be, Emma. We’ve been through worse times. We’ll get through this too.” She untangles our limbs and helps me stand.

Phoenix rips a blanket off the hospital bed and steps toward me too fast and I stumble back, nearly losing my footing. His face tightens, and he extends his arm holding the blanket, slowly telegraphing his movements. “It’s for you. Put it around your shoulders. It will help.”

“I’ll take it for her.” Mira takes the blanket from him and bundles me up. I don’t want it to, but it helps. I’m not sure if he’s the original omega-whisperer but there’s magic in a strong arm offering me fluffy comfort.

Never had that before.

Still not going to trust.

Something in me compels me to turn my nose into the part of the blanket he touched, dragging in the dark coffee scent that lingers there after his touch. Phoenix doesn’t miss the gesture, flash-heat making his eyes molten.

After that the alphas snap into action. Soren rips out his phone and organizes transport. Asher speaks to someone in the hallway before stepping back inside, positioning himself by the door. He's clearly on edge but he stays out of my way. His desperate need to approach, to check on me, to protect me, pulses through the bond. It makes my skin itch. I scratch the puckered skin where Pack Carmichael ripped into me with their teeth.

I’m drowning beneath heavy alpha emotions, the bond buzzing with incessant anger. Matthew is relentless, as if his rage alone will make me crumble and go back to them. Joke’s on him. I’d rather live with the wasps inside me than be eaten alive by sharks.

Asher’s gaze follows my scratching. He clenches his jaw and then the intensity of his emotions wane until the bond barely prickles. He’s reining in his emotions. Muting them. For me. I almost stagger as the weight lifts and I can finally take a deep breath.

My hands shake as I clutch the blanket tighter. Damn these bullshit omega instincts making me think soft material is hard armor.

A nurse rushes in with a small pile of clothing. “I'm sorry,” she says, setting them on the sink. “It's all I could find at short notice.”

I don’t care if this is the best she can find even with longer notice. She holds real clothing, not just a hospital gown. Jeans. A soft sweater. Shoes. Dignity I'd forgotten existed.

“We'll give you privacy,” Asher says, ushering the other alphas out, Adrian included. The door closes with a soft click, and I'm alone with Mira.

“I'm scared,” I admit as she helps me dress. The fabric is strange against my skin after wearing “grime chic” for so long.

“Give them a chance, Emma. For your own good.” Mira's voice is gentle but firm. “They're your scent-matches. They physically can't hurt you. It would hurt them too. They'll do everything they can to protect you.”

“I don't want to be owned again.” The words catch in my throat as I pull the sweater over my head.

As soon as I can, I’ll tattoo ‘never again’ across my forehead as a fuck-off sign to any interested alpha. I’ll inscribe it deep enough into my skin to crack my skull if that’s what it takes.

Mira's hands still as she helps me with my shoes. “Being scent-matched isn't being owned. Pack Mitchell is nothing like the Carmichaels. If Asher says he'll put Pack Carmichael away, then I believe him. You're in good hands.”

I might think I was if it weren’t for the stolen bite on my neck.

Mira squeezes my fingers. “I'm only a phone call away.”

“I don't own a phone,” I point out, the absurdity of the statement almost making me laugh. Own a phone? Sure. I would have called emergency services two years ago and saved myself a long trip to hell.

Mira reaches into her bag and pulls out a box. “I knew you wouldn't. This is for you. I’ve put my number in the contacts. Call anytime, day or night.”

I’m sure the smile I send her is as watery as my eyes. “I can call you? Any time night or day? And no one will stop me?”

“Yes… Emma, you don’t have to live with restrictions anymore. I know how hard it is, but it’s true. It might not feel like it, but you’re free. Things are changing. Just…give Asher and his pack a chance. For your own sake if nothing else.” Her hug is fierce, and we cling to each other. Eventually Mira releases me. “I’m not going anywhere, Emma. And you’re not either.”

I nod at her. She turns to look at her alpha and the smile on her face is real and genuine, and the smallest flutter eases through me at that look. She’s not only found alphas who care for her, but she’s fallen in love with them. It makes it a little easier to take the step away from her I know I must take, clutching the phone to my chest.

Things move quickly after that. Dr. Chen appears with discharge papers and medications. Asher takes the bottles, listening intently to every word. Soren secures the corridor, half in and half out of the room. Phoenix explains the transport plan in a voice that asks permission rather than gives orders.

I'm struck by the strangeness of it all, and by the time we're ready to leave, my legs are trembling with fatigue. My brief burst of strength is fading, my body reminding me how broken it still is. The thought of walking to whatever transport they've arranged is impossible, but I’m going to try.

“Let me carry you,” Asher offers, stepping forward with careful movements.

“No.” I skate backward. The word comes out sharper than I intend. A large part of me wants nothing more than to sink into his arms again, to breathe in that comforting scent, to feel that purr vibrate through my bones. And that's exactly why I can't let him touch me. That path leads nowhere I want to be.

I straighten my spine, ignoring the protest of muscles that haven't been properly used in years. I’m determined to savor every stride not confined by the length of a chain. “I want to walk.”

Tension tightens his shoulders, but he inclines his head and moves aside. Not far enough to stop him from touching me, but enough to let me pass. I don’t overthink it. I brush past the alphas on shaky legs, forcing one foot in front of the other. Left. Right. Left. Right. Each step a victory. Each movement a declaration: I am still here. I am still fighting.

The hospital room door opens to reveal a corridor lined with armed officers in tactical gear. I come to a stumbling halt, my heart leaping into my throat. At least a dozen men, weapons visible, faces grim.

“They're here for your protection,” Asher rumbles from behind me, his voice gentle. “They're all betas. Not one alpha in the bunch. You don’t have to be afraid.”

Said the lion to his prey, yet the knowledge helps. These men are still large, still intimidating, with their bulletproof vests and stern expressions, but there's something different about beta energy. Less predatory. Less triggering. My parents were both beta and they loved me right up until the day they died.

Mira slips her arm through mine. “I'm right here. And you've got four alphas at your back who would tear apart anyone who tried to hurt you.”

It takes everything I have to start walking. The corridor is endless, but Mira's presence anchors me to the present, keeps me from sliding into panic.

Black scorch marks mar the previously pristine walls. A smear of blood stains the floor near what looks like bullet holes. Evidence of violence. Of battle. My stomach turns as I realize how close they came. How close I came to being dragged back to that basement.

“They made it this far?” I whisper.

“We never would have let them get to you,” Soren says quietly.

But they nearly did. The thought makes my knees weak. All these armed officers, all these alphas, just to protect one broken omega. The short walk takes more out of me than I want to admit. Each movement becomes heavier than the last. My vision blurs around the edges as we approach the elevator. Just a little farther. Just a few more steps. I can do this. I can—

My legs buckle. Before I can hit the floor, strong arms sweep me up. Dark amber and black coffee scents bloom around me, the amber more honeyed the longer he holds me. Phoenix.

“Whoa there, Tough Girl,” he says, his blue eyes kind as he adjusts me in his arms. “Save your strength for the important stuff, like deciding which takeout we order later.”

“I can walk,” I protest weakly, embarrassment burning my cheeks.

“Of course you can,” he agrees easily. “Just like I can bench press a car if I really need to. Doesn't mean it's not stupid to try when there's a perfectly good tow truck available.” He winks. “That's me, by the way. The tow truck.”

I stare at Phoenix, processing that he's made a joke. An actual joke. My mind scrambles to reconcile this gentle teasing with everything I know about alphas. His drugging scent wraps around me like a buffer against panic, somehow making it impossible for terror to fully take hold.

The elevator doors slide open with a soft chime. Asher turns to the line of officers. “Take the stairs. Meet us in the foyer. Full perimeter guard.”

We move toward the elevator, but it quickly becomes clear it's too small for all six of us. Mira glances at Adrian, then at me.

“I'll see you soon,” she promises, wrapping me in one last hug. “Call me, okay? Anytime.”

Before I can respond, she steps back, and suddenly I'm alone in the elevator with three enormous alphas. The doors slide closed, and their combined scents intensify in the confined space. Each breath fills my lungs with their markers. An unnatural heaviness swells in my abdomen and extends between my legs. It’s heat, but languid heat without scorching ferocity.

I'm acutely aware of their physicality. Asher's broad shoulders as he stands protectively in front of me, Soren's controlled stillness to my right, Phoenix's solid warmth as he holds me. Each one towers over me, could overpower me in seconds, could—

“We'll go directly to the SUV. Police escort front and back. It’s about a fifteen-minute drive to the compound,” Asher says, breaking into my spiraling thoughts. “Nothing will happen to you while you’re with us.”

Yet it already has in the form of another permanent mark on my skin.

The elevator doors open to reveal a bustling hospital foyer. Before I can process the crowd, they're moving in perfect synchronization. Phoenix continues to carry me as Asher and Soren flank us, creating a wall of alpha protection that parts the crowd like water. People scuttle out of the way, no alpha bark needed for this wall of flesh. Outside, a black SUV waits, doors already open.

Asher slides behind the wheel, Soren taking the passenger seat. Phoenix climbs into the back, still holding me.

“You're safer in my lap,” he explains, pulling the seatbelt across both of us. “Better shock absorption if anything happens.” He says it lightly, but I see the seriousness in his eyes, feel the tension in his body. It’s so tempting to let down my guard around him. So easy, but that path is dangerous.

Too dangerous.

I stay in his lap because I don’t know these alphas and I won’t do anything to upset them. Let them think I’m a meek omega. Lull them into a false sense of security where they’ll let down their guard and then I’ll slip away where they’ll never find me. I’ll use this safe house as a stepping stone to my freedom.

The motor purrs to life and as our convoy pulls away from the curb, the city flashes past outside the window. I focus on what’s outside the window instead of the muscular thighs beneath me, the strong arms and false safety of his panty-melting scent.

I focus on the tall buildings. The traffic lights. People going about their normal lives. It’s all so strange. They’ve been living their lives while I’ve been endlessly imprisoned. Lives being lived while mine was stolen. It's been so long since I've seen the outside world that it’s surreal, like watching a movie about someone else's life.

“Where are we?” I have no idea where we are. “What city is this?”

This could be any city, in any country. After the auction, I was drugged for transport. I have no recollection how long that was for. My next coherent thought after that spectacular experience was waking up chained in the basement. My new luxurious home until the end of my miserable life.

A heavy silence fills the SUV. Soren turns in his seat, brow furrowed. “You don't know where you are?”

“They never told me. I guess they didn't think it mattered.” I shrug. Knowing the reason doesn't make it easier to say. “Not like they planned to let me leave that basement.”

Something dark passes between the three alphas. The scent in the SUV sharpens with controlled rage. Every muscle in my body tightens and I’m one second from leaping out the door no matter how fast we’re flying down an expressway, but Phoenix just nudges my temple gently with his nose, his hands making soothing circles on my back.

“We're not mad at you, sweetheart. None of this is your fault.” His voice drops lower. “But now we're going to have to come up with an even more colorful way to make Pack Carmichael pay for what they've done to you.”

“Canton City,” Asher grinds out between clenched teeth. “You're in Canton City, Emma. And I promise you'll never be locked away in the dark again.”

Chapter Nine

Phoenix

She weighs almost nothing in my arms, this precious omega who has no idea how valuable she truly is. Every single bone pokes through the borrowed clothes. I can count every rib where my arm supports her back and if she weren’t dressed in a bulky sweater, her spine would mark a corrugated line down her back. She’s unnaturally pale, her skin nearly translucent, both because of being so malnourished and being locked away in darkness for so long. Fuck if that doesn’t gut me alive.

She stares out the window as though she's seeing the world for the first time, which I suppose she is after two years in darkness. Two years of hell while we were living our lives, unaware our mate was suffering just across the city in that shitshow of a basement. As if bars alone wouldn’t be enough to contain a tiny omega, they had to chain her too.

Asher, Soren and I have had conversations about how we’ll make Pack Carmichael pay. All illegal as hell, but we’re not letting something as trivial as that stop us because the field we’re operating in isn’t exactly legal either. My heart cracks a little more with each breath our omega takes. And she is ours. There is not a reality where she isn’t. Her scent weaves through me, settling in places I didn't know existed. It's subtle, muted by trauma and malnutrition, but undeniably ours. Mine. Soren's. Asher's. Our mate, found at last in the worst possible circumstances.

Asher is beating himself up pretty badly through our pack bond. His remorse is crushing and real.

As it should be.

Our prime alpha, so controlled, so disciplined, lost his shit completely when he saw those chains, that basement, our mate living like an animal. But one impulsive moment has destroyed any chance of her trusting us anytime soon. That’s going to work against us with the need to keep her safe.

Pack Carmichael came too close today. We underestimated their determination. They're in custody again, but legally they have rights to her that make me sick to contemplate. I fucking hope that Adrian and his pack can enact real change on their end.

Now that Hardwick is implicated, we understand this goes right to the top, and if the commissioner is in bed with the Carmichaels we need solid, irrefutable evidence to convict both of them. We would if omega statements could stand up in the courts, but they aren’t and they don’t. Not one of the omegas we’ve saved has a voice in the eyes of the law.

The number of omegas we’ve discovered in hiding, taking black market suppressants that wreck their system, is staggering. Mira is a prime example. None of it becomes public knowledge, either. The black ban on media is a troubling issue, a decree handed down by Hardwick. As is the dire situation for anyone with an omega designation, due to no fault of their own. The removal of their rights has been slow yet systematic.

The claiming bite on our mate’s neck is the only silver lining in this fucked-up situation. As scent-matches, we hold more ownership over her than Pack Carmichael. Owners. I fucking hate that word. It’s degrading and immoral. All kinds of wrong. Ultimately, though, it has legally bought us rights, time, and protection for Emma. The silver lining is that she can heal. The possibility of burning away her partial bonds from Pack Carmichael is my latest mission.

Emma shifts in my arms, her gaze jumping from the city outside to each one of us. Does she know we're trying to help her? Can she conceive of alphas who want something other than ownership? After what she's been through, I doubt it. And that's the real tragedy here.

The SUV slows as we approach the compound gates, an imposing barrier of reinforced steel set into a twelve-foot concrete wall topped with security cameras. Motion sensors. Biometric scanners. The works. Soren supervised every inch of this setup, obsessing over every potential vulnerability until it was as impenetrable as modern security can make it.

Two armed guards step from the gatehouse, automatic weapons visible but pointed down. I recognize Jones and Ramirez.

“Sirs!” Jones snaps to attention as Asher winds down the window.

Jones’s eyes slide to Emma, lock and stay far too fucking long on her. Her scent sharpens, bitterness edging sweet honeysuckle as she turns rigid in my lap. A whimper sounds and something hot and dangerous flares in my chest.

“Eyes to the front, Jones.” I shouldn't have to tell him. Not only because she’s omega. Many vulnerable people have passed these gates and Jones knows that. Carl Jones has just made my shit-list in less than a second. He should know his job better than this, but at least he snaps to attention again with a quick, “Sorry, sir.”

“No one comes in or out without direct authorization from one of us three. Clear?” Asher’s voice is low with a subvocal growl.

“Crystal, sir,” Jones responds, stepping back to allow us through as the massive gates slide open.

Emma trembles, her scent stringent in my nose. The muscles in my arms tighten so hard they almost cramp, but that’s okay. My body is the cage she needs, and I don’t give a fuck what it does to me. A purr builds in my chest, a deep, rumble I've never made before. Not for anyone. The vibration travels from my chest into her small frame, and I’m so fucking grateful when her muscles unclench and her scent mellows.

We pull through the gates, and I make sure they close behind us in the rearview mirror. The vehicles flanking us turn back and we’re on our own. The tension bleeds from Asher’s shoulders and Soren’s fingers drop from around the handle of his gun. I catch Asher’s gaze before he returns to the drive ahead.

“Carl Jones is out,” I say.

“Already done,” Asher says.

I work hard to relax as Asher takes us along the winding road lined with maple trees and tasteful landscaping. To the untrained eye, the compound could pass for an upscale residential community. That's by design. Every aspect of this place was created to feel normal, to help traumatized witnesses and victims decompress while under protection.

The compound is five acres of secured land containing several modest dwellings arranged around a central courtyard. Behind the pleasant facades, each building is a fortress—reinforced walls, bulletproof windows, panic rooms. These buildings have housed dozens of protected witnesses over the years, providing safety while their cases wound through the justice system.

None of them are as important as the precious cargo in my arms.

“Welcome to our little slice of suburban paradise,” I tell Emma, hoping conversation might ease the tension running through her body. “Complete with picket fences, flowerbeds, and enough hidden security measures to make a military base jealous.”

She watches the buildings pass with a healthy dose of fear, probably wondering what she’ll face. I can’t have her uncertain. She has to really understand how secure this place is.

“See that building there?” I nod toward a large structure between houses that looks like a community center. “That place houses our response team. Twenty officers on rotation 24/7. Soren, Asher, and I have pulled more overnight shifts there than I can count.”

She remains silent, but studies my face, clearly trying to determine if I'm lying. The distrust breaks my heart but is completely understandable given what she's survived.

“The average response time to any alarm is two minutes,” I continue, trying for lightness. “Which is four times longer than it takes Asher to go from 'calm professional' to 'grouchy bear' when someone touches his coffee without permission.”

“Coffee is sacred.” Thankfully, Asher picks the banter up. “And I’m not a grouchy bear.”

“Hmmm. What about ‘Moody Mocha Mammoth’?”

Asher raises an eyebrow. “Mammoths are extinct.”

“True, but they were majestic and memorable, just like your caffeine tantrums.”

The joke falls flat. She doesn't smile. Of course she doesn't. She's been thrown into yet another unfamiliar environment controlled by alphas. The fact that this one has prettier packaging doesn't change that fundamental reality for her.

Asher pulls the SUV into the driveway of the third house on the right, a blue two-story with white trim and a covered porch. We specifically requested this one for its layout: two exits, open floor plan, the highest security rating in the compound.

“Home sweet temporary home,” I say as Soren and Asher exit the vehicle. The driver's door opens, then mine, before we stand in the driveway I wish was our own instead of being a government owned and issued safe house.

I should set her down. Should give her space, autonomy, the choice to walk on her own, but her fingers are still clutching my shirt and, selfishly, I'm not ready to break this connection, this precious trust of her allowing me to hold her. I don’t think she’s conscious of what she’s doing, if that walk from the hospital room is anything to go by. But I’ll take it. So, I don't put her down or give her time to overthink. I carry our mate toward the house that will either become her sanctuary or her newest prison, depending entirely on how we handle the next few crucial days.

Gods help us—and Emma—if we fuck this up.

Asher pushes open the front door, stepping aside to let us enter first. The house is bright and airy with tall windows letting in welcome sunshine, but Emma's body grows increasingly rigid in my arms with each step. She rounds her shoulders and tries to shrink in my arms, making herself smaller. Less of a target. She has prey instincts written all over her.

“You have nothing to worry about here, Tough Girl,” I murmur.

She risks a glance at me, and the tension bleeds all over her face.

Asher stands in the entryway, guilt etched into every line of his body as he watches us. The air thickens with awkward tension. Him not knowing what to say, her not trusting anything he might say, me caught in the middle with our traumatized omega in my arms.

“I'm making an executive decision,” I announce, breaking the silence. “It's lunchtime. I'll make us all something to eat.” Food fixes everything, right? Or at least gives us something to do besides stand around marinating in discomfort.

“This house even has a coffee machine. Just don’t let Asher anywhere near it, as priorly discussed,” Soren says, a smile playing on his lips as he winks at her. I don’t miss the withering glance Asher sends to Soren and wisely keep my chuckle to myself.

I carry Emma through to the kitchen, a spacious room with granite countertops and stainless-steel appliances. Emma's breath hitches, turning shaky, and at first I think it's fear. Then I follow her line of sight to what's beyond those windows to a covered patio with comfortable lounge chairs arranged around a glass table. Beyond that, a small pool sparkles in the sunlight, surrounded by lush potted plants. The entire space is enclosed by tall privacy fencing, creating a secure outdoor sanctuary.

Her scent shifts, the bitter notes of fear mingling with something sharper, more desperate. Longing. Raw, undisguised yearning. This is something I can help her with.

“Do you want to go outside?” I ask softly.

She looks up at me, and my heart fractures at the hesitation in her eyes. “Would that... would that be okay?”

Would that be okay? As if feeling the sun on her skin is some extraordinary privilege she has to earn. As if she needs permission to breathe fresh air. I don't know whether to weep or punch through a wall.

“You never need to ask us for anything.” Demand it. Nothing will be too much for you, beautiful.

I carry her through the sliding glass doors and onto the sun-warmed tiles. “Put me down, please,” she whispers, and I carefully set her on her feet, staying close in case her legs give out again.

She stands there, swaying slightly, then tilts her face upward with her eyes closed. The sunlight bathes her in gold, highlighting every hollow of her too-thin face, every fading bruise. But it's her expression that undoes me. Pure joy, simple and profound, at something as simple as feeling warmth on her skin.

I silently beg to whatever gods are listening for reincarnation so I can kill those alphas again after I've ripped them apart with my bare hands the first time. Emma has suffered too long in darkness. Too long without feeling the sun. Too much of her life stolen that we can never get back.

“Looks like we're definitely having lunch outside,” I say lightly, burying the rage beneath a smile. Because right now, my violence won't help her. My protection might.

And somehow, seeing that look on her face, I'd trade all my vengeance just to keep her in the sunlight a little longer.

Chapter Ten

Emma

The sunlight is a miracle on my skin, warm and real and forgotten. I close my eyes, drinking it in like water after years of drought. For a moment, just one brief moment, I forget where I am, who I'm with, what has happened.

Then reality crashes back as Phoenix sets a plate in front of me. Sandwiches cut into quarters. Apple slices. Potato chips. Like I'm a child who needs manageable portions. It sure as hell beats the left-over food the other alphas gave to me. That was when they remembered to feed me. Flavor bursts on my tongue when I crunch into an apple slice, and then I can’t get enough. I shove another quarter of sandwich into my mouth, my cheeks already full. After months of near-starvation, the food is irresistible despite my exhaustion. My body's need overrides my caution.

“Whoa, slow down,” Phoenix says, alarm crossing his face. “You'll make yourself sick eating that fast.”

I freeze mid-chew, sandwich halfway to my mouth, again realizing my mistake too late.

Soren notices my reaction immediately. “It's not a command. After prolonged malnutrition, eating too quickly can cause serious digestive issues.”

Dr. Chen said the same thing. As well as the nurse, but easy to say for them. They’ve never faced not knowing when the next meal is coming. My gaze bounces between all three alphas, my mind warring with indecision. Do I keep eating? Have I eaten too much for their liking? Do I put everything down? Do I fall to my knees and present and beg their forgiveness?

“What he means,” Phoenix sends a pointed look at Soren, “is that we're worried about you. We’re not trying to control your eating.”

Asher watches from the edge of the patio, guilt rolling off him in waves. My fingers itch to find his claiming bite on my neck. Thankfully his emotions have stayed muted. I’m so used to the cruel intent from Pack Carmichaels’ bites that they’re easy enough to shove into the back of my mind.

At least Asher has stayed there while we’re all seated at the table. Something I’m grateful for even when I don’t understand his need to respect my space. Either that or he’s sick and tired of my flinching when he comes too close to me. Any of the alphas in Pack Carmichael would have hit me for that infraction. Logically I know it’s wrong. That those actions say more about the abuser than the victim, but the trauma and learned reaction is embedded into my DNA.

Phoenix speaks, forcing my attention back to the sunshine and not the darkness in my head. “We have plenty of food, Tough Girl. It won't run out. You can have as much as you want, whenever you want it. Just eat a little slower so you don’t get sick. That’s what we’re concerned about.”

I look away from his kindness, from the dimple that appears in his cheek when he offers that easy smile. He's beautiful. They all are… Phoenix with his disheveled blond hair and athletic build, Soren with his buzz cut that accentuates the sharp angles of his face and military bearing. Even Asher with his olive skin and haunted eyes. Large, powerful alphas who have the power to chain me to a different cage.

Soren places a glass of water beside my plate. “Small sips to keep hydrated.”

I study him, watching for the moment this will all go away. This could be a mirage my mind is throwing up while Derek or James or Matthew do whatever they want to my body, but all Soren does is sit in the spare chair at the table we’re all grouped around, hands resting on the solid wood arms. Phoenix picks up his sandwich and takes a bite. Birds chirp in a nearby tree. Sunlight makes my skin tingle. I clutch Mira's phone in my lap.

This is too real for my mind to be playing tricks.

The relief makes me sag. I’m really here. I’m not back in that basement losing my mind.

“It’s fine. I'm fine,” I mutter, but I do slow down, taking smaller bites. Not because they told me to, but because the sandwich is already sitting heavily in my shrunken stomach. The last thing I need is to vomit in front of them.

Tension ripples between the three alphas. Phoenix shoots Asher a look that could cut glass when he steps forward. Soren's jaw tightens.

“You set the pace here. No one's going to force you to do anything,” Phoenix says, his smile staying steady despite the sharpness in his eyes.

Not yet anyway. They’re being nice, but that can only be for now. Being nice to lull me into a secure place. I won’t forget what alphas are capable of.

“We should discuss security protocols, so she understands how safe she is here.” Soren adjusts his posture, a slight movement that makes me tense, but he only sits back in his chair, his powerful frame seemingly relaxed.

“Not now. Let her breathe first, brother,” Phoenix says.

My head snaps up at that exchange. They're disagreeing. Openly. In front of me. Matthew would never allow Derek or James to contradict him. Any disagreement would be settled with dominance displays, and violence, with someone being put in their place. Usually me.

They talk about me like I'm not here, though. That's familiar enough. Just like Matthew and the others did. Discussing me as if I were furniture to be arranged rather than a person and suddenly anger bursts through me.

“She can hear you,” I say, surprising myself, but I’ve spoken before I can stop myself. I sit still, not daring to move an inch, studying them to gauge what my discipline will be.

Phoenix's startled laugh surprises me. It's warm and rich and makes lines fan from the edges of his eyes. “Fair enough. Full disclosure it is. The compound is secure, but we're not taking chances. One of us will be with you at all times.”

“So, this is a prison with nicer guards.” I don’t understand why he’s laughing it off but still I can’t hold my tongue. My emotions swing between numb exhaustion and red-hot spikes. I’m losing control of myself, and I can’t let that happen. If I lose control, they’ll lose control, but I’ll get hurt because of it.

“Emma,” Asher says. I nearly knock over my water glass as I reel away from him. The guilt in his eyes deepens, and an uncomfortable itch starts under my skin.

“This isn't…” he tries again, voice gentle in a way that’s sandpaper on raw nerves.

“Isn't what?” My voice rises, emotions I can't contain spilling over. “Isn't a cage? Isn't another basement? Isn't three more alphas deciding what happens to me? Because from where I'm sitting, it looks exactly the same!”

The silence that follows is brittle, dangerous. My chest heaves and I start to shake as adrenaline releases through my body. My shoulders curl and rise to my ears and my stomach starts to churn. Why am I blurting out these words? Why can’t I stop them falling from my mouth? It’s only going to get them mad, and I know better than to do anything like that. “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Phoenix says, his gaze locking with mine. “From your perspective, that's exactly what this looks like. We can't change that overnight. This is a safe place. We will keep it safer for you.”

Soren clears his throat, glancing at Asher before turning to me. “Speaking of full disclosure. This might help.” He pulls a device from his pocket and sets it on the table. “It's connected to our security system.”

I force my shoulders down, making sure I haven’t made the alphas mad, but they seem relaxed. Maybe even concerned. There are no signs of aggression.

I drop my gaze to stare at the device. I’ve never seen anything so high-tech. That’s not a stretch though. My knowledge of the technical world was lost when I turned sixteen and was forced to attend Haven. The only tech I saw after that were movies of how omegas lived to give their alphas anything they needed. To me they were more like omega-porn. Got to love Haven-style ‘education’. “What is it?”

“Information. Control,” Soren says.

Those words hook something deep inside me and I take a longer look at the device.

“May I show you how it works?”

I hesitate, then nod. Sure, if he wants to show me, I’m not going to say no. Every bit of information counts toward the time I’ll be finding my way to my beach. Nothing is going to stop me from getting there, least of all some bullshit bonds I didn’t ask for.

He taps the screen, bringing it to life. “This is a direct feed to every security camera in and around the property. Swipe left or right to change views. Pinch to zoom. Why don’t you try it for yourself?”

He holds it out to me and I take the tablet, our fingers not quite touching. The device's cold metal edge against my palm sends an unexpected jolt through me. The weight, the temperature, the solid heft of it suddenly, violently reminds me of the basement chains.

The tablet slips from my numb fingers, clattering onto the patio tiles. I jump a foot in the air, my gaze locking into him. I freeze, muscles locking in anticipation of punishment, but Phoenix just kneels, retrieving the tablet and placing it on the table.

“No harm done,” he says easily, as if dropping expensive equipment is perfectly acceptable behavior. “These things are built to survive being thrown across rooms by frustrated detectives. A little tumble is nothing.”

Alphas don't just... let things go. They don't just accept mistakes without extracting payment.

Don’t they?

My hand inches to the device, measuring the alphas for any movement. But there's none. They sit and watch me, letting me set the pace. My fingers curl around the edge and I pick up the device, sure of the weight now. Okay, if they’re sure they’re letting me touch this, I should know how it works.

The screen shows the front yard, crystal clear in high definition. I swipe the way he showed me, and the view changes to the side of the house. Another swipe shows the backyard from a different angle.

“Every entrance is covered. Every window, every approach,” Soren explains.

I swipe again, finding interior cameras showing the living room, kitchen, hallways. “You have cameras inside the house?” My stomach cramps and my mind is thrown back to the camera James set up in the basement corner out of my cage, the black lens trained on me. The red light blinking. Always blinking.

“In common areas, yes,” Soren clarifies quickly. “Never in bedrooms or bathrooms. Those are private.”

“I’m allowed to go into these rooms?” I ask.

A frown creases his brow. “Of course. Your room is your space. As long as we know where you are, for safety reasons, you’re free to stay there as long as you want. Do anything you want for that matter too.”

Private? They're going to let me have my own space to do with what I want? It sounds too good to be true, and… I don't know what I'd even do. The concept of having preferences, of doing things I might enjoy, is foreign. What would I even do? Read? Watch TV? Stare at the wall? Pack Carmichael didn't exactly stay to play board games once they'd had their style of fun with me.

I was the game.

The enormity of having my own space after years of confinement, crashes over me. The concept should feel like freedom but instead a vast chasm expands inside me. I hate that chains of a different sort still bind me, and how pathetic is that? To be afraid of freedom because captivity has become so familiar?

“What am I allowed to want?” I whisper, my fingers white-knuckled around the tablet.

Asher stifles a growl. His face contorts before he turns away, running a hand through his dark hair.

“What about a card game? I can teach you a game or two,” Soren says.

Phoenix snorts, a dimple appearing in his cheek when he smiles. “No betting allowed. Last time we played poker with Soren, Asher and I ended up volunteering at the precinct's community fair dressed as cartoon characters.”

I blink at him. “What?”

“Our bond brother here,” Phoenix jabs a thumb at Soren, who looks suspiciously innocent, “counted cards and cleaned us out. The bet was that losers had to work the dunk tank at the fair.”

“In costume,” Soren adds, the faintest hint of smugness in his voice.

“I was a six-foot-six Pikachu,” Phoenix continues, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Complete with yellow face paint and red cheeks.”

“And I was SpongeBob,” Asher says from the edge of the patio, a ghost of a smile softening his features. “The costume was two sizes too small.”

“The photos are still circulating at the precinct,” Phoenix adds with an exaggerated grimace. “My dignity never recovered.”

The absurd mental image of these massive alphas squeezed into children's character costumes is so unexpected, so bizarrely normal, that I find myself staring at them.

“The truth is you can do what you want. Want to learn something? We'll find someone to teach you if we don’t know. Want some pampering? We'll bring in specialists. Want to read every book ever written or binge terrible reality TV or just sit in the sun and do absolutely nothing? It's all on the table.” Phoenix’s blue eyes hold mine, no trace of alpha command in them, just earnest conviction. “Your wants aren't privileges to be granted or denied. They're just... yours. Your right. Your choice.”

Alphas don't exactly have a great track record of standing by their word in my experience. I stare down at the tablet in my hands, not brave enough to meet their eyes as I continue. “Nice words are like butter on stale bread. Looks pretty, tastes better than nothing, but doesn't fill your stomach. And I've had my fill of pretty lies that leave me starving.”

And what is it with these alphas that make me forget every survival instinct I honed to perfection?

“Fair enough. Words are cheap. We'll show you instead, and keep showing you until you know it’s absolute truth,” Phoenix says.

Asher clears his throat. “For what it's worth. I understand why you don't believe us. I wouldn't either, in your position.”

His honesty is more unsettling than any anger would have been. Because anger I understand. Anger I know how to navigate. This... whatever this is... I have no map for. I don’t have the bandwidth to think about what they’ve told me and I let it slide. Asher is right, actions are louder than words and I’m no innocent omega in her first heat blush. I know the exact brand of hell alphas are capable of. I’ll watch. Listen. Learn. But one thing I won’t be, is surprised when they do exactly what I knew they would do all along.

Thankfully I’m also a broken omega.

The no-heat, no-fun kind.

I can’t be used like that anymore.

I go back to sweeping through the screens on the tablet. The next screen shows the guard house, where two unfamiliar faces monitor screens similar to the one I'm holding.

“Those aren't the same guards from earlier.” I glance at Soren.

“These men know not to stare,” Asher growls. He did what he said he’d do.

I look back at the screen.

Phoenix taps the corner of the screen. “See this red button? It's a panic switch. Press it, and we all get an immediate alert, no matter where we are.” He demonstrates the motion without triggering it. “The entire house goes into lockdown. The response team arrives within two minutes. This tablet is yours to keep while you’re here. If you feel like you need to press this button for any reason at all, you go ahead and do it.”

My fingers hover over the screen—would it protect me, or summon new jailers? Then my eyes drift past the tablet, past these alphas with their careful words and watchful eyes. Past the patio with its comfortable furniture and filtered sunlight. To the high fences topped with security cameras. To the guards patrolling the perimeter. To the locked gates and monitored entrances.

No matter what this looks like, I'm not free. I've just traded one prison for another. One with better food and softer beds, perhaps, but a prison nonetheless.

The bars might be invisible, the cage might be gilded, but I’m still in chains.

Chapter Eleven

Asher

Shadows lengthen across the compound's manicured lawn while we confer in the living area inside the house. Behind me, ice clinks against glass as Phoenix pours three fingers of whiskey for each of us. At least Emma is with us now. She's safe in this fortress of a house, away from hospital corridors where the Carmichaels could reach her. We're bone-deep exhausted after standing guard outside her door for three days straight, but our discomfort means nothing.

She is all that matters.

Thank the gods we were there when Matthew and his goons stormed the hospital floor with that team of hired muscle. Why would they do something as desperate and public as that?

We've told Emma she'll never be back in their clutches again. The bitter disbelief in her eyes when we promised her protection cut deeper than any knife, but we meant it with every cell in our bodies, every instinct in our souls. She's our scent-matched mate. The one we've searched for without even knowing what we were missing. There is nothing—nothing—we won't do to protect her.

Even if she hates us for it.

Even if she never trusts us.

Even if my bite on her neck remains our only connection to her.

We will keep her safe or die trying.

“She's finally asleep, bundled under all of the blankets in her bed,” Soren announces, entering the room after coming downstairs from checking on her. He accepts the hit of whiskey from Phoenix and downs it in one gulp. “Her scent is bitter. She's pulled every blanket into a makeshift barrier around herself.”

Of course it is. She's terrified of us. Of me in particular.

I frown, something nagging at me. “She didn't use the nesting room?”

Next to each bedroom in the safe house is a specially designed space for omegas—private, secure, filled with soft materials for nest-building. Essential for omega comfort and healing. We'd stocked Emma's with extra pillows, the softest blankets we could find, everything an omega in distress should crave.

Soren’s jaw tightens. “Didn't even open the door, from what I could tell.”

Phoenix sets his glass down, concern flashing across his features. “That's... not good.”

I know why those doors aren’t open and she chose the bed instead of a nest. “It means she doesn't feel safe. Not even slightly.”

An omega only builds a nest when they feel secure enough to be vulnerable. When they believe no harm will come to them in their most defenseless state. Emma, barricaded under blankets in a locked room, is telling us exactly how far we have to climb.

“We should get her more nesting materials,” Phoenix suggests. “Different materials she can choose from.”

Soren nods. “I’ve already ordered some. They’ll be delivered tomorrow, along with a variety of clothing for her.”

“And if she uses them to barricade her door instead?” I ask, only half joking.

“Then at least we'll know she's resourceful,” Phoenix says with a sad smile. “Baby steps, remember?”

Baby steps indeed. We're trying to undo years of abuse, and I'm not sure there are enough steps in the world for her to reach that destination.

I accept the glass Phoenix offers, the amber liquid matching his scent. The living room of the safe house is both familiar and strange tonight. Contemporary furniture we've used during dozens of protective operations, tasteful artwork selected to be inoffensive, neutral colors designed to calm witnesses under stress. Nothing personal. Nothing threatening. A perfect blank slate.

“I haven’t helped make her feel safe,” I say.

“You need to ease up on the self-flagellation, Ash,” Phoenix says, dropping onto the leather sofa. “It's coming through the bond so strongly I can barely think.”

Words are acid in my mouth. “I bit her without consent. I did that to our mate!” Gods, I’d sell my left nut if I could go back to that night and re-do everything. She could be in our arms where she belongs instead of buried under blankets in a strange bed.

Soren takes the armchair across from Phoenix. “The bite was…unfortunate. But it’s the only thing legally protecting her from the Carmichaels right now.”

‘Unfortunate’ is not the word I’d choose. ‘Fucking abhorrent’ are better choices.

“Still doesn't make it right,” I snap, unable to keep the edge from my voice.

Soren grunts. “No, it doesn't, but dwelling on what can't be changed won't help her.”

I turn back to the window, pressing my forehead against the cool whiskey tumbler in my hand. Our bond—the pack bond that has sustained us for a decade—pulses with shared emotion. Phoenix's worry. Soren's concern. My crushing guilt. All of it overlaid with the stunned disbelief that, after years of searching, we found our omega in a basement. Chained. Starved. Broken.

Fuck.

“Did either of you ever imagine it would be like this?” Phoenix asks quietly, voicing what we're all thinking. “Finding her, I mean.”

“I had scenarios,” Soren admits. “None included finding her in those conditions.”

I close my eyes, remembering the moment her scent first hit me. Florally sweet honeysuckle and musky vanilla. Perfect. Pure. Ours. Then seeing her so thin, bruised, terrified… that shattered me.

“We should be celebrating.” I can’t keep bitterness from edging my words. “Ten years of waiting, of wondering if our fourth even existed, and here she is. Our perfect match. And she can't stand to be in the same room with us. With me.”

“She let Phoenix carry her,” Soren points out. “She accepted the security tablet. And our food.”

I turn to face them. “You saw her flinch every time I moved.”

Phoenix leans forward, elbows on his knees. “Recovery isn't linear. Trust isn't built in a day. Especially not after what she's been through, and it’s only early days.”

He’s right. Given her trauma, it’s far too early. Her healing will take years. Not days.

I knock back my whiskey, welcoming the burn that’s nothing compared to the acid of self-loathing in my gut. Forgiveness from Emma is a distant star—visible but unreachable. In her current state it's a faint hope at best. And why should she forgive me? I became exactly what she fears most. An alpha who takes what she clearly didn’t want to give.

I set my empty glass down on the mantel, exhaling a weary breath. My limbs ache with exhaustion, but my mind refuses to stop spinning. The questions crowding my head are relentless, keeping sleep far out of reach.

“What background information do we have about Emma?” My voice is quiet but edged with urgency I can't conceal. I know Soren would have investigated files to find everything he could.

“To be honest, not nearly enough. We know Emma was at Haven with Mira. We know they escaped together, along with a third omega named Leah who’s still missing. After that…” Soren trails off, shoulders stiffening.

I run a palm across my face, tension coiling hot and tight within me. My chest is heavy, anger and helplessness mingling bitterly at the thought of all Emma has endured. “The question is how exactly Emma ended up in Pack Carmichael’s hands.”

We’ve been tracking the omega auction network through Haven’s files we found after Mercer’s death thanks to Pack Blackwood. Emma is another victim of that trade, but we need to understand exactly how she ended up in that basement. We need paperwork. Connections. Proof of the larger network.

We've rescued nineteen omegas so far, since Mira stepped forward. Nineteen. And still, nothing concrete directly tying Hardwick. Nor any information about how the Commissioner is implicated.

“Even if every omega testified openly tomorrow, the courts would disregard their words.” A year’s worth of raids, rescues, watching shattered omegas fight to reclaim broken lives, all painfully slow victories fighting upstream against a legal system pitted against them. “We have to find evidence that's undeniable. Evidence that no judge can ignore.”

A hopeless silence falls across the room, each of us absorbing that frustrating truth.

Soren straightens, breaking the quiet. “Pack Carmichael are powerful, wealthy alphas. If anyone has something concrete, it's them. We may not be able to find evidence, but we do have a source.”

Worry darkens Phoenix’s expression. “We can’t push her. Forcing her memories to the surface might traumatize her more than she already is.”

I don’t want to press Emma harder than she’s ready. The last thing I want is the fragile trust, such as it is, to crash back down. But still, without her we might never put an end to this nightmare.

“Maybe she already knows more than she realizes,” Phoenix says, subdued steel entering his voice. “A name, a location, even a seemingly meaningless detail about how the transactions happen.”

“She needs to be willing to open up on her own terms.” The words taste bitter, clawing at my throat. Asking her to relive her trauma, even briefly, feels unbearably wrong. But inside, I can’t stop thinking of what’s at stake. “If we find the evidence through her, it’s not just about justice for Emma. It's about finally dismantling Hardwick’s operation and changing the very laws of our currently broken society.”

None of us speak but I can sense we're all struggling with the same impossible balance—the fine line between protecting her or exposing her again to the cost she's already paid.

“Whatever we do, we have to tread carefully. Pack Carmichael's ties to the commissioner change the game entirely. There’s no telling how deep his reach goes. At least we’re safe here, for now.” I rub my tense neck.

Soren meets my eyes, arms folding across his massive chest. “Do we think he was behind the hospital raid? Would he risk showing his hand so openly?”

“I think that was all them. The commissioner’s not that reckless. He’s cautious. He wouldn't publicly expose any connection to Pack Carmichael. Not until it serves him best. He’s been careful, staying hidden all this time. He isn’t going to slip now,” I say.

My stomach twists uneasily as I consider the risks we're taking; how dangerous this is becoming.

“Our best chance is still Emma. If she has the smallest clue—anything she can offer—it might be exactly what we need to bury them all.”

We exchange a look full of shared dread, pain, and the terrible weight of what we’re forced to ask of Emma. I press my palms against my eyes, hating every part of this. “Meanwhile she can barely look at us without flinching. Perhaps there’s some information buried in the old Haven servers. Adrian might be able to access…”

Soren is already pulling out his phone. “Cole would be more efficient for this,” he interjects, dialing quickly. “He's been decrypting Haven's backup servers since Mercer’s death.”

He puts the call on speaker and sets the phone on the coffee table. Three rings, then a crisp voice answers.

“Soren. It’s a bit late for a social call.”

“Hey Cole, I know, and it can’t be helped. We need more information from Haven's database. Anything and everything relating to Emma and Pack Carmichael. Purchase records, communications, financial transactions. Anything linking them to the auction network.”

He’s already infiltrated hidden records buried deep within the Haven mainframe we accessed with Mercer’s death. Hopefully he can find something directly related to Emma there.

“I’ll try to get as much as I can,” Cole says. He wants the same as I do. Equality for his omega as well as every other omega out there in hiding, in every abusive situation, or not able to flourish.

“Thanks, Cole,” Phoenix chimes in. “How's the hunt for Leah going?”

“Still nothing. Zane's running facial recognition through every database we can access, but if she didn't make it out with them…” Cole leaves the grim possibility unspoken.

“Keep us posted and we’ll do what it takes to get her back, too,” Soren says. “We owe you. Again.”

“You owe us nothing. We’ll nail Pack Carmichael to the wall. Those assholes won’t get away with what they’ve done,” Cole replies, a dangerous edge to his voice.

After ending the call, the living room becomes our war room. Except this time, it's personal. This time, our mate sleeps upstairs while we plot to keep her safe.

“We need to focus on our short-term priorities. Security, trust-building, helping her recover and feel safe,” Soren says.

Phoenix nods. “I’ll handle her nutrition. She's dangerously malnourished. I'll coordinate with Dr. Chen and set up a specialized plan.”

“I'll liaise with Cole. Keep on top of the legal and investigative fronts. Anything concrete to link the Carmichaels directly to Hardwick,” Soren says.

They both turn to look at me, waiting for my input as their prime. I exhale, frustration and grief a bitter knot inside my chest. “I'll keep my distance. She’s terrified of me—and with good reason. Right now, space is what she needs most from me.”

Phoenix opens his mouth to protest, but I raise a hand, stopping him before he starts. “It's practical, not self-pity. She responds best to you two right now. Use that, build trust where I can't.”

Soren nods in reluctant agreement, his gaze falling to the floor before he continues. “Medium-term goal—find evidence against Pack Carmichael. Proof strong enough to withstand any scrutiny: evidence that links undeniably back up the chain to Hardwick.”

“And long-term?” Phoenix asks, although he already knows the answer—we all do.

“We dismantle the entire network.” Our promise to Emma echoes within me, ironclad. “We end every auction, expose every corrupt official, and tear down every alpha who sees omegas as disposable property. We make them answer for their twisted sense of entitlement.”

Because that’s what it comes down to in the end. Alphas taking what they have no right to take. Using force and power to twist something precious and fragile into something that should have only ever been freely given.

My phone vibrates against my hip. The screen displays a name that makes me frown: Kevin Dawson, head of the department's Legal Affairs Division. The man who keeps us out of trouble when cases go sideways.

I put the phone on speaker when I answer and wonder why the hell Dawson is calling us this late at night. “Dawson. What's wrong?”

My skin prickles in anticipation of someone from LAD contacting us. Thank the gods Dawson is on our side. Especially now when we have everything to lose.

He draws a breath before he speaks and I ignore my churning gut. “Are Soren and Phoenix with you? You all need to hear this.” Dawson continues after my affirmation. “Pack Carmichael has just filed emergency proceedings against you. They're claiming illegal interference with rightfully owned…property. They want your omega returned immediately.”

The room temperature drops ten degrees. I expected this but, surely, we have more time.

“How? Asher has claimed her and he’s a prime scent-matched alpha.” Soren plays our one fucked-up card.

“They're claiming your bonding bite was an assault, Asher. They want you brought up on charges.” Dawson's frustration is evident even through the phone.

Phoenix swears under his breath. “How long do we have?”

“Hearing's set for day after tomorrow with Judge Winters.” The name sends another chill through the room. Winters is known for his traditional views on omega rights—or lack thereof.

“The day after tomorrow!” Soren launches out of his chair. “How the fuck did they manage that so quickly?”

My mind races through how we can delay them, and I pull at the last straw my mind throws up. “Tell them we can’t make it. Emma’s our scent-matched omega and if she’s separated from us, medically speaking she’ll be in danger. She needs our physical contact to recover.”

“Dr. Chen will back that up,” Phoenix says. At least the good doctor is on Emma’s side.

Soren leans forward, his hands clasped. “It will buy us time.”

Time we desperately need because if this goes ahead, our timetable for gathering evidence is greatly reduced. The unspoken reality hangs heavy between us. Legal delays can't last forever. Eventually, we'll run out of procedural maneuvers, medical excuses, jurisdictional challenges.

“If we all completed the bonds as her scent-matched pack, the Carmichaels' claim would be void,” Phoenix says.

“That’s not going to happen without her full consent.” I’ve already done enough damage. I don’t expect Soren and Phoenix to add to the damage.

I press my palms against my eyes again, the pressure doing nothing to ease the headache building behind them. Emma's trust is a fragile thing we haven't even begun to earn, and here we are, discussing a complete bonding as a legal strategy. The irony is bitter enough to choke on.

“We find another way.” I drop my hands. “One that doesn't require her to trade one form of bondage for another.”

“I'm doing what I can on my end and will delay the proceeding with everything I can put in its way,” Dawson promises. “But... prepare for the worst. Winters rarely rules against documented ownership. I’ll contact Dr. Chen in the meantime and get that letter of declaration from him.”

After we end the call, silence falls over the living room even though I know Dawson will do everything he said he would.

Phoenix sends me a desperate look. “How in the seven hells did they get that through so fast? And get Judge Winters for their case?”

He has a point. The legal system moves slowly. Bringing forward a case of ownership doesn’t happen this fast.

“The commissioner's help, you think?” Soren asks.

He has a point. “It could be, but he won't want any direct, obvious connection to Pack Carmichael—not if someone starts linking them back to these underground auction networks. He'll play it as an innocent favor, signing something off for a friend. Technically, the law would be on his side.”

“We're not letting them take her. I don't care what the law says,” Phoenix says.

“We won't,” I agree. “Even if it means our badges.”

I’m already planning aliases.

Soren stabs the tablet. “I’ll sort out our contingency plan. If the ruling goes against us, we'll need extraction routes, safe houses not connected to the department.”

I clamp down anything she’ll feel coming from me and look up at the ceiling in the direction that Emma sleeps, unaware that her nightmare may not be over. That the alphas who chained her might legally reclaim her after all.

Chapter Twelve

Emma

The bedroom is large, with pale blue walls and a queen-sized bed covered in more blankets than I've seen in years. Phoenix called it “mine” when he brought me here to rest after lunch on the patio, but I know better than to believe anything is truly mine.

My fingers trace the soft comforter as I sit rigidly on the edge of the bed. Five blankets. Three pillows. More comfort than I've known in years and yet I can't relax.

Phoenix said the nest is through the door to my right. He wanted me to go in there, his eyes so earnest it almost hurt to look at him. As if I would know what to do with such a space.

I was nineteen the last time I tried to build a nest. I was in so much shock at being sent to the Basement underground at Haven I needed something.

I knew it was against the rules, but I also hadn’t thought the three blankets I’d been given and molded into a shape on top of the thin mattress on the metal bedframe could be called anything resembling a nest.

I’d seen what they should look like. I wasn’t totally naive. At Haven, the omegas pored over glossy omega magazines, dreaming of the beautiful nests pictured inside. We used to talk about our first shopping trip into any of the specialty stores purpose-built, and what we’d buy. The textures. The colors.

The consequential fucking.

I just hadn’t thought the three threadbare blankets Hugo and Lars had thrown on me constituted anything resembling a nest.

But I’d been desperate.

“What do you think you're doing?” Hugo's voice had cut through my concentration as I arranged my worn sweater and an extra pillowcase into the blankets.

“I—I was just—” The words died in my throat as Lars entered behind him, both alphas blocking the doorway of the room I shared with Mira and Leah.

“Nesting without permission,” Lars finished, disgust evident in his voice. “As if you've earned that privilege.”

I remember how small I felt, how I tried to explain that I was feeling anxious, that nesting was a natural omega response to stress.

“Natural?” Hugo had sneered, advancing into the room. “You think you know what's natural for omegas? We'll show you what's natural.”

What followed was three days of “correction therapy” where they systematically dismantled any notion I had about omega rights or dignity. Three days of being forced to recite my “lessons” while they stripped me bare, hosed me down with cold water and barked at me to ‘present’ for hours in the walk-in freezer.

That was their favorite correction. They’d walk around me, laughing while I was locked in my body and unable to move. Unable to stop them seeing every private inch of me.

That was when I made up my imagined beach. The beach I told myself I would find one day. One day when it would all be over.

Except ‘one day’ never came.

I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing the memory back into its box. Some parts of those three days remain mercifully blurred. Others remain in perfect, painful clarity. The final lesson, delivered by Lars as they ended it: “Omegas nest when their alphas permit it. Omegas comfort themselves with their alphas' approval. Everything you are, belongs to them. Remember that, or next time your punishment will last a week.”

I never made a nest again.

Not that I could have done so in the Carmichaels’ basement. As cold as it was down there, they only gave me one thin blanket, more to keep me alive than for any concern about my comfort. That ragged piece of fabric was never a nest, never a comfort. Just one more reminder of how little I mattered.

I have five blankets now. Three pillows. A dedicated nesting room. It should feel like luxury.

Instead, it’s a test I'm certain to fail.

This room has features that are undeniably different from any basement I've known. Carpet instead of concrete. A bathroom with actual hot water. And most shocking of all… windows. Real windows. With a beautiful view obscured by curtains.

I rise from the bed, fingers trembling as I pull back the fabric. My body is rigid, I expect someone to come barreling through the door to yell at me not to touch them. It takes a herculean effort to make myself push the curtains to either side of the frame.

Summer light floods the room, momentarily blinding me. The sun warms my skin, but I’m so pale the sunshine doesn’t take long to start hurting. I retreat to the bed, pulling my knees to my chest as I stare through the glass. The compound spreads before me, manicured lawns, security fencing in the distance, and the pool where we ate lunch. Sunlight dances across its surface, turning the water to a sheath of glittering sparkles.

It's mesmerizing. Beautiful in a way I'd forgotten things could be.

I wonder if the water at my beach looks like that. Glittering and alive. I worry that the image in my mind isn't accurate, that I've been clinging to a fantasy that doesn't exist because in reality I’ve never been to a beach.

I was sixteen when my parents died in the car accident. Just four days after I'd presented as omega and my mother had registered me with the designation office. I'd been at school, taking a math test, blissfully unaware that my life had already changed forever when the principal called me into her office. “There's been an accident,” she said, the police officer beside her already holding paperwork for my transfer to the Haven Institute.

No time to grieve.

No time to process.

Just a sudden, brutal transition from daughter to orphan to omega ward of the state in the span of a single afternoon. Without any extended family to take me in, I was taken directly to The Haven Institute still wearing my school uniform, still numb with shock. All my dreams of seeing the ocean with my parents that summer—our planned vacation—reduced to something I'll only ever know from the photographs on my phone that the Haven administrators confiscated. I was at Haven for three years before Mercer sent me to the Basement. Mira and Leah were already there. The Basement brought us together. That year made us more sisters than friends. My only remaining family.

And then…and then we escaped, and they were lost to me forever two years ago. At least I think it’s that long.

Until Mira came to see me.

I can only hope I see Leah again.

Maybe Mira will come to the beach with me. I hope the water really is that blue, as sparkly as the pool. I hope the sand really is warm. I'll have to learn to swim if I want to live on my beach. Another skill to acquire once I'm truly free.

Another thing to add to the list of “after.”

Is it too much to hope that my afterlife will be better than my life so far? If only I could stop being omega. That would ensure I’d have something to really look forward to. No one or nothing could touch me again.

No more barking. Possession. Knots. Cocks. No more orders.

No more alphas.

I’ve had ten lifetimes’ enough of alphas, only…

Only the alphas downstairs are…different. No less powerful. One barked order from them and I’d be on my knees faster than I could comprehend, but they…haven’t barked at me. Haven’t ordered me to do anything. In fact, they’ve gone out of their way to try to make me comfortable, as uncomfortable as that has been in and of itself.

One of them did take from me, though. Asher bit me. Claimed me without my consent. Something I know to be true of alphas, only…

I rub my chest, frowning at the part inside me where the tangle of bonds usually throbs. I feel the Carmichaels’ collective anger. Their incessant rage that their toy has been stolen from them, but Asher's bond is muted.

When he bit me, his emotions had poured into me. A tsunami of feeling so powerful it nearly drowned me. Elation so pure it felt like flying. Disbelief that sang through his veins like electricity. Then horror—deep, gut-wrenching horror as he took in my condition.

That horror had morphed into something fierce and protective. A powerful need to save me. To heal me. To shelter me. To give me back every piece of myself that had been stolen.

Then nothing. Or rather, not nothing, but a deliberate... restraint. Like a river held back by a dam, with only the smallest trickle allowed through.

I press my hand harder against my chest, trying to understand. Asher's bond is still there. I can feel his presence, but it's controlled. Muted. As though he's consciously holding back the full force of his emotions. Not letting them flood into me unchecked as Matthew, Derek, and James always did. As though he... cares how his feelings might affect me. As though he's keeping himself in check to avoid burdening me.

Under that careful control, I catch glimpses of what he's containing. Self-loathing so intense it makes my throat tighten. Guilt that cuts like glass. Anger—not at me, but at himself.

But beneath that self-hatred lies something even more confusing. Tenderness. Protectiveness. A bone-deep certainty that I'm precious. Worth protecting. Worth waiting for. Worth whatever patience it takes.

I pull the blankets tighter around me, trying to make sense of it. Alphas don't shield omegas from their emotions. They use the bond to control, to punish, to remind us of our place.

Why would Asher restrain himself when he could do whatever he wants? He claimed me. He owns me. He could use our bond to force compliance, to make me feel his dominance. Yet instead, he's... protecting me?

The partial bonds with the Carmichaels are like open wounds, seeping poison into my system. But Asher's bond, even unwanted, is different. Like a door he's carefully closed to shield me, not trap me.

I don’t know what to do with this, so I do what I’ve learned: step back from the storm and lock it away in the back of my mind.

The sun continues its descent, shadows lengthening across the lawn. As daylight fades, the room grows too large around me. Too exposed. Too open. After years in small, dark spaces, all this emptiness makes my skin prickle. I feel watched from all angles, vulnerable from too many directions.

Soren said there were no cameras in my room. I checked on the tablet that sits on the bedside table, but still I feel something. My stomach growls, reminding me I've barely eaten. Soon, one of the alphas will come with dinner but I don't have it in me to see any of them again. Not today. I'm hollowed out, emptied by the simple act of existing.

I crawl under the mound of blankets, pulling them over my head even though it feels wrong. I’m nesting without permission, but this isn't a nest. Just a hiding place. A small, dark space I can control when everything else is too much.

I make a tiny hole in my blanket fortress, just large enough to keep watch on the darkening sky outside. To watch everything outside.

Movement catches my eye, a figure moving between trees at the edge of the property. I tense, heart racing, until I make out the uniform. A guard in tactical gear, rifle slung across his chest, patrolling the perimeter. Another figure passes minutes later, following the same route, and I start to relax.

As twilight deepens, I notice cameras mounted at strategic points around the property, their small red lights blinking against the darkening sky. Watching. Always watching.

A soft knock at the door tightens my chest.

“Emma?” Soren's voice filters through the wood. “Are you hungry? I've prepared dinner if you'd like to join us.”

I hold my breath, willing him to go away. Despite the hunger gnawing at my stomach, despite the smell of food that reaches even here, I can't face them again. Can't navigate another meal of careful conversation.

Seconds tick by, leaving me to wonder if they’ll give me a choice. If their words are meaningless. Then his footsteps retreat down the hallway. He didn't demand a response. Didn't open the door to check on me. Just... accepted my silence and left.

And I…don't know how to process.

Full darkness falls. Hunger becomes a constant, painful companion. I know how to endure starvation, but now... now there's food available. Phoenix said the kitchen was open to me anytime. Said I could help myself. Easy words, but do they mean them? Is this another test? Another way to catch me breaking rules I don't know exist? My head is so fucked up I just don’t know. I’m driving myself insane and that gnawing hunger isn’t helping. Now I’ve been able to eat, my body is hyperaware of what it needs and my stomach demands food.

I creep downstairs. A light shines from the living room, voices drifting out—tense, serious. I freeze on the bottom step, torn between retreat and the promise of more food just beyond the kitchen door.

“—emergency hearing tomorrow morning.” An unfamiliar male voice, slightly tinny through what must be a speakerphone. “Pack Carmichael is demanding immediate return of their 'property.' Their lawyer is good. Connected.”

I press against the wall, hardly breathing.

“We’ll find another way. One that doesn't require her to trade one form of bondage for another,” Asher says.

“I'm doing what I can on my end. But... prepare for the worst. Winters rarely rules against documented ownership. Just get me that letter. I’ll extend the process as long as I can.” The voice I don’t know speaks.

“We're not letting them take her. I don't care what the law says,” Phoenix says.

“We won’t. Even if it means our badges,” Asher confirms.

My hand flies to my mouth, stifling the small sound that escapes. They'd risk their careers? Criminal charges? For me? That's... impossible. Alphas don't sacrifice for omegas.

Too late, I realize the conversation has stopped and I look up to find three pairs of eyes fixed on me from the living room doorway.

Chapter Thirteen

Emma

Ilock my knees when all I want to do is run back to the safety of my bed. Not that it's my bed, or that it's safe, or will stop alphas scrutinizing my every move, but my stupid omega instincts aren't reasonable. The Carmichaels did whatever they wanted to me. I had no control over my body, even when my mind screamed to get the fuck away, my body still begged on my hands and knees for them. I'll never forget their laughter when I pleaded for their cocks, writhing for them in my own sweat and filth—that cruel, satisfied sound seared into the darkest corners of my soul. I crush the thought and stomp it down, down, down.

I clear my throat, trying to wet the desert in my mouth. “You'd risk criminal charges? For…me?”

“We’d risk everything for you, omega. If we haven’t been clear enough, let us tell you now without any question. No matter what happens to us, you will never go back to Pack Carmichael.” Asher rasps the words over gravel in his throat and steps toward me, one hand extended, but he moves too fast. Too sudden. My survival instincts engage against the largest threat in the room. I stumble backward, shoulder blades hitting the wall behind me, all reaction and no grace.

He’s not the only threat. They all are. Big, powerful alpha threats that make my insides quiver, with deep growls and delectable scents that fuck with my mind, and I don’t want that. Don’t want my stupid, senseless omega side lusting after alphas. That path has offered nothing but misery. If there was a way to carve it out of me, please hand me the knife. I’ll willingly sever any body part if it means peace.

Asher freezes, and I’m not sure he’s even breathing as his hand drops to his side. “I'm sorry, Emma.”

I ignore his deep frown and the flash of pain on his face as a torrent of his emotions unleashes into me. I read them all as quickly as I name them. Fear that he's frightened me again. Self-loathing for his inability to approach me correctly. Despair at the damage done. Joy that I'm here, speaking to them. Hope that somehow this—whenever this is—can be fixed.

But underneath the whiplash of emotions is a current of unmistakable lust—not predatory or demanding, but present nonetheless.

The last emotion sets my nerves on fire. I don't want another alpha lusting after me, no matter how different they seem or how their scents sink into my skin, warm my bones and prime my body to release a gallon of slick.

“Just—stay away from me.” Gods, please just stay away.

Asher backs up three full steps, giving me space I didn't expect. “I shouldn't have moved so quickly. I should have known better.”

I hate that I feel unhinged. Hate it even more that they see it and what makes it worse is the fact he acknowledged it. That he listened to me and backed off is a miracle in and of itself.

It’s not something I’m going to dwell on. “You didn't answer my question. Did you mean what you said? That you'd risk everything to keep me from going back to them?”

My voice wavers. I don't trust them—can't trust them—but I need to know if what I overheard was real or just another pretty lie. Need to feel the truth, if there is any, sink into my bones.

Phoenix nods. “That's exactly what we meant.”

“We told you. You're never going back to Pack Carmichael. No matter how dirty they play, no matter what strings they pull,” Soren adds.

Asher keeps his distance but speaks. “We'll find a legal way to keep you safe if we can. But if we can't...” His jaw tightens. “Then we'll find another way. Nothing is off the table.”

I thought hearing what they had to say would make it easier to understand but it doesn't. I have to tell them if they’re going to throw their lives away over me, I have no plans to stay with them. “If you’re being honest with me, I’ll be honest with you. Whatever you do, it won’t change that when this is over—when I'm safe from Pack Carmichael—I have plans. And they don't include any alphas. Not even you.”

Pain flashes across their faces and I ignore the hook that sinks into me and makes me want to take those words back, but my beach is not big enough for any alpha no matter what they feel they have to do for me. That’s on them. Not me.

“If that's what you want when this is over, we'll make sure you have it. Your freedom, your choice—that's what matters,” Asher says.

I lift my chin. “I'm not going to change my mind. Not for any reason.”

The words taste like lies even as I say them. Because their scents are delectable. They call to something deep inside me that should be lost forever. Pack Carmichaels' rotting scents always made my stomach churn, but in the end it won't matter how good these alphas smell. Scent-matches or not, I won't be here long enough for it to matter.

An uncomfortable silence stretches between us. I shift my weight, acutely aware of my rumbling stomach. That's why I came down here in the first place. Food.

“You're hungry,” Phoenix says, not a question but a statement of fact. He moves slowly, deliberately telegraphing each motion as he gestures toward the kitchen. “Let's get you something to eat.”

I follow him, keeping Soren between me and Asher. Phoenix guides me to a stool at the kitchen island, his hand hovering near my elbow but never touching.

“Sit before you fall down,” he says gently. “You're shaking.”

I fist my hands and cross my arms because that’s exactly what I’m doing. I’ve rested for a day here and days at the hospital, yet exhaustion is catching up with me. Being upright, alert, constantly on guard—being omega—is draining.

Asher’s giant form looms in the doorway. His gaze rakes my face before he turns away. Steps back. “I’m going to check on the patrols. Make sure everything's secure.”

I grip the edge of the counter, ignoring the hook that lodges in my chest and makes me want to call him back to soak in his scent and burrow against his broad chest and demand comfort. “I can make something myself.”

“I'm sure you can,” Phoenix says, already moving to the refrigerator. “But I made soup earlier. It'll be faster.” He pulls out a container. “And you look about ten seconds from collapse.”

He's not wrong. The simple act of coming downstairs has drained me.

Soren retrieves a crusty roll from the pantry, butter from the fridge. “Sustenance is critical to recovery. Especially with your current nutritional deficits. Dr. Chen gave us a diet for you to adhere to and strict instructions to make sure you eat.”

“What Soren meant,” Phoenix says with a wink as he pours soup into a bowl, “is that you need to eat good food to get your strength back. Luckily I’ll be your chef for the foreseeable future.”

Soren spreads butter in even strokes on the fluffy bread while I swallow the saliva that’s flooding my mouth. “Not everyone needs your translations, brother.”

Phoenix rolls his eyes. “Everyone needs my translations.”

“My information is accurate.”

“And delivered with all the warmth of a medical textbook.”

Their banter continues as Phoenix heats the soup. Soren slides the buttered bread across the counter to me. I know it's meant to be comforting, but I can’t help my shoulders rising to my ears.

I’m not used to this.

My stomach twists its demand for food, and I have to obey. The first taste of the bread roll catapults me backward in time. Sunday mornings with my parents—Dad with his coffee, Mom slicing fresh rolls from the bakery down the street. The sunlight streaming through our small kitchen window, catching in Mom's blonde hair that matched my own. Dad telling silly jokes that made Mom roll her eyes but smile anyway. The three of us building sandwiches together, adding layers of cheese and meat and vegetables, making a game of whose creation would be tallest. Dad always let me win.

The memory is so vivid, a sound of pure pleasure slips past my lips. The air thickens. Phoenix and Soren's scents flood the kitchen. I eye the coffee machine, certain that Phoenix is fixing a fresh brew but it’s all alpha pheromones stealing my will with his distinct male musk.

My lungs open and I draw in a deep breath, savoring the dark and moody sandalwood. A ripple of awareness rolls through my body and my abdomen tightens. Warmth I haven’t felt for a long time pools in the place between my hips, making everything heavy and languid. Another moan slips out and this sound has nothing to do with bread rolls and everything to do with things best not felt.

Two pairs of eyes lock onto me, heat-seeking missiles finding their target so that I’m weighed and pinned to my seat. Phoenix's blue gaze darkens to stormy midnight, lips parted as though my sound has robbed him of oxygen. Soren's brown eyes are liquid chocolate, his fingers frozen mid-motion on the butter knife. Time stretches between us, honeyed-thick, pure alpha attention. My skin prickles, caught between the urge to flee and the treacherous desire to bask.

I slide to the edge of the stool, my movements slow and careful. I eye the distance between me, the alphas and the door that I’m sure I won’t make it past, but seconds tick by and neither alpha moves. Their scents remain charged, but their bodies stay exactly where they are.

Soren clears his throat, scrubbing a hand down his face. “You don’t have to worry, Emma. Please don’t stop making any sounds you want to make. It's... gratifying to hear you enjoy your food as you should.”

“I'm going to stock the entire pantry with these rolls. You can have them every day if you want,” Phoenix says.

The promise of daily bread shouldn't make my throat tight. Shouldn't make my chest ache with something dangerous and warm. It's such a small thing, but it’s also enormous.

Too enormous. Too dangerous.

They see too much. Care too much.

I buckle beneath the weight of promised attention that is everything I need and nothing I want. Their scents slam into my unprotected soft omega center. My omega hindbrain stretches awake behind the barricades I built to contain it. Padlocks open on the thick door I shoved that part of me inside. Hinges squeal and pure longing floods through the cracks, reminding me what I was made for.

Connection. Bond. Pack.

The words float up from that awakening place, terrifying in their power to destroy everything I've fought not to become.

Any omega who hopes is an omega who is chained, yet my skin crawls with the need to be touched. Their skin on mine. To share body heat. To merge our scents in my nest of soft things, saturated with all our scents. I want their purrs to vibrate through me as we burrow in darkness under soft materials. For their hardness to balance my soft parts. For their scent to become part of me.

To be surrounded by them.

To be filled by them. Cocks. Knots. Seed.

Everything.

The freshly woken part hisses with anticipation. She wants her mates and sees nothing wrong with demanding they give her everything. The choice between my wants and needs are stripped from me when warm wetness seeps between my thighs. I’m caught in the frozen cage of my body as fresh honeysuckle blooms on sharp ozone around me. The pure notes of my scent signal a re-awakening. The side of me I fought into hibernation. The part of me I broke for survival.

A deep growl vibrates from Soren's chest. His eyes are dilated, the black devouring the chocolate. My appetite vanishes, replaced by a traitorous desire to lean into that sound rather than flee from it. The restraint in their rigid postures costs them—I can see it in the white-knuckle grip Phoenix has on the counter, in the muscle jumping in Soren's jaw.

Run.

Now. Before it’s too late.

I push the half-eaten soup away. “I’m going back to my room. Don’t follow me.”

And like the prey I am, I back through the doorway, keeping my eyes locked on the largest predators in the room before I spin, bolt up the stairs and dive under the blankets on my bed that offer me no real protection. My heart pounds, not just from exertion but because the most dangerous predator in this house isn't them.

It's the omega inside me, waking up and wanting things I can't afford.

Chapter Fourteen

Emma

Soren knocks on my door an hour later. I'm wrapped burrito-style in my bed, watching the view from the window where steam curls off the hot spa outside in ghostly fingers against the night sky. His scent seeps under the door. Not just the basic markers of creamy sandalwood I noticed before, but complex layers that tell me more than I want to know. Concern ripples through the sweetish notes. Guilt threads through the woody base. Protectiveness circles the edges.

“Emma? Are you okay?”

I hold my breath, feigning sleep, though my heart hammers so loudly I'm certain he can hear it through the door. Eventually, his footsteps retreat down the hall, each one echoing his reluctance.

Sleep refuses to come. My body is electrified, my skin too tight. I’m too aware of the texture of the blankets, the changing patterns of moonlight across the floor, the bond marks on my neck pulsing with emotions not my own.

The door I can usually keep shut remains cracked open, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t get it closed.

My eyes are grainy as I watch the security patrol change. Asher appears on the grounds below, stalking the perimeter. His shoulders hunch against invisible weight as he paces the same route over and over, occasionally stopping to stare up at my window.

I roll away, pressing my face into the pillow, but it doesn't help. His emotions simmer hotter now, clawing at him from cracks that grow wider. Weaker. I feel everything he does, just another shitty gift of a one-sided bond. Guilt. Protectiveness. Longing. Determination. Alongside Asher's feelings, are the Carmichael pack's bonds bleeding into me to poison my blood.

The sky changes from black to charcoal to pearl as dawn approaches. My stomach growls in protest of the half-eaten soup, but the thought of facing any of these alphas is too much.

I scent Phoenix before he knocks on the door.

“Rise and shine,” his voice carries through the wood, forced cheerfulness barely masking worry. “I come bearing breakfast. Dr. Chen will have my balls if we don't feed you properly.”

I grip the blankets tight as dark coffee winds under the door because I want those balls.

And the alpha attached to them.

The thought sends a bolt of fear through me so searing I’m burning alive.

“I'm leaving a tray outside your door,” he continues after my silence. “Even if you don’t want to come out, please eat something, Tough Girl.”

His footsteps retreat. I wait until I'm certain he's gone before creeping to the door, pressing my ear against it to confirm the hallway is empty. My stomach growls again, demanding attention, but when I think of eating my stomach churns.

I scurry back to the bed and pull blankets over my head and squeeze my eyes shut. I need more time. Time to equalize my reactions to these alphas. Time to strengthen my resolve. Time to remember that no matter how good they smell, no matter how different they seem, trusting alphas only leads to chains.

I might be out of a basement, but if Asher, Soren and Phoenix lose against Pack Carmichael, I’m going on a one-way trip back to my chains. It might have been easier if they’d never found me.

I might have found my eternal beach by now.

I might finally have peace.

I might be free.

I drift in and out of uneasy consciousness, each attempt at sleep disrupted by waves of emotion that aren't mine. Alpha dominance swirls through me like competing tides, pulling me in different directions until I'm sick with it.

By midday, hunger claws at my insides and fatigue makes my limbs leaden. Soren knocks again with lunch. Phoenix comes an hour later with a drink and promises of getting anything I might want. Each time, I curl tighter beneath my blankets as their concerned scents filter under the door.

What's the point of eating? Of rebuilding strength? The Carmichaels have legal claim over me. Papers. Contracts. Ownership rights. My temporary reprieve will end at tomorrow's hearing and my life will be pain and darkness again.

Despite what these new alphas believe, despite their determination to protect me, I won't let them destroy their lives. I'm not worth their careers, their freedom, their futures.

Worse, now that the door inside me has unlocked, familiar heat simmers in my blood, the first stirrings of my omega biology reawakening after months of shutdown. It terrifies me more than any threat of return to the basement because it's only a matter of time before my body switches back into full omega mode and biology doesn't care about abuse or consent. It only recognizes the marks on my skin and the connections forced into my soul.

The Carmichaels will win tomorrow. They have the law on their side. They are rich. They have everything except my willing submission, and that's never mattered to them anyway.

The day drifts past. I memorize the way light plays across the grass, how shadows shift and elongate with the sun's movement. I count birds, track security patrols, follow clouds across the blue expanse of sky. I take in everything I can, storing these images like treasures to pull out in the inevitable darkness.

The security patrols change. Soren replaces Asher who walks back to the house, feet heavy after hours walking the grounds. Hours later, Phoenix takes over and Soren passes over the patio to enter the house via the kitchen doors. I don’t miss the constant glances at my window. The lines etched into their faces and the continuing weariness in their bodies.

The sun dips lower, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink before finally surrendering to twilight. Fairy lights flicker on around the patio, casting a soft golden glow across the space. The pool becomes a mirror, reflecting the lights like stars trapped in water. It's beautiful. Peaceful. A glimpse of another world.

My body betrays me. Sweat beads on my skin. Slight cramps grow stronger, twisting my insides, sharp and insistent. Slick seeps from me, sticking my thighs together, soaking through my borrowed sweatpants to the sheet beneath me. I squeeze my eyes shut and scream into the mattress, fighting back tears that don’t change a damn thing.

Heat. The first stages of it, at least. My system is coming back online after months of shutdown, triggered by stress, by fear, by the presence of alphas my body recognizes as mates even if my mind rebels against the idea.

A knock at the door makes me jump. Phoenix's voice filters through, strained with worry.

“Emma, please. You need to eat something. It's been over a day.” A pause. “I know we said this wouldn’t happen but if you don't answer, I'm going to come in. Just to make sure you're all right.”

Panic claws up my throat. I can't let him see me like this. Can't let him smell the heat pheromones saturating the air. Can't risk what his alpha instincts might push him to do in response.

I pull back the blanket, careful not to let my scent puff into the air too much. “I need space. Please, just... go away.”

Silence. Then a soft thud, like he's resting his forehead against the door. “I'll go. For now. But Emma... shutting us out won't change what happened. What will happen tomorrow. We can fight this, but you must let us help. Let us be here for you.”

My eyes burn. I know they’ll try, but I won’t survive their brand of help.

“Please. Just go away,” I say.

“Tough Girl…If this is about Asher, he’s told me to tell you he’ll move into the property next door. You won’t have to see him. We can get through this. We’ll work out a way.”

But there isn’t anything to be done. Not now my body has decided it’s alpha fun-times.

“Please Phoenix. Just let me sleep.” It’s all I can muster to keep him out.

His sigh through the door is loud. “I’ll be coming back, Emma.” He waits another moment, then his footsteps retreat.

I curl into myself, fighting the cramps, the slick, the empty ache in my core that demands to be filled. This heat will be a bad one, I can already tell. My body's revenge for denying its needs for so long.

A bitter laugh escapes me. Pack Carmichael will be thrilled. They always liked me best when I was desperate and begging. When heat stripped away my defiance and left me a whimpering mess.

Maybe it's fitting that I'll be returned to them like this. Already reduced to the base omega they always saw me as. Their perfect little slut. The fairy lights blur as tears finally spill over, tracking hot paths down my cheeks. I let them fall, too tired to wipe them away, too heartsick to care.

The phone on the nightstand rings. I glance at the screen. Mira. Of course, the alphas would have told her about my refusal to eat, to engage, to do anything but stare out this window like it's my last lifeline.

It is my last lifeline.

She tries again when I don't answer. If I pick up and she hears the strain in my voice, the tears I can't quite swallow, she'll come here. She'll find me like this—sweating, cramping, reeking of impending heat. She'll know how broken I truly am.

I can't face her pity. Can't bear her gentle understanding. So I let the phone ring out, watching her name flash on the screen until it goes dark.

Messages pop up next. Concern. Support. Promises that everything will be okay, that I'm not alone, that she's here for me. Each one is a tiny dagger in my heart, a reminder of the future I can't have. I take solace that one of us found her happy-ever-after. That’s one bright light in the darkness of my existence.

The pool takes on an ethereal glow as darkness steals the day. The moon rises to its peak. The fairy lights transform the water into something out of a fantasy. It's not my beach, not the endless stretch of sand and sea I dreamed of, but it's still water. Still a glimpse of a world beyond walls and pain.

Tomorrow, I'll be back in the basement. There will be no more windows. No sky, sun, or moon. No glittering water dancing with light. Just concrete and darkness and the Carmichaels' emotions running through me.

No number of security patrols outside can stop a judge's ruling. No alpha posturing or legal maneuvering can change the fact that I'm property, bound by law.

Another cramp rips through my abdomen, so intense I nearly call out. The urge for a knot—my alpha’s knot—is overwhelming. I bite my lip until I taste blood, refusing to make a sound and give my body what it wants.

If I had anything in my stomach, I'd vomit. As it is, I can only bring up bile, my body preparing for heat by emptying everything out. My pants drip with slick. My skin is too tight, my blood molten in my veins.

Through the haze of pain and need, the water sparkles.

Calls to me.

Promises relief, escape.

Oblivion.

I don't remember getting out of bed. Crossing the room, opening the door, stumbling down the stairs. My head is fuzzy and I’m so very tired.

I dream of my beach where I don’t drown in terrible bonds. Where my mind is clear. Where I’m happy and free and no alpha wants me for things I don’t want to give. The tiling under my feet is replaced with sand. Chlorine dissolves in place of fresh, salty brine. The rhythmic crash of waves against the shore and… I'm…I’m here!

The water laps at my toes, cool and inviting and it's exactly as I imagined. The moon hangs full and heavy above me, turning the sand to silver, the water to rippling obsidian. I don't remember the journey that brought me to this moment but none of that matters now. All that matters is the sea, the sky, the absolute freedom stretching out before me.

My lips stretch into a grin. Gods, I'm finally, finally here.

I take a step down, sinking into the water, then another. The water rises to my ankles, my calves, my knees. Each step brings blessed relief, the cold embrace of the waves soothing the fire under my skin.

I'm waist-deep now, the dark depths urging me further in. The coolness stings the cuts on my thighs, the bruises on my hips, but it's a clean pain. A healing pain. The water is washing me clean, carrying away the dirt, the shame, the scars in my head.

The water will soothe me like I always knew it would.

It will take away everything I wish hadn’t happened.

Something close to peace washes through me. One more step. One more stride forward, and I submerge. The cool water closes over my head, and it feels. So. Good. The heat inside me is no match for the water. Just as I knew it would be. I let the sea embrace me, fill me, become me.

I can finally, finally rest.

I close my eyes and surrender to the water's welcoming depths. To the peace and coolness. I'm floating. Drifting. Suspended. Weightless. Timeless. Free.

My lungs burn. My chest aches but it's a distant sensation, unimportant compared to the absolute peace of this moment. I can’t stand any more pain, any more discomfort, so I let out my breath, watching the bubbles spiral toward the surface.

It doesn't hurt. Not like I thought it would. It's more like... release. Like letting go of a burden I've carried for too long. The moonlight fades. The water grows gloomier, and I drift into soothing darkness, content that in the end, I found my beach. In the end, it saved me just like I knew it would.

Chapter Fifteen

Asher

Ilean over the guard station desk, the harsh fluorescent lights making my eyes burn after hours in the darkness. The night's logs spread before me, each entry a potential vulnerability, a possible threat. Every delivery, every shift change, every shadow that's moved across our cameras has been documented, but I check again. And again. We can't afford to miss anything. Not after how easily Pack Carmichael breached hospital security.

My fingers trace each line of text, the paper crinkling under my touch. Coffee cups litter the desk, evidence of my endless rounds, my refusal to rest while Emma suffers upstairs. The guards exchange worried glances when they think I'm not looking. I've been here too long, checked too many times, but I can't stop.

“I want to be contacted for every entrance,” I tell them, my voice sandpaper-rough from lack of sleep and too much caffeine. “Every delivery, every maintenance worker, every piece of mail. I don't care if it's the pizza guy. You call me first. No exceptions.”

The guards nod, properly intimidated by whatever they see in my face. Good. After the hospital breach, after watching those bastards get so close to reclaiming her, I'm taking no chances. My mate is upstairs, damaged and terrified, and I'll burn this whole compound to the ground before I let anyone hurt her again.

I make my way to the house that is turning out not to be her haven. It’s been twenty-four hours, and she’s not come out of her room, refusing food, refusing comfort, refusing everything we try to offer.

I understand why. Gods, do I understand. Her trauma runs deeper than physical wounds. Years in that basement, gods know how long at Haven before that has warped her perception of what she deserves. Every kindness we offer gets filtered through layers of learned distrust. Every choice we give her becomes another potential trap in her mind.

She's not eating, barely sleeping, refusing to engage. Her response is based on trauma but knowing that doesn't make it easier to watch. Doesn't make her silence less devastating. Doesn't stop us from second-guessing every move we make.

My impulsive, unforgivable moment of lost control has done more damage than good. I gave her a reason to distrust us, and another reason to expect the worst.

We’re going to have to be more proactive. Giving her space, while well-intentioned, has enabled her to spiral. Too many things have happened to her in too short a timeframe. I’ve held back when the only thing I want to do is break down her door and hold her in her nest until she knows she’s safe.

The truth is, we’re all playing this by ear, walking a tightrope between respecting her boundaries and preventing her from completely withdrawing. Between giving her control and keeping her safe. Between being the alphas she needs and the monsters she expects, and fuck, I hate all of it because she should know the difference when it comes to us without an ounce of doubt or fear in her body.

I hate that I messed this up not just for her, but for Soren and Phoenix as well. They deserve their omega as much as she deserves them.

Movement on one of the security monitors on my device snags my attention. Camera six – the patio view. A pale figure drifts into frame. It’s Emma. She still wears the clothing from the hospital even though I know Soren had fresh clothes delivered. That means she hasn’t been out of bed or showered to change—and we’ve let her.

Another nail is hammered into my coffin, but then my eyes follow the path she takes to the shallow end of the pool. My heart stops as she reaches the water's edge. She hovers there, standing so still she might be part of the furniture, but then she steps into the water and moves deeper.

My feet are already moving, the radio I share with my bond brothers out of my pocket as I start racing up the hill toward the house. The water is up to her chest as she tips her head back to stare at the moon. I roar as her head disappears below the surface, not even leaving a ripple. If I hadn’t been here to witness it, she wouldn’t have been seen.

One second passes. Two. Three.

She doesn't come up.

“No!” The word tears from my throat, primal and raw. I press the radio button so hard it breaks. Fucking damnit! I still bark into the device. “Soren! Phoenix. Emma is in the pool!”

The radio clatters behind me, nearly hitting a figure dressed in the guard’s black camouflage. I recognize the build. It’s Jones. He should be restricted from the compound after the hospital incident. I wonder who the fuck let him back here, but none of that matters except getting to Emma.

I vault over the first fence, muscles screaming with effort. My boots barely touch the ground before I'm launching over the next one. The fastest route is straight through the compound's back gardens. To hell with proper paths.

Ornamental shrubs snag at my clothes, and security lights blaze in my eyes as they flicker on with my movement. I vault the final fence into our backyard, landing hard enough to rattle my bones. The pool glows with underwater lights, illuminating the motionless water, while fairy lights above cast deceptively tranquil patterns across the surface. Somewhere beneath that calm façade is my mate.

Soren and Phoenix burst through the sliding doors, responding to my emotions running wild through our pack bond, but confused. They haven't seen what I saw on the monitors. Haven't realized why I'm sprinting across the lawn like death itself is chasing me. Because it is.

“Ash? What’s going on?” Phoenix starts.

I don't explain. Don't pause to remove my boots. Just launch into the pool. I arrow into the deep end and see her shadowed form on the bottom, unnaturally still, hair floating around her head.

My lungs burn as I stretch toward her. My fingers brush her arm, then lock around her waist. I secure her in my hold and kick off hard from the bottom, propelling us both toward the surface, my muscles screaming against the weight of waterlogged clothes and precious cargo.

We break the surface and I hear twin shouts of horror from the pool's edge. I cradle her head above water, her body limp against mine as I swim for the edge where my pack brothers wait with outstretched hands, their expressions stark.

“What the fuck?” Soren’s eyes gleam and lines bracket his mouth as he hauls her from the water and lays her on the tiles.

Water streams from her clothes, her hair, her too-pale skin. I haul myself out of the pool as Phoenix presses two fingers to her throat with more gentleness than I've ever seen from him.

“Come on, Tough Girl,” he mutters, before the rigid set of his shoulders slump a little. “She has a pulse.”

Soren turns her onto her side as Phoenix cushions her face. Emma convulses, water spewing from her mouth as she coughs. The sound is horrible. Wet, desperate, painful, but it's the most beautiful thing I've ever heard. Relief hits me so hard my knees buckle. I sink to the ground next to her.

“What the fuck happened, Asher?” Phoenix asks.

I shake my head. If I hadn’t chanced looking at the monitor in that split second, no one would have found her until it was too late. “I saw her come out of the door, walk straight to the pool and right into the water.”

I want to say more, but Emma’s shaking. Violently. Her skin has a blue tinge, lips nearly purple. Her teeth chatter so hard I can hear them clicking together, her whole body wracked with tremors that start in her very bones. Her clothes cling to her like a death shroud, highlighting how fragile she is.

I press my fingers to her cheek. “She’s freezing. We need to warm her up.”

I bundle her in my arms and gather her against my chest. Her skin is ice against mine. I glance at Phoenix “We have to get her into a warm shower. Now!”

Phoenix bolts ahead of us toward the house, taking the stairs two at a time to her room. Both Soren and I run after him. Phoenix disappears into her room because it’s the only bedroom with a pack shower. The bathroom door slams open and the shower splutters to life.

I waste no time and step into the shower fully clothed. Emma is a block of ice against my chest. The lukewarm water hits us like thousands of tiny needles, but I know from emergency training we can't shock her system with heat. We'll increase the temperature gradually as her body warms, letting her core temperature rise slowly. Emma moans and a small frown ripples her forehead as tremors wrack her frame.

Her clothes are frozen to her skin and will hinder getting her warm. “Help me get these off her.”

My stomach hollows out, rage and grief warring in my chest as we remove her clothing. Every rib is visible beneath sallow skin, casting shadows like prison bars across her torso. Hip bones jut sharp enough to cut and, oh gods, those round puckered scars scattered over her belly are cigarette burns. More scars in sharp lines curl around her waist and lead up to the mangled flesh at the base of her neck.

I’m going to be fucking sick.

Phoenix’s hands flutter over her body, as though he doesn’t know where to begin to touch her. He swallows hard before spearing me with a horrified look I feel all the way to my soul. “How…how the fuck can anyone do this to a person? How the fuck could they be so cruel? This is…fucking…perverted, Ash. They’re deranged.”

My pack brothers’ grief weaves with my own. I thought I’d known the full extent of Pack Carmichael’s cruelty through the state of the basement, but seeing it written on her skin is a new kind of horror. Dr. Chen told us what she’d suffered but seeing it like this…no amount of imagination could come up with this type of abuse.

“No wonder they want her back. No one can ignore this kind of evidence of abuse,” Soren whispers.

Yet still, would it even make a difference? Pack Carmichael are the type to say she begged for it in the depths of her heat. They only did what she asked. Omegas are unpredictable and will ask for anything in the haze of heat. They were only being caring alphas, giving her what she wanted.

Bile rises at her mangled ankle where the chain sat. Her flesh is a mass of scar tissue, purple, red, silver, all layered together like geologic strata of trauma. Layers of damage speaking of countless attempts to escape, of infection allowed to fester, of metal eating into skin until it became part of her.

Fuck this world to the ends of all the fucking hells. I’ll personally make sure Pack Carmichael rot in all versions of them.

I tighten my hold on Emma, careful of her injuries, as the water gradually warms her frozen skin. They weren't just killing her body. They were killing her spirit. Breaking her down piece by piece.

And they wouldn’t have stopped until she was dust.

Emma moans, the sound barely audible over the shower spray. Her eyes flutter open, unfocused and distant. Relief floods through me at seeing her conscious, but that relief curdles as I realize she's not really here with us.

“Beach,” she mumbles, trying weakly to push away from my chest with trembling hands. “Need... my beach. Please…take me back.”

Chapter Sixteen

Asher

“Do either of you know what she means?” I look between Soren and Phoenix, desperate for understanding. “Has she mentioned a beach to either of you?”

Soren's jaw tightens as he studies her and shakes his head. “She’s said nothing to me.”

Phoenix's brow wrinkles in a troubled frown. His blue eyes dart between Emma and me, searching for answers neither of us has. Water drips from his disheveled blond hair as he shakes his head slowly. He brushes wet hair from Emma's face with gentle fingers. “What beach, Tough Girl? What safe place are you talking about?”

She grabs his hand, turning glazed eyes on him. “The one…I go to.” Fresh tears spill down her cheeks, mixing with shower spray. “Makes me…free.”

Her face scrunches and she starts to cry, her sobs too big for her body. The sound echoes off the tile walls, a symphony of despair that makes my alpha howl with the need to make it better.

Soren chokes off a strangled sound. “She disassociated. Her trauma caused her mind to create safe spaces, escape routes. For Emma, it's a beach. A sanctuary she invented to survive her abuse. A place her mind created when her reality was literally unbearable.” He swallows hard. “In her current state, she likely didn't know she was entering the pool. She was in her safe place.”

“Fucking godsdammit,” Phoenix breathes, horror evident in his voice.

Soren’s gaze holds the weight of the world. “It means she's more broken than we imagined. This level of dissociation suggests severe psychological trauma beyond even what we suspected.”

“What triggered it?” I’m helpless. Useless. All my training, all my experience with traumatized omegas, and I have no idea how to help our own mate. “Why now? Why tonight?”

Soren shakes his head, at a loss. “Could be multiple factors. Stress of the hearing tomorrow. Physical exhaustion. Unknown environment. Emotional overload. We need a proper psychological evaluation to—”

Emma whimpers, cutting him off. The sound is so pitiful, so lost, that I find myself holding her tighter, trying to shelter her from demons I can't even sense. To my surprise, she burrows her face against my scent gland on the side of my neck, inhaling deeply.

The effect is immediate. Her trembling eases, her crying quiets. But then her scent rises, filling the steamy bathroom with heavenly honeysuckle twined in rich vanilla notes. The unmistakable scent of omega slick hits next, rich and heady, cutting through the steam like a blade.

“Fuck. No wonder she didn’t want us to come into the bedroom. She’s…her body is…starting to work again,” Phoenix breathes.

Her scent is so thick and sweet it goes straight to my cock. Every muscle in my body tightens, responding to her pheromones on a cellular level.

A deep groan tears from my throat, echoing off the shower walls, raw and hungry. Emma shivers, a moan falling from her lips. She twists in my lap, her thighs clenching together as her back starts to bow. She thrusts her perfect breasts out, her nipples pink and beaded tight. My mouth waters for a taste. Just one lick that will do nothing to sate the fire inside me. Need deep and all-consuming flows through me, replacing my blood with misplaced arousal.

The urge to fill, breed, claim is so overwhelming it’s painful. It takes every ounce of control I possess not to give in to these urges, not to let my biology override my ethics because the last thing Emma needs right now is my lust when she’s at her weakest.

Phoenix's breath catches. His pupils blow wide, dark with desire. His hands clench and unclench at his sides as he fights his instincts as his scent billows with the stream rising from the water.

A muscle jumps in Soren’s throat as he swallows hard, fighting the urge to claim written in every line of his body. “We can't let her go through this alone. She’s in pain and she needs us, but this can’t be another basement episode for her. She can’t associate us with them.”

Her sweet scent rushes through me, sending a path of fireworks straight to my balls. My cock is so hard it could cut diamonds and I’m sure my zipper has made permanent marks on the underside. I don’t care how much pain I’m in. That’s irrelevant compared to what she needs from us.

I look down at our broken omega, our mate, this precious creature who'd rather drown than face another alpha in her time of need, yet her face is pressed to my neck, seeking comfort even in her confused state.

“We’re going to help her. Whatever it takes, whatever she needs. We help her through this,” I say, because the last thing she needs is to be left in more pain.

“And if she dissociates again?” Soren rasps.

I tighten my hold on Emma as she snuffles against my neck. There’s nothing we won’t do for this omega. “Then we find a way to make reality better than any escape she can imagine. We become her safe place, or we'll lose her to that beach forever.”

A cry of pain tears from her throat. She clutches her stomach, her nails digging into her skin. Fresh slick coats her thighs as she writhes. She squeezes her eyes shut, tears swelling beneath her lashes. “Alpha.” Her voice is so frail. So small. “Please. Make it stop.”

Witnessing her in this amount of distress makes me sick. I know what I have to do. What any prime alpha worthy of their scent-matched omega needs to do. I've been trying to protect her by muting our bond, by holding back the tide of my emotions, but she needs to feel exactly how different we are from Pack Carmichael before we lay a single hand on her.

She needs to feel what a true alpha should feel for their omega, and gods help me, I feel all the fucking feels.

“I'm going to open the bond. Let her feel everything. My remorse, my protection, my...” I swallow hard. “My love.”

Their expressions turn equal parts grim and hopeful as they understand what I'm proposing.

“It could overwhelm her,” Soren warns.

“She needs to know she's not alone anymore. She needs to understand not all alphas are like the ones she's known. The only way to do that is to be her godsdammed scent-matched alpha. Like I should have been from the start. She knows what it feels like to be abused, but she has no idea how it feels to be loved.” I ghost my fingertips along her delicate jaw, taking in the network of fine veins beneath the surface of her skin. She's so pale, so translucent, like moonlight given form. Beautiful. “Are you all in?”

“Always,” Phoenix answers immediately, his hand steady on Emma's back. His voice holds pure conviction.

“Whatever she needs.” Soren’s gaze melts into tenderness.

Their hesitant excitement and desperate need bleed into me. They ache to bond her properly, to complete what fate started when she made her our perfect match. They're as much her scent-matched mate as I am. More worthy, perhaps, since they've maintained control while I acted like a rutting animal in that basement.

I'm going to make this right for all of us, even if it sends me to the ends of the seven hells. Emma deserves nothing less than our complete devotion, our absolute protection, our unconditional love.

“Moonbeam,” I murmur, cupping her jaw with gentle fingers. Her skin burns with heat fever under my touch, delicate bones sharp against my palm. “Open your eyes. Look at me.”

Her lashes flutter against cheeks flushed with fever, then lift slowly. Even confused and heat-addled, her omega nature responds to her bonded alpha's command. Her blue eyes, glazed with fever and fear, find mine.

“There you are,” I whisper, and prepare to change everything. To show her what a true bond should feel like. To give her something better than an imaginary beach to escape to.

To become the alpha she deserves, or die trying.

“I want to help you. Would it be okay if I let you feel what's in my heart? Through our bond?”

The question tears at my conscience. She's not in her right mind. Heat and trauma and desperation have stripped away her defenses. Asking consent now is dubious at best, manipulative at worst, but watching her suffer, feeling her pain ripple through our connection while I hold back the tide of my own emotions...

When she's back in her own mind, when the heat fever breaks and she can think clearly again, I'll shut it all down. Wait for her to choose. But right now, with her body betraying her and her mind seeking escape in drowning, I can only pray this helps.

“Yes, alpha,” she whispers, the words slipping out on pure omega instinct. Her pupils are blown wide, fever-bright, seeking comfort from the only source her biology recognizes. “Please.”

Phoenix's hand tightens on my shoulder. Soren's breath catches. They feel my intention through our pack bond; understand the risk I'm about to take.

I cradle Emma's face between my palms. Taking a deep breath, I begin to lower the walls I've built around our bond.

Slowly. Carefully. Like opening a dam one gate at a time. First, I let her feel my protectiveness, the deep-seated need to stand between her and any threat. Her breath catches as this emotion floods the bond, her fingers tightening on my soaked shirt.

Next comes my remorse, pure and unfiltered. The crushing guilt for claiming her without consent, the self-loathing for becoming what I've fought against but wrapped around that guilt is my absolute dedication to making it right. She gasps, eyes widening as these feelings wash through her.

Then deeper emotions. My awe at her strength, her resilience, her ability to survive hell without losing her core self. My admiration for every small act of defiance, every spark of fight she's maintained. Pride in her courage, even when that courage led her to the pool's depths.

“Alpha,” she breathes, the sound small and wondering.

Deeper still. My joy at finding her, tainted by horror at her condition. My rage at her abusers, tempered by fierce determination to protect. My alpha's recognition of his perfect mate, coupled with the human patience to wait for her trust.

Her pupils dilate as each emotion flows through the bond. Her scent shifts, honeysuckle and vanilla thickening with the female musk of desire.

Finally, I let her feel my love. I send her everything my soft underbelly has to offer her. I completely open myself to her. I want her to know that what I feel isn’t just alpha instinct or biological drive, but real love, there from the moment I saw her. For everything I’ve seen since. For her spirit, her heart, her soul. Love that would wait forever, that would move mountains, that would die for her.

A sob catches in her throat, but it sounds different from her earlier despair. She whimpers, pressing closer to me. “I don't... I can't...”

“Let yourself feel something good,” I murmur.

If this is the only time she’ll allow me to show her how I feel, then so be it, but I want her to know it’s the full truth. I ache for her answering bite, for the completion of our bond that would let her emotions flow back to me. That will be her choice too, when she's ready.

If she's ever ready.

For now, I let her feel my longing, my patient hunger for a true bond.

My thumb traces her bottom lip, and I let her feel how desperately I want to kiss her. Not to claim or possess, but to share comfort, to ease pain, to show her that touch can be gentle. That my touch will always be gentle.

Her scent shifts, her sweetness giving way to musky vanilla deepening with arousal. Need pools in her eyes, darkening them to midnight blue. Her fingers thread through my wet hair, tentative at first, then with growing certainty. She pulls my head down toward her, offering her lips with a trust that makes my heart stutter. The gesture is pure omega instinct, but the choice is all hers.

I can't think. Can't wait. Can't do anything but accept what she's offering.

My lips meet hers, gentle at first, a bare whisper of contact. When she sighs into the kiss, lips parting slightly, I deepen it. Still careful, still controlled, but pouring everything into the connection.

This is nothing like the claiming bite. This isn't about possession or dominance. This is about showing her how precious she is, how cherished, how much more there is to alpha-omega bonds than what she's known.

Through our bond, I let her feel exactly what this kiss means to me. Let her feel how much I want to worship every inch of her, heal every hurt, kiss away every tear.

Chapter Seventeen

Emma

The warm spray beats gently against my bare skin, but all I feel is Asher’s hands cradling my face, tender and gentle, like he's afraid I might shatter beneath his touch. When our lips meet, my heart stutters. His kiss is careful. Achingly delicate. This isn’t a kiss born from domination or conquest. Instead, his mouth brushes mine as though I'm something precious, fragile.

Something worth treasuring.

Whole and total truth.

He opened himself to me. Unfolded layer upon hidden layer to bare every secret part of his soul and it’s breathtaking. Emotions wash through the bond, pouring through me with striking vulnerability. Above all is his protectiveness, raw and fierce. A genuine promise that he will shelter me, fight for me, bleed himself dry before he allowed harm to find me again.

Guilt follows. Powerful, deep remorse floods my senses, laced with bitter self-loathing for the claiming bite I never consented to, yet carried on a current of determination to redeem himself. To heal me. To make it right.

My hands tremble against his chest as awe comes next, wrapped carefully around gentle admiration. He sees strength in my scars, courage in my survival, beauty in what I considered my shattered remains. And then, trembling at the very core of our connection...love.

The sweetness of him floods my senses. Something breaks inside my chest, cracking open with fierce longing at the gentleness of it. The world is too small for what he offers. A devotion that promises not just shelter, but acceptance, trust, patience, forever.

Asher's thumb strokes across my cheekbone as he deepens the kiss. There’s no force here, no demanding pressure. Only patient exploration as his tongue gently traces the seam of my lips, coaxing, offering rather than taking as I clutch him tight. And beneath everything something new forms, tentative, shining and clear.

Trust.

Slow, fragile, and precious—but there.

A soft, needy sound escapes me. Asher shudders beneath my fingertips tangled in his hair, and pleasure sparks through me at his answering groan. Behind him Phoenix inhales, and Soren’s hands tremble where he braces my back.

Fresh slick gathers warm between my thighs, my omega nature awakening fully beneath the careful tenderness they've surrounded me with. Heat, yes but also something deeper. Richer. More complicated.

Hope.

I break the kiss, drawing in a shaky breath as I look into Asher's eyes, finding reassurance and quiet awe in their depths.

“Alpha,” I whisper, the word spilling from my lips not as submission or surrender but full of wonder and recognition. My scent blooms, sweet and musky, my body understanding what my heart desperately wants to accept.

This alpha—these alphas—are different.

Asher rests his forehead against mine, his presence steadying me even as my heart races. The tenderness of his impossibly careful touch makes me ache for more, craving closeness I'd never dared to want before.

“I've got you, Moonbeam,” he murmurs, his smoky voice is a promise wrapped in silk. “We've all got you.”

In the next breath, my muscles clench tight, pleasure and pain twisting inside me so sharply I gasp. My hips rock desperately against his thigh, instinctively chasing friction I can’t fully comprehend. Fire burns beneath my skin, relentless and needful. “I need…” The words shiver off my tongue, lost and pleading. “I need…”

Asher's thumb brushes gently over my cheekbone, his voice soft as he asks, “Can Soren and Phoenix help too? Can they kiss you, touch you…help you feel good?”

Phoenix and Soren shift closer, drawn in by my distress. Their strength and warmth spill like sunlight, sweetly protective and tenderly fierce. I turn my head toward my other alphas, breathing shaking as I meet their cautious, hopeful eyes.

“We’ll go slow. We’ll stop the second you want.” Phoenix’s summer-sky eyes hold infinite softness, gentleness woven with strength. I need his careful hands moving over my skin, his mouth slowly erasing my pain, piece by fragile piece.

“We’re only here to worship you,” Soren murmurs, his voice a soothing balm to my battered soul. I want his touch to trace every inch of my body, anchoring me with tenderness as he helps me discover the new parts of myself.

Desire throbs, matching the desperate ache I feel for Asher. My body yearns for all three of them, equally and fiercely, with no hesitation or reservation. For once, I don’t hesitate.

I want them.

I crave them.

I let the heady fog of heat pull me down into the clutches of my most base instinct. My fingers uncurl from Asher's shirt, pulse skittering wild beneath my skin as I reach out toward them. “Please.”

Soren skims his hands down my arms until his fingers twine with mine. “Feel us, omega,” he breathes into my ear, warmth shivering straight down my spine at his words. “We’re here for you.”

He places tender kisses along the vulnerable line of my neck, lingering over every bruise, every faded scar until his warm breath huffs over a tender breast. A broken sound slips past my lips when his mouth closes around one aching nipple, warmth and wetness sparking pleasure through my entire body.

Phoenix cups my face, angling my chin up toward him. His lips brush mine before pressing in, deepening the kiss. His thumbs stroke along my cheekbones as he drinks down the tiny sounds escaping my throat, reassuring me without words.

Beneath the frantic pulse of my biology, there's something strong enough to overshadow my fear. Patience. Devotion. Kindness tether me to this moment.

This is right rather than dangerous.

Safe rather than forced.

Steady strength leeches away fear, urging my barriers to lower to accept what my body screams for. I lose myself in sensation and sink into the warmth and sweetness, and the promise of everything they offer me until there’s nothing left in my head except pure, exquisite sensation.

Asher’s touch moves along my body, gentle fingers tracing every sensitive curve, igniting nerves I didn’t even realize existed. My senses narrow to his hands on me, reverent and careful as he maps each hollow and dip of skin. My pulse races, breath hitching as his palm slides downward, skimming my waist, slipping across my hip bone until he finally cups my thigh. His palms feel shockingly good against my sensitive skin, grounding me even as pleasure sweeps me away.

“Would you like me to touch you where you need it most, omega?” His voice is deep, roughened with restrained need.

My breath sobs out in a helpless moan as desire coils hot within my belly, my hips rocking toward his touch in silent invitation. “Please, Alpha.”

My thighs part for him, a gesture of raw, uncertain trust, as terrifying as it is hopeful. Vulnerability spirals through me but they’ve made me safe, shown me only tenderness.

They won’t harm me.

Not these alphas.

Not my alphas.

Asher’s fingers drift upward, feather light. I tremble with each inch of skin he explores. Every careful stroke leaves a burning, aching trail behind. When his fingertips finally find my sensitive heat, I gasp, muscles tightening, my entire body rigid with anticipation, and raw want.

Agonizingly he begins to stroke me, those fingertips sliding easily through my slick folds before he presses inside. The sensation tears through me, overwhelming and perfect, too good to be real. My hips buck helplessly into his touch, and a cry escapes me, high and shocked and desperate.

“So good, Moonbeam,” Asher murmurs, his voice pure warm encouragement. “Take what you need. We’re here.”

Soren’s mouth skims down my neck, trailing kisses that soothe away lingering aches, while Phoenix carefully cups my breasts. His thumbs brush light circles over my aching nipples. Their care floods my senses, mingling irresistibly with Asher’s touch until pleasure steals all rational thought.

Pleasure mounts higher. A pressure builds deep and strong. My thighs tremble. Slick heat flows freely, coating Asher’s hand, proof of my arousal, proof of my readiness, my need. My muscles tighten and flutter around him, sensations coiling tight, ready to snap.

I grasp at his wrist, my gaze snapping to his, seeking clarity as pleasure threatens to pull me under. Confusion flickers beneath the rising pleasure, uncertainty warring fiercely with desperate need.

“I…” My voice trembles, the words barely making it out, choked by sensation and tentative embarrassment. “I don’t…”

I don’t understand what I’m feeling.

Realization flashes through his eyes, a mixture of heartbreak and restrained fury, even as his touch remains perfectly steady, perfectly gentle. Tender sadness flickers through our bond, replaced quickly by determined resolve.

“What you’re feeling is good, Emma. It’s right. Your body is chasing the pleasure you’ve always deserved but were denied,” Asher says.

I can’t tear my gaze away from him. His words anchor me, soften the sharp edges of fear, give me permission to let go and trust what my body whispers to me.

His voice wraps around me. “Just let it happen, sweetheart. Let yourself take what you need.”

Soren tightens his arms around my waist, steadying me as my limbs begin to tremble. His deep voice brushes across my ear, “You’re doing so well, Emma. So perfect for us.”

“Just like that, beautiful,” Phoenix encourages, his hands gentle on my breasts. “Ride it out. We're right here with you.”

My eyes find Asher’s through the haze of pleasure, seeking his steady grounding. His intent gaze holds mine, dark and tender, as I spiral dangerously close to an edge. The confusion clouding my mind fades, replaced instead by an astonished sense of wonder.

“Alpha,” I whimper, my voice breaking on a sob as sensation rushes towards a peak. “I'm… I'm…”

Gathering heat low in my abdomen tightens to an unbearable crescendo. Pleasure floods every nerve, every muscle, consuming me in pure, blinding ecstasy. My body arches, pleasure splintering me apart. My vision goes bright, blank, colors exploding behind closed eyelids as my mouth opens with a silent scream at the overwhelming release.

My inner muscles clench hard around Asher’s fingers. The slick from my release floods embarrassingly hot, coating me and soaking his hand. From somewhere deep inside me, a low, desperate sound rises. A sob of relief, a moan of pleasure, a cry of liberation. It's a sound I've never made before, a sound so raw and real that it shocks me even as it leaves my lips.

Boneless. Trembling, I sag into their embrace as sensation subsides, leaving behind a tender, fragile ache. Gentle and careful, Asher eases his fingers free, leaving me empty but so beautifully, perfectly sated. The burning heat finally recedes leaving a deep, bone-sapping exhaustion that wraps around me. I sink down, down, down into heavy warmth. A languid wave pulls me down, past relaxation, past sleep, into somewhere deeper. I can’t pull my eyelids open. Can’t move a limb. Fear, trauma, heat has taken its toll as a soft, dreamless oblivion sucks me down whether I want to go or not.

Voices float above me, distant and muffled and I can't claw my way back up to them. Everything fades. Their whispers, their warmth, the soft circle of safety they’ve given me until all that's left is a quiet, dreamless abyss pulling me into oblivion.

Chapter Eighteen

Phoenix

Emma's pleasure ebbs, leaving her boneless and limp in Asher’s arms, a sweet, relieved sigh easing past her parted lips. The tension stiffening my muscles falls away as blissful peace washes over her features. She’s passed out cold, sinking into a healing rest.

Asher carefully eases his slick-coated fingers from her body. Before I can even register what he's doing, he lifts his hand to his mouth, sucking his fingers clean, lost to instinct. His scent spikes hot and sharp then abruptly explodes with a deep richness. He groans, jolting as his gaze goes stunned and glazed.

Shocked understanding hits me, and I let out a startled laugh. “Did you just...in your pants?”

He barely registers my teasing, his eyes half-lidded and dark with satisfaction. He meets my gaze without a trace of embarrassment, pride radiating clearly from him. “You'd do exactly the same if you'd tasted her.”

No truer words have been spoken.

Soren sits back on his heels. “That was…” he murmurs, as though words can't possibly describe what we just shared, “I've never seen anything so beautiful.”

I can't resist a faint, teasing grin. “Asher…or our omega?”

Soren shoots me a weary glare. “Her, asshole. Always her.”

Emma turns toward Asher, tucking herself closer against his chest. That wild, desperate edge of heat is thankfully softened by our touch. Thank fuck this was only a spike in her heat and not the real deal. At least now there'll be time—time to wait until she's fully ready, able to consciously choose us, give consent without question or doubt.

A fresh wave of protectiveness fills me mixing in equal measure with the bitter taste of anger and grief. My expression sobers as hard reality resurfaces. “I can't believe those bastards never gave her an orgasm. Not even once.”

Asher's dark eyes flicker. “I think this was her first experience of anything soft or gentle.”

Soren curses under his breath. “Then we're going to rewrite every bad memory. Everything horrible inside her head gets turned to ash. We'll replace it all with tenderness. Pleasure. Love. Until she's never left questioning her worth ever again.”

Asher's fierce gaze connects with mine, his voice steady and unyielding. “That's a vow, a promise, and a blood oath.”

A crash of shattered glass echoes from downstairs followed by the unmistakable sound of heavy boots crunching over broken glass. We freeze, hearts pounding, every instinct screaming. Intruders are in our house.

Asher’s gaze meets mine. “Taker her, brother.”

There’s no hesitation between us. I slide my arms beneath Emma as Asher gently transfers her into my hold. A small sound escapes Emma’s lips as I peel her off Asher’s chest before he crawls to the bathroom door and peeks out. Her eyes are glazed and unfocused. She’s lost in the aftermath of her first orgasm and whatever-the-hell else took her down to that pool. I’ll never forget Asher rising from the darkness with her in his arms. Why did she do it? Was she so desperate to end everything? In my heart of hearts, I know there was a part of her that was. Many trauma victims go through that. The combination of physical and emotional overload left her vulnerable and disconnected and we were too slow to catch her when she fell.

We made the mistake of leaving her alone. Giving her space. It only gave her time for trauma to become the monster she didn’t need in her mind. I guide her face to my neck, positioning her nose against my scent gland. She’s our scent-matched mate and it will soothe her. She inhales deeply and thank fuck her body slackens against mine with a sigh that travels to that soft center in my soul reserved for her.

Asher pulls back, voice barely above a whisper. “It’s clear out there, but they’re close.”

Soren and I nod. My heart pounds in my chest as Asher stands and hovers in the frame, using his body as a shield.

Soren crawls out of the stall, upholstering and checking his saturated gun. “Our weapons are useless. Everything's soaked through. The electronics are probably fried, too.”

I shift Emma's weight as I stand, my mind racing through options. “We need to get to the kitchen. There’s a stash of weapons behind a false panel in the pantry. Three Glocks, spare mags, knives. We grab what we can, then make for the SUV in the garage through access from the kitchen. I’m not facing them empty-handed. Not with Emma.”

Soren nods, his face set. “Agreed.”

Emma nuzzles deeper into my neck. She’s not cognizant of what’s happening and I’m not sure if that’s a good or a bad thing. Her breath comes in soft puffs against my skin, her body trembling from reaching her absolute limits.

“The stairs are out,” Asher says in a low voice, his eyes fixed on the bedroom door. His muscles are coiled tight, ready to spring into action. He cocks an ear. “They're already halfway up.”

Soren creeps to the window, fingertips quiet on the latch. “We go this way.”

I nod. There's no time for debate. There’s no other way out of this room bar the door.

I leave the shower running as I pace to the window. Let them waste time thinking we're still in there. The sound of water hitting tile might buy us precious seconds. I snag a blanket from the bed one-handed, the soft material catching on my wet skin as I wrap it around Emma's naked form.

Soren opens the window as I draw close to him. The cool night air hits us and I adjust the blanket around Emma.

“I'll go first,” Asher whispers, already swinging one leg over the sill. “When I’m down, hand her down to me.”

Then he’s out the window, dropping fifteen feet to the ground. He lands in a crouch, immediately straightening with his arms raised toward us.

I lean out to lower Emma as much as I can. She stirs, making a small sound of confusion as I release her into Asher's waiting arms. He catches her easily, cradling her against his chest.

The half open door slams into the wall and four figures surge into the bedroom, faces hidden behind balaclavas. Soren and I move automatically, years of training kicking in. I drive my shoulder into the first intruder's solar plexus while Soren's leg sweeps the second one's feet from under him.

The third attacker comes at me with a knife. I catch his wrist, using his momentum to slam him into the wall. The drywall cracks with the impact. The fourth tries to circle around us, heading for the window. Soren's elbow catches him in the throat, dropping him to his knees.

I block another knife thrust with my forearm. My wet clothes hamper my movement, but rage and instinct fuel my strikes. The first attacker rises, joining his friend in pressing me back. I duck under a wild swing, retaliating with an uppercut that sends one of them staggering.

Soren drives his knee into one attacker's ribs, following with a palm strike to the nose. His head snaps back and he drops unconscious to the floor.

“Your six!” Soren grunts. I spin, barely avoiding a taser aimed at my back. My roundhouse kick sends the weapon flying, followed by a combination of strikes that drives the attacker toward the door.

The intruder stumbles, off-balance. I capitalize on his moment of weakness, sweeping his legs and driving my knee into his sternum as he falls. The impact knocks his sidearm loose. I snatch it up and chamber a round. Four shots, four targets. I aim for legs. Clean. Precise. The intruders groan on the floor, clutching non-fatal wounds. They won't be following us anytime soon and we’ll need them alive to question after I call for reinforcements.

“Phoenix. Get out!” Soren shouts as more shadows fill the doorframe. He's already at the window, one leg over the sill.

I back toward him, keeping the gun trained on the door. Two more figures appear, but my warning shot sends them diving for cover.

“Go!” I tell Soren, laying down suppressing fire as he disappears through the window.

The moment I hear his feet hit the ground, I follow. The fifteen-foot drop lasts forever, then I hit the grass in a roll that drives the air from my lungs. We move like shadows, staying low and close to the house. We step through the kitchen door that’s still open from when we picked Emma out of the pool while Soren covers our rear.

Emma stirs in Asher’s arms, making a small sound of confusion. “Alpha?”

His lips are set in a firm line as he hunches over her, protecting her with his body. He presses her face against his neck, splaying his fingers along her nape and through her damp hair. “We have you, Moonbeam. Stay quiet for us.”

The intruders are skilled, unlike the thugs from the hospital. Not hired muscle but professional operators. I bend and scurry behind the island counter. The pantry is dark, but my fingers find the false panel. Three quick taps, then slide left. The mechanism clicks, the compartment opens, and I grab weapons.

Movement in the doorway.

I spin, shielding Asher and Emma with my body as three figures surge into the kitchen.

“Here!” I thrust a Glock into Asher's free hand. Emma’s confused whimpers tear at my heart as she starts to stir, but we have no time for gentle.

Soren and I meet the attackers head-on. The fight is brutal, efficient. No wasted movement, no pulled punches. These aren't street thugs. They move in a familiar formation with familiar moves.

Soren takes a hit that would drop a normal man, retaliates with an elbow strike that cracks bone. I grapple with an attacker twice my size, both of us crashing into the kitchen island. Pots clatter to the floor, the noise deafening in the enclosed space.

A third intruder circles toward Asher and Emma. Asher’s Glock barks twice. Two precise shots that find a shoulder and a knee. Disabling but not lethal.

My attacker drives a knee into my ribs. I return the favor with a palm strike to his throat, following with a combination that sends him staggering. Behind me, I hear Emma's frightened cry as she becomes more aware of her surroundings.

“Hostiles incoming. Ten o’clock!” Asher rasps, shifting to keep Emma protected as a massive figure charges through the doorway.

I meet the attack head-on, ducking under a wild swing to drive my fist into his solar plexus. He's big but telegraphs his moves. When he stumbles, I sweep his legs, following him down with an elbow strike to the temple and he drops unmoving to the floor. His balaclava tears off in the struggle, revealing Carl Jones's face. What the fuck?

He should be on our side. Or he would be if he hadn’t been bought. How many of our own are we fighting? The betrayal burns, but I don't hesitate to take his weapon from his limp hand. His phone peeks out of his pocket and I take that off him too, shucking it into a damp pocket of my cargo pants.

Soren dispatches his attacker with a combination that ends with the man crumpled against the refrigerator. Asher's shot takes out the third, the intruder dropping with a knee wound.

We’d normally stop to investigate who these men are. At least pat them down for evidence, but none of us are willing to stick around and risk more hostiles finding us. Not with Emma so vulnerable.

“SUV. Garage. We’ve gotta get out of here.” Asher hands Emma back to me. She's more alert now, trembling against my chest, her fingers clinging to my shirt. She clenches her jaw as her teeth chatter. Her wild eyes are trained on the men on the floor and the sprays of blood over the counter.

Asher takes point, moving through the house. Soren covers our six, his breathing controlled but heavy. The garage door seems miles away but thankfully we don’t encounter any more intruders. Asher opens the door, and we silently enter the garage. Asher takes the fob off the rack we keep in the garbage and unlocks the SUV. Soren holds the door open as I scramble into the back seat cradling Emma. I clip the belt round both of us as Soren takes shotgun position and Asher dives behind the wheel. I grip my Glock in my free hand, both of us ready to provide covering fire if needed.

The garage door opens and Asher guns the engine. The SUV's tires spin on polished concrete before finding grip, launching us forward with enough force to thrust me forward. The belt snaps against us. A small sound of distress escapes Emma as we rocket out of the garage.

The SUV fishtails as Asher cranks the wheel, tires screaming in protest as we careen onto the central driveway. The maneuver throws us sideways, my body curling around Emma to absorb the impact.

The engine roars as Asher floors it, acceleration pinning us back again. Trees and buildings blur past, the SUV's headlights catching glimpses of more black-clad figures diving out of our path. So many of them. Through the windshield, I see the guardhouse approaching fast, dark and empty. The security barrier stands raised like an invitation, when it should be locked down tight.

“We’re being shadowed,” Soren snaps, twisting in his seat. Headlights flare in the side mirrors. One set, then another.

The SUV hits the main road with a squeal of tortured rubber, Asher wrestling the wheel to keep us stable as we accelerate even more. Emma whimpers against my chest, and I hold her tighter, my free hand keeping the Glock trained on the rear window where pursuit lights grow larger.

They planned this. They had inside help. And now they're hunting us.

“Hold on,” Asher growls, and presses the accelerator to the floor.

Chapter Nineteen

Soren

The SUV's engine roars as Asher pushes the vehicle to its limits, the speedometer climbing past numbers I don't want to think about. My fingers grip the dashboard, knuckles white as we take a corner fast enough to mark the bitumen. In the back seat, Phoenix cradles Emma against his chest, his expression fierce and protective in the passing streetlights.

This shouldn't be happening. The safe house was secure. I personally oversaw every detail of its security system. Every guard was vetted, every protocol triple-checked. Yet here we are, running from an attack that came from inside our own perimeter.

Jones. The thought makes bile rise in my throat. We all trusted him to protect vulnerable witnesses, but this explains his sketchy behavior when we brought Emma here.

How many of our own are working against us?

“Two vehicles still on our six,” I report, checking the side mirror. The pursuing SUVs are keeping pace, professional drivers at the wheel. If they wanted to run us off the road, they’d be more aggressive. Makes me think they want at least one of us alive, and I’m sure the alphas in this SUV are the expendable ones.

“Carmichael money, you think?” Phoenix speaks through gritted teeth as we take another hard turn.

“Whoever it is knows the compound and is rich enough to bribe. Pack Carmichael are rich enough, but this would implicate someone with police knowledge,” Asher finishes, his voice dark with fury.

There’s only one person with the highest level of command able to infiltrate with this number of officers. “The commissioner,” I say.

It’s a brash, desperate move especially risky for whoever’s pulling the strings. We’ve run our own investigations, searching for any link between the Commissioner and the omega auctions, but he’s been meticulous. There’s never been anything solid tying him to the crimes, but if he orchestrated this raid, he’s gambling everything. It’s loud, reckless, and leaves him wide open to exposure. “We’re not safe anywhere. If they can compromise the safe house, nowhere in the system is secure. Every police facility, every protective custody location, are all potentially compromised,” Asher says.

“We need to go dark. Ditch the phones, avoid cameras. We can't trust anyone in the department. Not now,” I say.

We swerve around a slower vehicle. My heart clenches at the fear in Emma’s scent. Her eyes are wide, jumping everywhere. We finally got her to trust us, to feel safe, and now this.

Asher slams his fist on the wheel. “I double checked everything. Everyone—”

“Don’t beat yourself up, brother.” I can talk. I’m beating myself up on the inside pretty well. “This extends much wider and bigger than we can hope to protect against.”

I don’t want to voice it out loud to add to Emma’s distress, but I’m sure if they’d secured her, we wouldn’t be breathing now.

“We need to lose these tails. Then find somewhere off-grid to regroup,” Phoenix says.

“I have an idea of where we can go, but I need to send an encrypted message. Hand me your phones first. We need to get rid of everything traceable,” I say.

I dismantle our phones and smash the sim cards before dropping them out of the window. As I move, I feel Carl Jones’s phone in my pocket. That’s going to have to go too because it definitely can be traced.

I turn the phone on, noting the coded lock screen. My eyes catch the fingerprints smudged across the surface, and I follow the pattern. The phone unlocks, granting me access to a message stream that could prove crucial. Scrolling through, I find a thread that lights fireworks in my brain. It’s a conversation with an Alpha1465, detailing the exact time and location for the “extraction.”

I have key evidence in my hand, and I know it could be pivotal in piecing together the case, however I can’t keep this phone. Keeping it would put my omega in unnecessary danger, and I won’t risk being traced for anything. Besides, knowing there’s an Alpha1465 without linking a true identity still gives us nothing.

After a final glance at the screen to memorize details, I quickly dismantle the phone and toss the remnants out of the window. The evidence is gone, but I have what I need in my head and I will find a way to use it to protect us both.

“What's happening?” Emma's voice is small but steady, more lucid than she's been since the shower. “Who's chasing us?”

I turn in my seat to face her, choosing my words carefully. She’s enclosed in the fluffy blanket Phoenix swiped off her bed, but I know how vulnerable she probably feels beneath the material. I’m happy she’s clinging to Phoenix. Her conscious mind doesn’t trust us, but deep down, her omega recognizes us as safety.

She deserves the truth; deserves agency in her own life after having it stripped away for so long. “We don’t know exactly who yet, sweetheart. But we’ll find out.”

She pales more than she already is in the passing streetlights, but her chin lifts slightly. “Do you think they attacked because of the hearing today?”

“I think it’s all tied up, yes. They're not willing to wait for legal channels.” I watch her process this, proud of how she's holding herself together despite everything. At least her heat scent has diminished, no longer filling my lungs with desperate pheromones the way she did in the shower.

“What are we going to do?” she asks, and the 'we' in her question makes the place where the bond will reside inside me throb.

“First, we're going dark. No phones, no cards, nothing they can trace. Then we lose our tail and ditch the car,” I say.

She nods, trust warring with fear in her expression. After everything she's been through tonight—her first experience of gentle touch followed immediately by violence—she's showing remarkable strength.

“Take us into the industrial district,” I direct Asher. “Lose them in the warehouse maze. We know it better than they do.” My mind races through escape routes, calculating angles and timings. This part of the city is our hunting ground. We've run countless operations here; know every blind alley and hidden turn.

He nods, understanding my reasoning. The SUV's engine roars as he downshifts, taking a hard right that throws us against our doors. The pursuing vehicles' headlights flash in our mirrors as they follow, their high-beams cutting through the darkness like searchlights as we race down deserted streets until we hit an area including massive buildings that are more ruin than not.

Asher weaves between the abandoned buildings, the vehicle’s heavy frame swaying as we take corners at speeds that make the tires howl in protest. Past empty loading docks, through narrow alleys. The pursuing headlights bounce and weave behind us, never quite losing us but not gaining either.

“The loading dock is ahead,” I say, spotting our chance. The old Maxwell warehouse, with its hidden access road that doesn't show on any current maps. “Go through it.”

Asher guns it toward what looks like a solid wall in the darkness. Emma makes a small sound of fear, but Phoenix holds her steady. At the last second, Asher cranks the wheel, sending us down a concealed ramp and into a building. The pursuing vehicles blast past, their brake lights flaring as they realize their mistake.

“Double back through the container yard,” I direct.

We shoot past old iron pillars and emerge into a canyon of shipping containers, their metal walls creating a maze of shadows and blind corners. Asher kills the headlights, navigating by moonlight and memory. The SUV moves slower now, deliberate, each turn calculated to break line of sight with any pursuers.

Behind us, distant engines rev as they try to figure out where we've gone. Their searchlights sweep the area, but we're already moving deeper into the maze.

“There.” I point to a gap between containers that looks impossibly narrow. “It’s a tight squeeze, but it'll get us to the Mercy River Road and back into the city.”

The side mirrors scrape metal as Asher threads us through the gap, but that's the least of our concerns. We emerge on the other side as searchlights sweep the area we just left.

“We need to contact Cole,” I say once we're clear, the immediate tension easing slightly. “Adrian's pack is the only one we can trust right now.” We need somewhere to hole up that’s safe. Some place those who are compromised can’t find us.

“They'll be monitoring all our usual channels,” Phoenix says.

I work through ideas on how I can contact Cole without pinging any alerts.

“Asher, can you get us to an Internet café? One of those 24-hour places. I'll use a VPN, route it through multiple servers. Set up a dead drop message Cole will recognize.”

Asher nods. “First we ditch the car. They'll have traffic cams looking for us.”

“Head downtown to Mikey’s. He owes us big and is good enough to make this car disappear and get us something clean,” Phoenix says.

Emma hasn't said a word since we started our evasive maneuvers, but I feel her eyes on me in the darkness. When I meet her gaze in the rearview mirror, I see something that gives me hope: determination. She's scared, yes, but she's not giving up.

“You should let me go,” she says softly, her voice barely audible over the engine. “Drop me somewhere. It’s clear they're after me, not you. If you...” She swallows hard, her fingers twisting in the blanket wrapped around her. “If you leave me, they won't come after you again.”

The selflessness in her offer tears at my chest. It's beautiful and heartbreaking all at once. She’s smart enough to realize she’s their target. But she will learn she’s not expendable, even if it takes a lifetime.

“Not happening. Not now or ever, Tough Girl.” Phoenix speaks for all of us.

“But—”

“Emma.” I turn in my seat to face her fully, needing her to see the truth in my eyes. “Feel Asher through your bond. Really feel him. He hasn't closed it off. Have you, brother?”

Asher’s grip tightens on the wheel. His gaze flicks to her in the rear vision mirror. “Never, Moonbeam. I won’t do that to you again.”

She hesitates, uncertainty flickering across her features. A frown forms on her brow as she focuses inwards. Her hand comes up to clasp her chest and her surprised gasp fills the car. “You—”

“Get used to it, Moonbeam,” Asher growls.

“But…they'll hurt you.” The moonlight catches the tears in her eyes, making them glitter like stars. Asher is right. She’s a pure beam of moonlight, glowing and bright and everything good in this world. And she’s ours.

We’re not worthy. Not even close, but like the greedy bastard I am, I’ll take everything she’ll give us.

“Let them try,” Phoenix says with a fierce grin that holds more wolf than humor. “Some things are worth everything to fight for.”

“That’s you, if Phoenix isn’t clear enough,” I add, letting my own conviction color the words. “You’re worth everything, Omega. The sooner you accept that, the easier this will be.”

Emma's lower lip trembles, as her gaze darts between us. “I don't understand you. Any of you. You're nothing like...”

“Nothing like the alphas you've known?” I finish when she trails off. “Good. That's exactly how it should be.”

Her shoulders relax slightly, some of the tension easing from her frame.

“Emma.” Asher's voice is gentle but carries an undercurrent of pain. I feel how much this question costs him through our pack bond. “Why were you in the pool?” He can't seem to ask the next question, his throat working around words too painful to voice. Were you trying to end things?

“I thought...” She presses closer to Phoenix as if seeking an anchor in reality.

“Thought what, Moonbeam?” Asher prompts. “Is this anything to do with the beach you told us about?”

Her eyes flare. “I did?”

“In the shower. You asked us if you were at your beach,” I say.

She's quiet for so long I think she won't answer. Her fingers play with the edge of the blanket. When she finally speaks, her voice is a whisper barely audible over the hum of the engine.

“I always wanted to see the beach. The waves, the sand...” Her voice catches. “Any beach, but…I don't know if I imagined it right. I've never actually been. I just... made it up in my head. Made it perfect.” The admission costs her something vital, like sharing this dream makes her more vulnerable than being naked in our arms. “It was better than being…there.”

The pieces click into place, confirming what I'd suspected from her behavior. A dissociative episode, triggered by the perfect storm of stress and heat hormones. Her mind created an escape when reality became unbearable, crafting a sanctuary of sand and sea where no alpha could reach her. The beach became her safe place during whatever horrors Pack Carmichael inflicted. Tonight, confused by heat and overwhelmed by new sensations both pleasant and terrifying, her mind sought that familiar comfort.

“That took a lot of courage. Thank you for telling us.” Phoenix tilts her head, wiping away the tears that leave silvery tracks down her cheek before pressing a kiss to her skin.

Her eyes flicker closed and stay shut.

She’s exhausted, and sharing this vital piece of herself has cost her. This is a gift, one given because she has a tiny kernel of trust. Every vulnerability she reveals is an act of courage that humbles me.

An hour later, Asher pulls up in front of the chop shop. We know it well, hidden in plain sight, masquerading as an auto repair business. Mickey owes me after I kept his omega sister out of Haven's clutches last year, hiding her instead of dropping her off at the vultures’ feet. His operation isn't pretty, but it's efficient and, more importantly, discreet. He’s thankful we didn’t bring him down, opting to keep his business operational. Besides, in our eyes, he did nothing wrong.

Never in a million years would I suspect his brand of help would be for our omega.

Phoenix stays with Emma while I talk to Mickey. The sound of power tools and the acrid smell of paint fill the pre-dawn air as they switch plates and VINs. Within twenty minutes, we're in a nondescript gray sedan. The kind of vehicle that becomes invisible in city traffic. Next we find the internet café, nearly empty at this hour. Just a couple of night shift workers nursing cold coffees.

I make sure my hood covers my head as I slide into a seat and power up a computer. My hands shake from exhaustion as I route through three VPNs before initiating contact with Cole. It’s just before six in the morning but I know Cole wakes up early to get in an hour of gym time before work. Thank fuck this morning is no different. The response is immediate, green text appearing on the black screen: Secure channel established. I close my eyes in relief that Cole is as close to an insomniac as a man can get. My fingers stumble over keys, the aftermath adrenaline making them clumsy.

ME: Cole, we need immediate assistance. The police safe house was compromised and we’re on the run. Emma is with us, but the situation is critical.

COLE: Fuck! How the hell did that happen? Are you all alright? Where the hell are you now?

Questions we’d like to know and will go out of our way to find out. The compound should have been secure, not only from infiltration but from double-crossing as well.

ME: I’m in a secure internet cafe. A strike team was sent to the compound. We suspect to retrieve Emma. We suspect inside help at department level. We can't trust anyone in the force. We just made it out. We're running dark. Ditched phones, badges, everything traceable.

COLE: You're sure about department involvement?

ME: We discovered one of our own on the attack team. Carl Jones.

The list of people who will pay for their crimes against Emma is growing by the minute alongside Pack Carmichael and Axel Turns, Carl Jones is right after them. Cole won’t leave that stone unturned now I’ve named him.

ME: We need somewhere to stay off-grid. Emma’s experiencing heat spikes and is vulnerable. We don’t trust anyone else to ask.

COLE: You don’t do things by halves, do you? Okay, we have somewhere you can hole up. It’s our own private out-of-town residence and completely off grid. 4891 Riverside Drive in Benton. Entry code 47392. The house is stocked with everything an omega might need. Blankets, pillows, clothing. We left it that way in case Mira needed anything if we ever went there. Use whatever you need. I’ll organize supplies so we can contact each other. There’s a discreet drop box at the main gate of the property. I’ll have them left there so no one needs to enter. All the devices will be encrypted. Just give me a couple of hours to put everything you’ll need together.

Benton is only an hour's drive away. Relief blisters through me. I knew having money put a person at the top of the food chain and never have I been more relieved Asher made friends with Adrian Blackstone at university.

ME: We owe you.

COLE: Before you go, there’s more. I sorted through Haven’s records for anything regarding Emma. Soren, I found her death certificate dated the day our omegas escaped Haven. Mercer personally signed her death certificate and listed it as a broken neck after falling on a group hike.

I work to sit still and not throw every single terminal in reach through the café window.

ME: She was sold at one of their perverted auctions.

COLE: Exactly, but where I’ve been able to trace the money into Mercer’s account from other sales, there’s nothing relating to Emma. No money trail. No name. She simply vanished from the system.

I stare at the blinking light, grinding my teeth hard enough to snap my molars. The money trail leading back to The Haven Institute is one of the main pieces of evidence against Mercer and how we’ve managed to shut the Institute down under further investigations. No government official was willing to lose their job over it not happening. Not with the public outcry so loud. It’s our one piece of light in this whole mess. If only we could implicate Evelyn Hardwick and Axel Turns, this nightmare would be a long way toward being over for many people.

ME: There’s no trace of her being sold to Pack Carmichael?

COLE: I found paperwork, and it’s been signed off. Just not by a legible signature.

Who would have the power, apart from Mercer and Hardwick if she was stupid enough to use her signature, to transfer omega ownership?

ME: It looks like she bypassed their usual systems. There has to be a money trail somewhere. Money would have been exchanged for Emma’s sale because ownership papers exist. Is there a way you can send me the papers? I might be able to decipher the signature.

I send the message and type out another on its heels.

ME: Another thing to look into. I found a message stream between Carl Jones and an Alpha1465 who looked to have orchestrated our attack. I had to ditch the phone so I can’t give you the SIM. I know it’s not much to go on, but can you see if you can make any connections?

COLE: Done. The paperwork will be on the computer and phone with the pack for Emma. Soren, I have other news about Emma you’re going to want to know.

My stomach churns because any news Cole has regarding Emma I know I’m not going to like.

ME: Anything you have will only help. Hit me.

COLE: Mira told you Emma was the sole daughter of beta parents, and she was orphaned before being taken to Haven just after she presented as omega.

When Mira came to the hospital to see Emma, she also spent time giving us as much information about Emma as she had in a bid to help her friend, something for which we’re all eternally grateful. The three omegas were kept in Haven’s Basement and suffered despicable abuse from Mercer and Hardwick. I make a mental note to add Hugo and Lars to my shit-list. Fuckers just keep lining up. I keep my eyes on the screen as the green letters appear.

COLE: Her parents perished in an automobile accident.

I sit straighter in the chair, leaning toward the screen as my heart begins to drum a staccato beat in my chest. Mira’s parents died in a car accident. As did Thomas Richardson and his pack.

COLE: I found the incident report buried under a ton of paperwork because Emma is officially dead. It was listed as brake failure and also signed by Sylvia Mercer.

Holy fuck. That’s too much to be a coincidence. I stare at the screen, rage strobing white across my vision. I run my hand down my face, feeling the weight of the world pressing on my shoulders.

ME: Thanks, Cole. Going dark. I’ll contact you when it’s safe.

I’ll be doing my own digging with the top-of-the-line encrypted devices Cole promised to deliver. I don’t care if we’re no longer following protocol. That was ripped out of my hands when our own turned on us. The world and everything in it can go to hell if it means keeping Emma safe.

COLE: Watch your backs.

The chat thread goes dark, and I make sure the message thread is unsaved and unrecorded.

I stare at the black screen, nausea burning the back of my throat as pieces begin to form a bigger and more horrific picture than I could have imagined.

Haven didn't just traffic omegas.

They murdered for them, and the trail leads to someone lurking in the dark—choosing vulnerable omegas and turning them into orphans by design.

Chapter Twenty

Emma

Iwake slowly, consciousness returning in layers. I’m in a room. The walls are painted a soft seafoam green. A white dresser holds a collection of sea glass in a crystal bowl. Everything feels intentionally calming, designed to soothe. This room is beautiful. Perfect, even. Gauzy white curtains flutter at tall windows, filtering the light into gentle patterns across whitewashed wooden floors. However long we've been here, the morning is long gone.

Artwork on the walls shows scenes of beaches—waves crashing against rocks, seabirds wheeling against cloudy skies, sandy shores stretching to distant horizons. So like my imaginary sanctuary.

The bed I’m lying on is enormous. A king-size wrapped in crisp white linens that smell fresh and clean. No basement mustiness, no hospital antiseptic. The mattress beneath me is cloud-soft. A pile of pillows in various shades of blue and green creates a nest-like arrangement against the carved wooden headboard.

Fragments of memory float back. Being carried from a car, strong arms cradling me against a broad chest. The scent of rich coffee telling me it was Phoenix. He never stopped holding me while we were holed up in that car. Everything else is hazy, lost to exhaustion and heat fever and the aftermath of terror.

Memory of the attack is clearer. The sound of glass breaking, running through the night and the desperate chase through city streets. The way my alphas... no, not my alphas. The way Asher, Soren, and Phoenix protected me. Fought for me. Refused to let me go even when I offered to sacrifice myself.

Movement makes me tense. I’m not alone, but it's just Phoenix shifting in his sleep beside me. They’re all in bed with me, sprawled on top of the covers while I'm cocooned beneath them. Asher lies on the outside of the bed behind Soren and closest to the door, his body positioned between any threat and the rest of us. His olive skin is shadowed with stubble, his dark hair falling across his forehead.

Soren is wedged between Asher and me. His arms are carefully folded, his biceps stretching his mud-smudged shirt sleeves as he sleeps on his side facing me. Even asleep, he maintains a distance, respecting boundaries I didn't know alphas could respect. Phoenix doesn’t distance himself. His arm is draped over my blanket-wrapped form and his body is pressed against mine. His whole front covers my side but even then… I don’t feel smothered. His blond hair is a mess, stubble graces his jaw, but his face is peaceful. All three of them are still fully clothed, rumpled and dirty.

Lethal grace wrapped in devastating beauty.

I shut down that line of thought.

The slight shift in Asher's breathing tells me he has woken first. My attention flies to the biggest threat in the room. His eyes open, unerringly finding mine. The intensity of his gaze gives flight to my stomach. Not with fear but with something else I'm not ready to name.

“Moonbeam. How are you feeling?” His tone is all whiskey and gravel and I stifle the good shiver that works through my body.

His voice wakes the others. Soren's eyes snap open to lock on me. Phoenix stirs more slowly, his arm tightening slightly around my waist before he wakes up. A slow smile spreads on his devastating face as he sees me awake. Their masculine-musk scents wrap around me like a protective cocoon.

Dread should be pooling in my stomach. I should be at least trying to climb out of this cocoon and put a door between me and this alpha threat but instead my body stays languid and relaxed. I make a mental note to give myself a pep talk about basic survival when my senses aren’t attuned to mouth-watering scents and acres of rippling muscles.

“Tough Girl? Are you okay?” Phoenix says. His morning voice is just as devastating as Asher’s, damn him.

“Yes, I…” I pause, considering how I feel. My insides aren’t so hot they’ve turned to liquid and my abdomen has stopped twisting itself inside out. In fact, I’m nicely warm. Toasty. Comfortable. Clean and safe, surrounded by softness instead of concrete.

They saved me. At risk to themselves. And not for the first time either. Last night it was clear we were attacked because of me. It would have been so easy for them to hand me over, dust their hands and walk away because I am too much trouble. Instead, they did what they said they’d do—anything to keep me safe.

I don’t want to voice any of those thoughts, so I settle on a simple truth. “I’m…confused.”

Phoenix chuckles, a sound that should be banned. “We're at one of Adrian's safe houses. Safe, secure and in luxurious hiding.”

“Don’t upset her, idiot!” Soren says.

Phoenix’s relaxed expression tightens. He rises onto his elbow which only serves to highlight the thickness of his bicep. His rich coffee scent coats my tongue and slides down my throat like the best latte. “I’m not upsetting you, am I? I was just trying to say we’ve gone dark, and no one can trace us here.”

Soren sits up. My fingers twitch under the covers to wipe away the smudge of dirt on his sharp jawline. “And safe. We’re safe, Emma.”

“We’ll fill you in, but would you like to get up and shower first?” Asher’s voice is rough from sleep. He slides off the bed and strides to the dresser, muscles flexing beneath his crumpled tactical gear. He begins to open and close drawers like it's his latest mission.

“Everything you need should be in here. Adrian said the house is stocked with everything an omega might need.” He picks through the contents, turning to me with an armful of women’s clothing. They look small and delicate in hands that still bear the marks of our battle last night.

Hands that grabbed me from the bottom of the pool and hauled me back to safety.

I drag my gaze up his broad chest, over his wrinkled clothes to chocolate eyes that are trained on me.

“Clothes?” My sentences are apparently single words.

Asher swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing. “He said he stocked it for Mira, but if you want anything else, we’ll get it for you.”

He’s still thinking of me. They all are. They fought for me. Put themselves in the line of danger.

For me.

“But you're...” I gesture at their state, dirty and blood-stained from last night's chaos. The words stick in my throat, this unfamiliar concern strange on my tongue. My body remembers their gentle touches, how Phoenix cradled me in the car like I was something precious. How Soren fired bullets out of the car window. How Asher drove like a crazy man to outrun whoever was after us.

Something warm flashes in their eyes at my worry, and a smile ghosts over Asher’s full lips. “We’re fine, Moonbeam.”

“We'll take turns showering after we take care of you,” Soren assures me.

Something soft goes kersplat inside my chest and it has everything to do with giant alphas who are dangerous in their gentleness.

Red alert lights flash inside my head.

“I...” I swallow hard, gathering courage. “I'd feel better if you cleaned up too.”

Their scents warm and now a siren blares inside my skull.

“How about this? You shower first, get comfortable. We'll all get cleaned up in another bathroom because this house is stocked with anything and everything and then we’ll get you something to eat. Deal?” Phoenix says.

I sit up. I can’t stay lying down. Not when the place between my thighs starts to throb the way it did in the shower. With me naked in Asher’s lap writhing in pain and begging to make it stop. My stupid omega genes would have let them do anything to me. But they…stayed clothed.

Tended to me.

Gave me what I needed with their mouths. Hands. Tongues.

Stoked my painful burning waves of pain into the only orgasm I’ve ever had.

“How is that a deal when you’re doing everything for me?” I ask, grateful they seem to be ignoring my scent.

Soren’s mouth curves up on one side and my heart does a spring-jump it never has before. “That’s the best kind of deal.”

I nod because I don’t know what to say in the face of this sort of assault.

“Besides,” Phoenix says, his blue eyes dancing with mischief as he carefully draws back the top cover, “it's in my best interest to keep you scenting like honeysuckle and vanilla rather than alpha sweat and dried blood.”

Soren helps me to the edge of the bed, his touch careful but steady. Asher places the clothes beside me, close enough to reach but not touching my blanket-wrapped form. I'm naked and vulnerable beneath this thin barrier, but they don't leer, grab, or take advantage.

“Call if you need anything. We’ll hear you,” Asher says, and they then just…leave.

The door shuts behind them. I sit on the end of the bed drawing in their lingering scents. The urge to wash off the terror of the night is too much to ignore. The bathroom is as beautiful as the bedroom, all sea-glass tiles and shell-shaped fixtures. The shower pressure is perfect, the water hot and plentiful. I stay under the spray until my skin turns pink, marveling at this simple luxury I'd forgotten existed.

I dry myself with a large, fluffy white towel and set it aside before I pick up the clothes Asher picked. I slip on the underwear, working the soft exercise bra over my chest. My breasts are so small, I don’t really need the support of a bra but it’s nice to put one on.

I pull on the matching set of gray and pink yoga pants, T-shirt and oversized top, feeling more feminine than ever. I’m glad Asher told me these clothes belong to Mira. I know she’d have no problem lending them to me.

When I open the bathroom drawers, I find everything I could need, hairbrush, toothbrush, even a hair dryer. My throat closes as I stare at that ordinary appliance. Such a simple thing, being able to dry my hair. Warmth spills on my cheeks. I wipe it away to find tears.

Tears. Over a hairdryer. Yet...it's so much more than that.

Haven started the systematic breakdown of everything that made me human. Teaching us that omegas don't deserve basic dignities. Don't need to brush our hair or dry it or care how we look. We existed for alpha pleasure, nothing more. The Carmichaels were only too happy to continue that lesson, strip away every vestige of my humanity until I was nothing but an animal in their basement.

Something hot and unfamiliar burns in my chest. Anger. Pure, molten rage that I've never allowed myself to feel before. Anger is dangerous. Anger means hope, means believing I deserve better, means acknowledging the depth of what they stole from me.

But now, staring at this simple appliance, I let that anger flow.

Let it rip through me like wildfire.

Those people took everything. My clothes. My name. My right to stand in sunlight or feel water on my skin or brush my own damn hair. They turned me into a thing, a possession, a toy to be used and discarded.

My hands shake as I grip the counter. In the mirror, my reflection shows someone I barely recognize. A woman instead of a possession, clean and dressed in soft clothes instead of filthy rags with a chain around her ankle. The anger in my eyes makes them spark with life instead of the dull acceptance I've worn for so long.

I want to scream. Want to break things. Want to make them feel every moment of degradation, every scrap of dignity they stole, every piece of myself I had to bury to survive.

Instead, I pick up the hairdryer. Turn it on. Watch my hair transform from wet tangles to soft waves because this simple act of self-care is its own kind of rebellion. Its own kind of revenge.

I might be omega, but they tried to make me forget I was human.

Behind the mirror, I find makeup still in its packaging. I pick up the items, hands shaking as I’m reminded of how much I’ve forgotten. Before my designation came in, Mom and I went to the beauty counter and selected some items. I didn’t used to wear a lot. I was young after all, but makeup was something I loved.

I choose a mascara and light pink lip gloss, removing the packaging. I'm clumsy with the applications, but something warm unfurls in my chest as I study my reflection.

My face is too thin, too pale, marked by years of darkness that will never go away, but my hair falls in soft waves around my shoulders, and the gloss makes my lips look fuller. The mascara brings out the blue of my eyes. They’re bright. Alive.

My stomach growls, reminding me I can't hide in here forever. The alphas are waiting, and we have things to discuss. They didn't say much about what happened last night, but I owe them at least a conversation, given everything they've risked for me.

Maybe it's the clothes, or the makeup, or the simple act of being clean and warm and safe, but the thought of facing them…doesn't fill me with pure terror.

I start to put the blanket in the hamper, but pause. Their scents are woven into the fabric. The thought of discarding it feels wrong. I can’t help myself. I bring the blanket to my nose and draw in their scents that help to ease the tension in my chest. I walk from the bathroom and into the bedroom, carefully folding the blanket and placing it at the foot of the bed.

Their scents are still in this space too, faint but enough to lend me the strength to step from the room and into the hallway. The house beyond the bedroom is just as beautiful, all whitewashed wood and sea-glass colors. Curtains filter sunlight across polished floors, and driftwood art adorns walls painted in soft coastal hues. Everything is open, airy. Tasteful. Peaceful.

Delicious smells lead me to a kitchen that belongs in a magazine. White cabinets, marble counters, a massive island topped with shells in glass bowls.

But it's the three alphas that have me stopping in my tracks.

They've showered and changed. My mouth parts on a shaky inhale. Asher stands at the stove, his dark hair still damp, wearing a black Henley that clings to his shoulders. Phoenix chops vegetables, his blond waves tousled, a gray T-shirt showing off arms marked with fading bruises from last night's fight. Soren measures something into a bowl, his actions relaxed and graceful. He’s also dressed in a way that makes his features more GQ than back-alley-thug.

They look as delicious as whatever they're cooking, and my omega responds to the sight of three powerful alphas engaged in such domestic tasks by fogging up the glass of my inner walls with her rabid panting. They’re confusing.

And attractive.

And terrifying.

I must make a sound because Phoenix's head snaps up, his blue eyes landing straight on me. “Tough Girl!” His full lips curve into a smile that should be illegal, dropping both knife and tomato as he crosses the kitchen in long strides and gathers me against his chest. His arms band around me and I’m swept away on a life raft built of solid muscle.

I should be panicking right about now.

Should be fighting.

Should do anything except step into this sort of cage that has no bars but has the power to imprison me just as effectively. My body has other ideas. I press close to him, bury my nose in his sternum, inhale honeyed-amber and melt.

Chapter Twenty-One

Phoenix

Our omega is purpose-made for my arms. I expected resistance. Thought she would push me away, stiffen at the very least. Instead, she melts into me, her nose dragging along my sternum.

She’s inhaling my scent.

Deliberately.

Willingly.

I howl with joy on the inside. Deny the urge to draw her sweet face to mine and kiss her doubts away. I will get there with her. For now, I’ll content myself with the fact her small body is burrowing against me, seeking comfort in my arms, letting her instincts guide her to what her body knows is right.

Her sweet honeysuckle rises, pure and sweet, untainted by fear. It mingles with my coffee, creating something new. Something perfect. Something awakening to life with possibilities.

I want to gather her closer. Never let go. I want to protect her from everything that's ever hurt her, but I keep my arms loose, my hold gentle. Let her set the pace, control the contact. This moment is too precious, too fragile, to risk shattering with demands.

Asher and Soren's matching awe flood our pack bond. They hardly dare to breathe as Emma burrows deeper into my embrace. None of us expected this level of trust. Then she makes a tiny sound—something between a sigh and a purr—and my world narrows to that single point of contact where her face presses against my heart.

My hand strokes her arm, tracing over the sharp edges of her bones that shouldn't be so prominent. That's why we raided the fully stocked refrigerator Cole somehow managed to fill in the few hours since our call. The pile of tech he left in the discreet box proves he's moving faster than we'd hoped. It means we can start our own investigation into this mess.

None of us dare make a sound, afraid to break this spell while Emma lets her instincts guide her. Every second she allows this contact is a gift. I hope her defenses are finally starting to crack but even if they aren't, we'll give her all the time in the world. Years, decades, whatever she needs. I’ll gladly give it all.

But reality crashes back in when her shoulders tighten and she stiffens against me, as though she remembers she’s afraid of alphas. She peers up at me, eyes wide and lips tense. She steps away from me, apology already forming on those glossed lips and holy hell, she's wearing makeup. As starved, battered and bruised as she is, she’s absolutely stunning.

An angel.

I have an angel in my arms.

“I…” She starts to speak, but I cut her off before she can apologize for something so perfect.

“You're just in time to help us eat this feast, Tough Girl. These two couldn't control their stomachs, and now we've got enough food for an army,” I say.

I aim for lightness, for humor, wanting to ease the tension from her shoulders. Wanting, more than anything, to see her smile. I haven't witnessed that yet. A real smile. I'd give anything to be the one who puts it there.

Her gaze flows over the food-laden counter, but then her brows knit as she stills and listens. “What's that sound?”

The sound? It takes me a moment to understand what she’s hearing and then it makes perfect sense. Soren opened the window while cooking bacon, letting in the distant rush of waves against the shore. A sound so familiar to me, but Emma…

She told us last night she’d never been to the beach. She’s been locked away for too many years and I realize…I realize she doesn't know what the beach sounds like.

Cracks web through my chest because she’s never been to the safe place she made up in her head to survive hell. And now here she is, standing in a kitchen with the real thing just beyond our windows.

How do I tell her? How do I explain that the soundtrack to her dreams is right outside? That her sanctuary isn't just imagination anymore? That, by pure chance, this house is the place of her dreams.

I catch her chin between my fingers, careful to telegraph every movement. Her blue eyes meet mine, lines forming on her forehead as she turns too-large eyes up to meet mine.

“That's the ocean, Tough Girl,” I say softly. “We're right on the beach.”

“We're...at the beach?” Her voice cracks on the question, something vulnerable and young flickering across her features. She sounds so small, so unsure, like she's afraid to believe anything good could be real.

Her gaze moves to the window, but she won't see the beach from here. We surveyed the property last night before we barricaded ourselves into the bedroom. All she can see from here is the manicured garden and the ten-foot high security fence that frames the property. Cole wasn’t wrong when he told us this property was secure.

I catalogue every micro-expression that crosses her pale face. The way her fingers twist in the hem of her oversized sweater. The slight tremble in her lower lip that she sucks between her teeth. The rapid rise and fall of her chest as she processes this information.

“Just on the other side of that fence,” I tell her, something fierce and protective swelling in that place that’s been empty all my life. Her pupils dilate and her scent shifts with… hope? Fear? Both? I want to be the first to show her what a real beach looks like. Want to witness her experiencing something pure and untainted by trauma. Want to see joy light up those beautiful eyes.

Asher catches my emotion through our pack bond because I’m broadcasting pretty loud. I don’t care. Let them feel how much I’m longing to do this for our omega. They’re feeling exactly the same way.

“Would you like a picnic?” Asher asks, setting down his spatula. Emma tracks the movement of his hands.

“A picnic?” She shifts her weight, an unconscious movement toward the door, her sweet honey deepening. Her gaze darts back to our prime. She wants to believe him. So badly, but I don’t think she knows how.

“The beach is private. No one for miles. Phoenix and Soren can take you out. I’ll finish up breakfast, pack everything up and then bring it out to you...” He lets the offer hang in the air, giving her space to process. To choose what she wants.

The moment draws out, the fragility threatening to snap us all.

Her fingers stop twisting her sweater, and she presses her palms flat against her thighs. Controlling trembles? Restraining the urge to run? Or maybe fighting the desire to say yes?

Every instinct screams to gather her close again, to protect her from having to make any decisions after so long being denied choices, but that would defeat the purpose.

She needs to choose. Trust.

Take her own step toward this freedom.

So I wait—we all wait—while she stands in this sunlit kitchen and struggles to decide.

Take all the time in the world, baby girl. As long as you let me stand by your side, I’ll back whatever you want no matter what it is.

She nods, just slightly, like she's not sure she's allowed to want anything, then something shifts in her expression. A stubborn lift of her chin that sinks right through me. “Yes. I want to see the beach.”

Her scent spikes with a cocktail of emotions. Determination warring with terror, hope battling expectation of punishment. Her fingers curl into fists at her sides, like she's bracing for an expected blow, but we're nothing like Pack Carmichael. Those bastards are nothing but mud under her feet, and we'll keep building her up until she believes it.

I can't help the smile that spreads across my face, probably making me look like an idiot but I don’t care. Every cell in my body vibrates with the need to take her there now. “You're so fucking strong, Tough Girl, you know that? Making decisions, taking what you want.”

A flush creeps up her neck, highlighting the fading bruises we'll make sure no one ever adds to again. I take her hand—carefully, always carefully—noting how her fingers tremble before curling around mine. Her skin is soft, warm, trusting despite everything screaming at her not to. No way am I waiting another second to show her this. She's waited long enough for her dreams to become real. “Let’s go!”

“Phoenix!” Soren yelps, scrambling to follow as I guide Emma to the exit. “At least let me grab some shoes for her!”

But I'm already opening the back door, too excited to slow down. She won’t need shoes. The path is smooth stepping stones and the sand is on the other side of the gate in the fence. The sound of waves grows louder as we step outside, and Emma's fingers tighten around mine.

I punch in the security code, the heavy gate clicking open to reveal a pathway through dunes.

Emma takes her first step onto the sand just past the gate and stops. She utters a soft gasp as her toes curl into the granules. She wiggles her feet, wonder spreading across her face as the sand shifts and molds around her.

“It's so... soft,” she whispers, like she's sharing a secret. She lifts wide eyes to mine and I lose myself in the color, so similar to the sky above us.

Our omega matches the beach with her spun-gold hair and summer-sky blue eyes.

“Come on. Let’s go to the water.” I guide her along the pathway through the dunes. The sand is cooler here, shadowed and untouched. Sea grass waves in the breeze, dotting the dunes with spots of green against golden sand. The air tastes of freshness, salt and healing. Each step centers her more, her head turning as she takes in every detail. Wind picks up her hair and spins silvery gold around her.

Seabirds wheel overhead, their cries carried away on the salt-laden breeze and as we crest the final dune and the full vista spreads out before us. The entire section of our private beach is protected at each end of the curving coastline by rocky outcrops. No other houses are visible. There are no other access points. Just us and half a mile of untouched shore.

Beyond the waves, the water turns to liquid silver, and sunlight sends glittery sparkles dancing across the peaks.

Emma's hand tightens in mine as she stares at the view. She’s ethereal standing here, like something from a fairy tale discovering its own magic.

“Is this what you imagined?” I ask.

“No.” She shakes her head before turning her gaze up to mine. Her glossy lips tremble into a hesitant curve. “This is so much better.”

Fuck, this woman is killing me.

A million shattered shards fall at her feet as my heart breaks in ways that will never be put back together again the same way. I don’t care. It will reform in much better ways. Ways that include the essence of my omega mate who will be entwined in my soul forever. I have exactly zero fucks to give about how many times my heart is remade. As long as it’s Emma who does the shattering.

All the king’s horses and all the king’s men, it’s Emma who will put me together again.

Her fingers flex at her sides, like she wants to reach out and touch everything. “Can I... can I go down to the water?”

I don’t have to think before replying. “You can do anything you want, Tough Girl. Anything at all.”

The tip of her tongue darts to trace her lower lip. My cock swells at the sight because I want to touch the same place with mine.

She takes a small step away from me, our fingers untwining before she takes another step. I let my hand drop as she walks down the dune and onto the flatter area of the beach. Each footprint in the virgin sand is a victory over everything that tried to break her. This…this is what shows true courage.

Her steps start slow, uncertain, but I notice the moment something shifts. The closer she gets to the water, the faster she walks until she’s nearly breaking out into a jog, each step certain and graceful. As though her body is remembering how to move without fear.

Soren steps up next to me. Our pack bond swells with light as we both simply watch her. She's everything to us. The piece that makes our pack whole. The omega we searched for without knowing exactly what we were seeking.

She has no idea how important she is. How much more she makes us. I'll spend forever getting to know her. Learning what makes her smile, what brings that spark to her eyes, what dreams she has beyond survival, but the love?

The love is already there and growing stronger with each passing moment.

“Look at her. So beautiful,” Soren whispers, his voice filled with awe. I’ve never heard quite this tone from him, and I understand exactly why. “She’s a butterfly. A butterfly discovering she has wings.”

“Our butterfly.”

I can’t wait to see her fly.

She draws to a stop from her wild race to the water, pausing at the water's edge, toes curling in anticipation of that first touch.

Soren turns to me, his eyes luminous. “Go get our girl, brother.”

I don’t need to be told twice. I'm running down the dune before I realize I've moved, sand spraying behind me as I race toward our omega.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Emma

I'm at a beach. A real beach! The thought circles in my head, too enormous to fully grasp. This isn't the sanctuary I retreated to when reality became too much, when hope was a distant dream.

This is so much better.

This is real.

This is everything.

My feet sink into sand that's impossibly soft. Each step leaves impressions behind me. Proof that I exist. The water moves with a grace I never could have imagined. Forward and back, forward and back. White foam races up the sand like delicate lace, then retreats with a gentle hiss that sounds like secrets being whispered. Sunlight catches in the spray, turning ordinary water into diamonds that sparkle and dance before dissolving back into the sea.

The air tastes like salt and freedom. Seabirds wheel overhead, their cries carrying on the breeze like a welcome. Everything is alive, moving, eternal. The vastness of the ocean stretches before me, blue-green waves merging with the horizon until I can't tell where sea meets sky. It makes me feel small, but not in the way the basement made me feel small. This is different. This is being part of something bigger, something that existed long before alphas decided omegas were property.

I wiggle my toes deeper into the sand, marveling at how it shifts and molds around them. Cool and damp where the waves reach, warm and powder-soft just beyond. The water inches closer with each wave and then suddenly it rushes to my toes. My body moves of its own accord, and I step back before it contacts my skin.

A warm presence materializes behind me, and without turning around I know it's Phoenix. It's strange. The wind is blowing fresh sea spray in my face, yet I don’t have to turn to know its him. Like some part of me is attuned to him on a cellular level. What's stranger still is that I don't tense, don't feel the knee-jerk need to create distance between us. His presence is as warm as the sun on my shoulders.

He moves to stand beside me, and I look up into his face. He peers down, patient and seeing everything. Really seeing me. His tousled hair is golden in the sunshine. His eyes hold mine, patient and sure. He’s a true golden boy with those piercing eyes and that gentle smile. He’s…he’s…beautiful in a way that makes warmth unfurl inside of me.

Butterflies take flight in my belly, spreading warmth through my veins. Is this attraction? This strange mixture of nervousness and wanting. This urge to step closer instead of away. This awareness of every place our bodies could touch but aren't.

I've never felt this before. Never been allowed to feel this before. I have wanted alphas in the past because of my heat, but I’m not in heat now. That’s a biological response to pheromones and designation, but this warmth is different. My body and mind agree. Both sides of me want to bridge the small distance between us.

I don’t know how to name it but it’s pure and simple and easy and I want to stand by his side.

Phoenix smiles, his fingers carefully threading through mine. The calluses on his palm speak of strength, but his touch is feather-light. He gives me every opportunity to pull away but I…don’t.

Instead, I curl my fingers around his. His eyes drop to where our fingers are linked, then flick back to my face.

“Is a tough girl like you afraid of a little water?” His tone is light, teasing, but his eyes. Gods, his eyes hold such deep understanding.

He gives me strength.

“I...” My voice catches. How do I explain that part of me remembers seeking oblivion in the water I thought was my sacred beach last night? Now I have the real thing spread before me, it’s totally different. How could I have thought that poor excuse in my imagination to be like something this majestic?

“My parents told me they would take me to a beach when I was with them. When they were”—my voice catches but I force myself to keep going—”alive. We’d planned a beach holiday the summer before my designation hit. Before everything went bad and now…”

Now I’ll never experience that with them. Life took them away from me too soon. I will always remember them in my past. Never my future. I draw a deep breath and steady myself. I don’t want to take away from the beauty of this moment, but I would like him to know some of my truth.

“We’d never been before. I don’t know why, but our family never came to the beach even when I was young. I always imagined what it would be like. I’d build sandcastles. Swim. Find shells. Look in rockpools. And then, when things got bad, that’s the image I used to escape.”

I look out at the glistening water, never still. The way the sunlight temporarily blinds me as the water throws off reflections. The way the wind flicks my hair into my eyes. The cool sand under my feet and the slight sting of sunlight on my face. “But this...” I gesture at the vast expanse before us. “Nothing I imagined comes close to this.”

Emotions cascade across his face, and he lets me see every one. Pain darkens his eyes. Rage tightens the corners of his mouth. Pride softens his features when he looks at me standing here. And something deeper, something that makes my chest tight, warms his entire expression. He's being vulnerable, deliberately transparent. Letting me read him like a book. Written just for me.

His thumb strokes circles on my palm, each touch sending little sparks up my arm. “Do you know how incredible you are?” His voice is rough with feeling. Deeper. “You survived the worst humanity could throw at you. And here you stand, still fighting, still dreaming.”

“Not all in one piece,” I whisper.

His gaze roams my face again before he eventually speaks. “Have you heard of Kintsugi?”

I shake my head. I’m going to change my ignorance about the world and everything in it. I’ve missed out on so much while locked away.

His free hand comes up to brush a strand of hair from my face. His fingertips trace my cheek so lightly, they’re barely there. The gesture is careful. Thoughtful. Intimate because it comes from him. “It's a Japanese art form. When precious pottery breaks, they repair it with gold. The cracks become part of the piece's history. They believe that something that's been broken and repaired is stronger and more precious than something that's never been damaged at all.”

His eyes hold mine, intense and sincere. Little flecks of darker blue ring his pupils, like the ocean depths. “Your cracks don't make you less whole, Emma. They make you more precious. More beautiful. More valuable.”

The words hit something deep inside me, something I thought had shattered beyond repair. My gasp is lost in the wind because he really means what he says. He isn’t merely mouthing words to make me feel better. These words are carefully chosen. They hold true meaning and like the heat-seeking missiles they are, they spear right through my walls and straight into my heart.

Phoenix sends me a cheeky smile that softens his features into something almost boyish. “Want company for your first step into the waves?”

Something warm and unfamiliar swells in my chest. Anticipation mixed with a giddy sort of excitement I haven't felt since before I was taken to Haven. His enthusiasm is infectious, his joy at sharing this moment with me so pure my heart flutters. His scent carries no demands, no expectations, just genuine pleasure at being part of my moment.

I find myself returning his grin, the expression feeling foreign but right on my face.

“O…okay.” I nod, and his answering smile outshines the sun. He looks at me in a way that feels like I’m giving him a gift instead of the other way around.

The next wave races toward us, hissing on the sand. Phoenix's hand tightens slightly in mine, not restraining, just anchoring. “Ready, Tough Girl?”

He steps forward and tugs me along. The water rushes over my feet and I gasp. It's cold, shocking, absolutely perfect. Tiny bubbles fizz around my toes, tickling my skin with effervescent joy. The sand shifts beneath my feet as the water recedes, like the earth itself is breathing.

“Oh,” I whisper, wonder making my voice small. Everything I imagined pales in comparison to this reality.

Phoenix's thumb strokes across my knuckles as another wave approaches. “Here comes another one. Are you ready?”

I’m more than ready. I step toward the wave, pulling him with me. The water swirls around our ankles, and his delighted laugh mingles with the sound of waves. The joy in that sound is contagious, pure, completely without artifice.

For the first time in forever, I feel... free.

Alive.

Real.

And the alpha holding my hand isn't a jailer or an owner. There are no chains around my ankle, locking me to a wall in the darkness. No, here is light and laughter and joy.

The next wave approaches and this time the water hits my knees in a shocking burst of cold that makes me gasp. My yoga pants cling to my legs. The sensation is exhilarating, cold and wild and completely beyond control. Like being baptized in something ancient and pure.

“Bit chilly?” Phoenix teases, his eyes dancing with mischief. Sunlight catches his sparkling eyes, making him look like some kind of ocean god. “Want to see how deep your courage goes?”

Something about his playful challenge makes me brave. Makes me want to prove I can be more than a broken thing. I want to be put back together with gold and made whole and beautiful.

We wade deeper, each step stirring up sand beneath our feet. The water swirls around us, pushing and pulling like it wants to make us part of something bigger. The water rises to our thighs, my clothes completely soaked now but it doesn't matter. Nothing matters except this moment, this freedom, this choice to keep going.

A larger wave hits us, sending spray up over my chest. Salt water touches my lips, and I realize I'm smiling so wide my cheeks hurt. Phoenix's laugh rings out across the water. The sound does something to my insides, makes me want to hear it again.

A wildness takes hold of me. I scoop up water in my palms and scatter the drops over him before I can overthink my actions. Drops clinging to his eyelashes as he blinks in surprise. For a moment I freeze, old terror trying to surface but his smile grows impossibly wider. His brows jump over bright eyes. “Oh, it's on now, Tough Girl.”

The game catches fire between us, splashing and dodging sprays dug up by our hands. Water flies everywhere until we're both completely drenched. My hair is plastered to my face, my clothes are saturated, and I'm laughing. Actually laughing. The sound surprises me. It’s been years since I’ve felt this light. There was no laughter after Mom and Dad died. Certainly none to be had at Haven.

Suddenly I'm aware of how close we are, how his body fills all the spaces and radiates heat that draws me to him. Droplets trace paths down his neck, over the strong column of his throat, making me want to follow their journey with my fingers. His shirt clings to broad shoulders, outlining every muscle in a way that makes my mouth go dry despite the salt water.

My breath catches for reasons that have nothing to do with cold water. This close, I can see every shade of blue in his eyes, count the tiny laugh lines at their corners. His hands on my waist are gentle but steady, giving me every opportunity to pull away.

I don't want to pull away.

Our laughter fades, and the air develops another charge between us. Phoenix's expression shifts, playfulness giving way to an intensity of another sort. His eyes drop to my lips, then back to mine.

“Emma,” he says, my name rough in his throat. His hands on my waist tighten slightly, but still so careful, so controlled. “I would like to kiss you right now.”

The waves lap around our thighs, but I don’t notice the cold. Not with the heat of his body so close, not with the way his thumbs stroke small circles through my wet clothes. His fingers send little sparks through my skin, leaving a trail of heat where he touches.

He ducks his head, his gaze trained wholly on me. “Would that be okay, Tough Girl? If I kiss you?”

The question hangs between us, heavy with possibility. His scent made sharper by salt spray wraps around me like a warm blanket. I know, with absolute certainty, that if I say no, he'll accept it. Will step back and that will be all right. The choice is completely mine.

Maybe that's why I don't want to say no.

Maybe that's why I nod.

Maybe that's why I tilt my chin up and whisper, “Yes. Please. Kiss me, Phoenix.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Emma

The warmth of his lips is a searing heat against the cool ocean spray that coats our skin. His mouth is soft, a gentle brush of lips over mine. It's not a demanding kiss, but one that asks for permission, that seeks consent. A question whispered against my mouth, and I answer with a soft sigh, my lips parting for him in answer.

His tongue dips in, a tentative exploration. It's a dance, a slow, sensual waltz of tongues and lips. He tastes like the sea, salty and invigorating, yet there's a sweetness to him too, a hint of coffee and honeyed-amber.

My hands, clutching at his shoulders, slide up to his neck, my fingers tangling in the wet strands of his hair. I feel the strength in his neck, the corded muscles that flex beneath my touch. His arms tighten, pulling me closer. He’s all heat and hardness and the desire unfurling inside me blossoms.

A wave crashes against us, the force of it making me stumble. Phoenix lifts me against him. My feet leave the sandy bottom, my body pressed against his chest, our lips still locked. The kiss deepens, becomes more urgent, more desperate. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, exploring, tasting, claiming.

His hands roam over my body, one sliding up my back to tangle in my wet hair, the other splayed across my lower back, supporting my weight. I arch into him, my body seeking more of his touch, more of his heat. His heart pounds against my chest, a steady rhythm that matches the beat of my own.

His mouth leaves mine, trailing kisses down my jaw, my neck, my collarbone. Each touch is a brand, a mark of possession that sends a thrill of pleasure through me. He nips my neck, a gentle tease that sends goosebumps skating over my skin. His tongue follows, licking, tasting, exploring.

The waves crash around our thighs, but I barely notice. All I can focus on is the heat of his mouth, the strength of his arms, the way he makes me feel simultaneously safe and wild. Free and anchored. Claimed and choosing. I don't want to stop. I want to stay here, in this moment, with him.

His long fingers mold to my nape while the other slides down my back, cups my ass and pulls me closer. His hardness throbs against my stomach, evidence of his desire.

I moan into his mouth, a sound of pure pleasure swallowed by his kiss. He responds with a soft growl, a sound of raw need that sends another wave of heat through me.

This…this is what I always imagined kissing would be like.

I wrap my legs around his hips, my body seeking more of his touch, more of his heat. I respond to his touch, my core clenching with a need I can't ignore. Wetness, hot and thick and nothing like the water coating us, gathers between my thighs.

I need more. More than his hands and his mouth. My abdomen clenches with an ache that throbs in time with my heartbeat. I need more… Need…

Phoenix's hands grip my hips, his fingers digging into my flesh as he pulls my hips against his.

Yes…this…

I grind my core against his erection, a soft moan escaping my lips as the sensation sends a wave of pleasure through me. His hardness fills the emptiness between my thighs and it drives me wild.

His mouth rips away from mine, but not far. Just enough to speak, though our lips stay touching. “Take anything you need from me. Take all of me, if you want.”

A delicious thrill races through me alongside burning arousal. My head is clear. What I feel is all want and need and desire. Not the heat haze that normally drives me to do these things. The clarity allows me not to hate myself as much, but here, now with Phoenix, there’s no guilt.

No self-hatred.

Just absolute need to take what he so willingly offers.

I grind harder, my hips moving in a desperate rhythm. Slick gathers in my cleft and soaks his pants. I’m glad they’re already wet because I’d no doubt be leaving a stain on the front.

Pleasure builds. There's no pain, no force, no desperate biology driving me. Just pure sensation that grows with each searing touch.

He nips my lips with his teeth. My abdomen tightens as a thrilling sensation radiates from my core. My skin draws as tight as my chest and I cling to him, my muscles locking against him.

I can’t let go.

I don’t want to.

I want to taste and lick and grind.

His dark coffee coats my tongue. His skin is hot. He grips my thighs, tilts his hips and grinds against me and, oh gods…oh gods, a whole-body throb rolls through me, starting with my pussy and flowing to my extremities.

Every muscle tightens. Golden light washes through me as my head falls back and pure, unadulterated lightness rocks through me. My body arches, trembles, falls apart.

Phoenix holds me steady, his arms solid bars while my limbs are weak. All I can do is collapse against him, boneless and floating. His heart beats beneath my ear as waves lap at my calves. His hands stroke my back in soothing patterns, grounding me as I drift in sensation I never knew existed.

“I didn't know it could feel like this.” My lips are clumsy as I try and chase my scattered thoughts.

He pulls back, confusion creasing his brow. “Like what, Tough Girl?”

“Like this floaty feeling,” I say.

His grin goes all the way to his eyes and makes them sparkle. “Just wait until I give you multiple orgasms, Tough Girl. You’ll float all the way up into the sky.”

I gape up at him. “It can happen more than once?”

His brows flick up. “Let me be clear—I plan to make you come more than once, in more than one way, any time you decide you want to kiss me. Or more.”

The promise in his voice, the intensity of his gaze, leaves me speechless.

Multiple times?

I’m hung up on that thought as he moves through the waves toward shore, still carrying me. Water streams off us, but I barely notice. I'm too caught up in the implications of his words, in the possibilities I never knew existed.

Soren waits at the water's edge, a large beach towel ready in his hands. His expression is soft as he wraps it around me. The material is warm from sitting in the sun, and he takes extra care to tuck it securely around my shoulders. His touch is as careful as Phoenix's. A smile pulls at his full lips. “You looked like you enjoyed your swim, butterfly.”

Heat flies over my cheeks when I realize he would have seen everything I did with Phoenix.

“Don’t embarrass her, asshole,” Phoenix says but I’m not embarrassed. Quite the opposite.

Memory flashes through my mind of both Soren and Phoenix’s mouths and hands on me in the shower. When all three of them held me and pleasured me, and…they gave me an orgasm that time as well, and I…I don’t want that to be a once-off. I want what Phoenix said could be done.

Soren immediately looks contrite. His serious hazel eyes settle on me as he rubs the back of his neck with a huge palm. “I didn’t mean to…that’s not what I… I apologize, Emma. You looked like you were having fun splashing Phoenix and it’s time someone got one up on him. He wins far too many games in this pack as it stands.”

Soren looks so much like a kicked puppy that a huffed laugh unexpectedly escapes me, surprising both Soren and Phoenix. I'm not ready to confront my feelings about wanting all three of them, so I focus on something else he said. “Butterfly?”

A spark ignites in the depths of Soren’s eyes. He drops his hand to his side, yet energy thrums through him, holding me suspended under the intensity of his gaze. “That’s you—a butterfly spreading its wings. Showing your beauty for all to see, and I'm here to tell you that your colors are breathtaking, Emma. Everything about you is absolutely stunning.”

The wind buffers us, mixing pure notes of warm sandalwood with brine. Crisp. Clear. Truthful.

He means what he says.

My world tilts on its axis. Everything I thought I knew shifts into new configurations and I don’t know what to do with any of it. I’ve been locked away for so long, I don’t know how to be myself and suddenly the path to knowing what I want, to choose, is too much. I don’t know where to begin.

“Look who finally made it with food,” Phoenix says, taking my hand and gently squeezing, as though he knows I’m bordering on another meltdown. “I don’t know about you, but I'm starving.”

He takes my hand as we walk up the beach to where Asher stands on the end of the pathway through the dunes. The sight of him laden with a large basket, towels, and a picnic blanket strikes me as surreal. This powerful alpha doing something so domestic, so normal. His dark hair ruffles in the breeze, his Henley still clinging to broad shoulders.

Asher sets everything down and flips open the wicker basket, pulling out a wide-brimmed sunhat. He steps closer to me and places it on my head, his fingers gentle as he adjusts the brim. “You'll burn otherwise,” he says softly, adjusting the strap under my chin so the wind won't steal it.

“I’ve brought everything we’ll need for breakfast, but your clothes are wet. Would you be more comfortable eating inside? We can always come back out,” Asher asks.

I weigh the options in my mind. My clothes are plastered to me, but the thought of going back inside doesn’t appeal. Not when I have sky and sun, sand and water to revel in. “I want to stay here forever. Live outside for the rest of my days if that's possible.”

Asher's chuckle is warm. “It's a perfect day for breakfast on the beach,” he says, though it's well into the afternoon thanks to the events of last night. “Even if we're a few meals behind schedule.”

Soren replaces my sodden towel with a warm, dry one and guides me to sit on the blanket as Soren and Phoenix unpack the basket. Container after container emerges. Fluffy scrambled eggs still steaming, crispy bacon, fresh fruit glistening with moisture, pastries that look like they came from a fancy bakery. There's orange juice in a glass bottle, coffee in a thermos, even small pots of jam and butter. The amount of food is staggering, and the preparation is amazing.

Asher arranges a plate with eggs, bacon, and fresh berries with considered moves, as though each morsel matters before handing me the heaped plate. Soren hands me silverware wrapped in a cloth napkin, while Phoenix pours juice into a tall glass.

The domesticity of it reminds me of breakfast with my parents, but... different. There's an underlying current that has nothing to do with parental care. These alphas want to provide for me, protect me, but also... possess me? No, that's not quite right. The way they move around me, anticipating needs I didn't know I had, speaks of something deeper than possession.

I focus on the bond, trying to understand. The Carmichael pack's toxic-waste anger still simmers in the background, but Asher's presence is…louder than theirs. It’s easy to discern his longing that doesn't demand, patience that doesn't expect reward, care that asks nothing in return. His concern wraps around me like a warm blanket, solid and unwavering.

“Pack Blackwood doesn't mess around,” Phoenix says, biting into a pastry. “This food is incredible.”

“Adrian's always had excellent taste. We're lucky they're on our side,” Soren says.

“Pack Blackwood?” I ask, curiosity overriding my usual reticence.

“Mira’s pack. They took Adrian’s family name,” Asher explains, his eyes soft as he watches me sample the eggs. That means if I were to decide to belong to this pack, I’d be Emma Mitchell. “This is one of their safe houses. They understand what it means to protect omegas. It’s part of the reason they started Pinnacle Therapeutics.”

Even locked up at Haven, I'd heard of Pinnacle. They make suppressants. The good kind, not the black-market stuff that makes omegas sick. Matthew, Derek, and James would argue about putting me on them, but ultimately decided against it. Their voices echo in my memory, cruel and dismissive. What was the point of owning an omega if not for their heats? It was the only thing we were good for. Just holes to fuck. Breeding stock.

Thank the gods I never became pregnant. It doesn’t bear thinking about what would have happened to me or my baby. I can’t imagine how my child would have been treated. The thought rises like bile, but lacks its usual strength. Their cruelty, their reduction of me to a biological function, says more about them than it ever did about me.

They're the ones so broken they feel powerful by hurting others.

They're the ones so empty they need to own people to feel whole.

I just never knew the difference until now.

I turn my gaze to the ocean, watching waves roll endlessly toward shore. Let the rhythm wash away old poison. I have the chance to choose how I react now. In this space, this moment, I have the power of choice.

The water doesn't care what designation I am.

The sun doesn't shine differently on omegas than alphas.

Nature knows no hierarchy.

Mira's words about the right alphas echo in my mind, and I can understand why she said that now. She’s strong and whole and happy. Everything the younger versions of ourselves always wanted to become. She found her other way of living. She found her new path. She’s walking her new future.

I filter sand through my fingers, reminding myself that this beach is real and not my imagination.

Things change.

I shift on the blanket, unable to find a comfortable position. The sun is warm on my skin, but something's missing. Some piece of contentment just out of reach.

“Come on. Use me as your chair.” Soren settles behind me, gathering me against him.

It takes a moment to lean back, but when I do, he’s steady. Solid. Warm. His sandalwood scent mingles with the salt air, and I draw it into my lungs. The sun warms my skin, my stomach is pleasantly full with food freely given, and the waves paint endless patterns on the shore. Soren's heartbeat is steady against my back, his arms loose enough that I could move if I wanted to.

I don't want to.

This could become my favorite way to exist. Surrounded by peace instead of pain, held instead of chained, choice instead of restriction.

The gentle rise and fall of Soren's chest behind me, the sound of Phoenix and Asher's quiet conversation, the endless thunder of the waves, all weave together. As I close my eyes, a whisper of hope unfurls within me, daring me to believe that I might actually find the freedom I’ve only been able to dream about.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Emma

Iwake to the gentle motion of being cradled against a broad chest. Sweet sandalwood blooms around me as Soren carries me. The sea grass whispers in the wind, casting long shadows across the sand. The sky above is painted in twilight purples and deep oranges. It’s no longer mid-afternoon but dusk.

“I fell asleep.” I’m embarrassed. I wanted to enjoy the day, not let it pass me by while I slept.

In the fading light, Soren’s features are devastatingly handsome. Sharp cheekbones are softened by the smile that transforms his stern expression into something breathtaking. The last rays of sun catch in his hazel eyes, turning them to amber. “You did,” he says, the hint of a smile on his lips.

“Where are Phoenix and Asher?”

“They went back to the house. I stayed in case you woke up and wanted to remain at the beach. But it's getting dark now, and the temperature's dropping.” He adjusts me to guard against a gust of wind and I shiver at the crispness.

Although I'm quite cozy, wrapped in the towel and pressed against his body heat, the wind whips around my face and my clothes are uncomfortably damp. My skin is sticky with salt water.

“You didn't have to stay out all afternoon,” I say, the words muffled against his chest. He sat out there for hours, holding me while I slept.

In case I’d wake up and still want to be at the beach.

“There's literally no other place I wanted to be.” His arms tighten. “Having you in my arms is a gift, Emma.”

“But I was asleep,” I protest, not understanding how my unconscious presence could be considered precious to anyone.

His smile deepens, creating little creases at the corners of his eyes, transforming his face with tenderness. “Doesn't matter if you're asleep or awake, Butterfly, you're still in my arms. I'll be your chair any day.”

Soren sat for hours in the wind and sun, just to let me sleep peacefully on my beach.

He shifts me carefully to punch in the gate code, then carries me into the house. The kitchen is warm and bright, filled with the scent of coffee and the table covered in electronic gadgets. Phoenix and Asher sit at the table, surrounded by laptops and papers, but both look up the moment we enter and I’m hit with the full force of alpha focus. My nipples bead and liquid warmth slides through me to pool between my thighs.

Phoenix rises, crossing to us with easy alpha grace despite being packed with the muscle thickness to rival a tiger. His lips find mine in a soft kiss that tastes like coffee and promises. It’s intimate. Startling in how right it is.

“Have a good nap, Tough Girl?”

“She slept like the angel she is,” Soren answers.

His voice rumbles in his chest, the vibrations not helping the heat that’s licking my skin. Not the heat of my designation, but the heat of awareness. The gentle prickling that skates over me because I’m hyper-aware of every little thing about him.

Asher stands too, his movements more contained. The setting sun through the windows catches the olive undertones in his skin, highlighting the dark stubble along his jaw. He removes the hat I’d forgotten was still on my head. “You got a little sun there.”

“I did?” I ask.

His fingers brush my cheek, feather-light and careful. “Just enough to give you some color.”

“Oh.” I want color. I hate how pale I am. Paleness reminds me of the entombed creature I was becoming one with the darkness.

“I'm taking her up for a bath,” Soren announces, turning toward the hallway. “She needs to warm up properly.”

Phoenix's wink is positively wicked, his blue eyes dancing with mischief. “Need any help? I'm excellent at washing hard to reach places.”

“Back off, Sunshine,” Soren growls, but there's humor in his voice. “It's my turn. You two can make dinner while I take care of our omega.”

Our omega.

It should sound wrong. Trigger panic at the least, but the warmth tickling inside me stokes into embers. My inner voice, the one with an edge that protects me against alphas, is nowhere to be heard.

Asher plants a large hand on Phoenix’s shoulder. “Our omega needs good food too. Take care of her, Soren. Don’t forget to put lotion on her skin.”

“What sort of mate would I be if I forgot that?” Soren spears Asher and Phoenix with a shard-edged stare. “And you two stay away. I mean it!”

Phoenix's laugh follows us, warm and genuine. “Possessive much, brother?”

Soren chuckles, “Don’t you know it!”

He walks down the hallway, still cradling me against his chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat under my ear makes me feel oddly safe, but reality starts creeping in and the old discomforts ooze from my broken parts. “I can walk, Soren.”

“I'm not ready to put you down.” His voice carries no command, just honest admission. “Besides, we're here.”

The moment we enter the bathroom, panic claws up my throat. The large tub is threatening. All that exposed porcelain, all that vulnerability required. To get in that tub I’ll be naked, defenseless. Exposed.

My mind flashes to memories best left buried, yet they rise, seeking blood inside my skull.

I don’t want to feel small again.

My scent goes from sweet to burned in a second.

Soren stills, his gaze sharp as he gently stands me on my feet. The movement is careful, deliberate, giving me space to retreat if I need to. He kneels in front of me. Kneels. Even kneeling he’s almost the same height as me, but still, he has to tilt his head back a little bit. His gaze is serious and so open I see the flecks of gold that swim in the hazel.

“I’m not going to do anything you don’t want.” He doesn’t touch me, just fists his hands on his thighs. “I’d like to fill the tub and make you comfortable. I’m not going to take advantage of you. I’m only here to make sure you’re safe, but if you want me to go, I will. You set the pace, Emma.”

I test the air, taking a small sip of his scent which is clean and clear, containing nothing but genuine concern. The purity of it helps me breathe easier and my tight muscles start to relax. I don’t want him to leave.

“If you’re worried, I'll draw the bath, put in so many bubbles they'll reach the ceiling.” A small smile tugs at his lips. “Then I'll turn around while you undress and won't look back until you're safely covered in foam. Would that be all right?”

I study his face, looking for any sign of deception, any hint of ulterior motive, but his expression remains open, honest. He lets me study him, not moving an inch, doing exactly what he said he’d do.

“All I want right now is to make sure you're all right and talk to you without all the craziness going on.” He moves then, running a hand over his buzzcut. “You can ask me anything about us, about the pack, about whatever you want to know. I'll tell you the truth, always. The good, the bad and the ugly.”

The band tightening around my chest eases and I can draw in a breath, because…because I do want to know about them. I want to hear his voice. What he has to say. I want to know it all.

“Okay.” The word comes out steadier than I expect, carrying more certainty than I thought I possessed.

Soren offers me a small smile. “Okay,” he repeats.

He turns to the tub, adjusts the taps and water rushes out of the spigot. Steam rises from the water in delicate spirals as it fills the tub. He uncaps a bottle, pouring a lavender liquid that immediately begins to foam. True to his word, bubbles start to build, piling higher and higher until they look like clouds floating on water.

“I'm turning around now,” he says, suiting action to words. His back is broad in his sweater, shoulders set in a deliberately relaxed pose that still manages to convey protection. Nothing threatening, nothing demanding, just steady presence and patient waiting. “Take your time. Just let me know when you want me to turn back.”

I still hesitate, fingering the hem of my sweater. The clothes are ruined, salt water and sand have taken their toll, but I can't bring myself to feel bad about it. For the first time in years, I experienced joy in these clothes. Played in them. Laughed in them. Felt alive in them.

I had fun!

The water looks inviting, steam curling up in beckoning tendrils and suddenly I can’t wait to get in there. I drop the towel, peel off the clinging fabric and slip into the tub before fear can take hold again.

The warmth envelops me, making my skin tingle and prickle as circulation returns to cold limbs. Bubbles rise around me, creating a protective barrier that smells like comfort and safety. The heat seeps into muscles I didn't even know were tense, making me sink deeper with a small sigh of pleasure.

Salt and sand dissolve from my skin, washing away the physical remnants of my first beach visit but leaving the memories intact.

I wrap my arms around my knees. “You can turn around now.”

Soren turns, his expression neutral as he kneels beside the tub and wets a washcloth. “Close your eyes. Let me get the salt off your face.”

I hesitate for a moment, but something in his steady presence makes me brave. I let my eyes shut, giving him this small trust. The washcloth ghosts over my skin as he traces my forehead, my cheeks, the bridge of my nose. He takes such care around my eyes, as if I'm made of spun glass, while he removes every trace of salt and sun.

He stops and I open my eyes to find him gazing at me. His scent blooms through the steam, spicing the floral soap with masculine notes of sandalwood. The combination wraps around me, making my head swim in the best possible way. Something deep and hidden inside me stirs, responding. A thrill runs through my core, making my skin prickle with awareness.

With want. Dangerous, dangerous want.

“May I have your hand?” he asks.

He holds my gaze. Steady hazel reaches deep down inside me and stirs my soul in the best possible way. I lift my hand from the water. Droplets drip off my arm as I place my hand in his much larger one.

His thumb strokes across my knuckles, the touch gentle. Such a simple caress, but it sends shivers down my spine. His hands are strong—there is power in them—but his touch is light.

“I’d like to wash your arm, Butterfly. Would that be all right?” His rasp is sex and sin and everything I never knew possible.

Shouldn’t be possible.

Not for me.

Not when I thought every part of me was dead and I was a living husk of omega.

Turns out it was the wrong alphas.

“Okay.” I can no more tell him no, than stop all of those waves from crashing on the beach I slept on today.

His full lips turn up into something mesmerizing. He guides the washcloth up my arm in long, careful strokes. His other hand supports my elbow, keeping me steady, keeping me safe. The dual sensation, soft cloth and warm skin, steals another shiver from me even though I’m growing as hot as the bathwater.

Soren pays attention to each of my fingers with the type of consideration that could be described as nothing less than intense. The cloth traces between my fingers, across my palm, around my wrist in slow, deliberate circles. His touch is methodical and tender, and he turns a simple task into something that’s sacred.

His brow furrows. My whole focus is on the play of our hands. His hands are beautiful, strong and capable, yet so incredibly gentle. Everything about him speaks of contained power, carefully controlled strength. His military haircut contrasts with the softness in his eyes.

He's a puzzle of contradictions I want to solve.

Sandalwood and steam puff around me. I draw in the dual scented air, filling my lungs so that it infuses into my bloodstream. I can’t stop the throb between my legs because I want those hands on more parts of me than my arms.

They way they were last night. Stroking. Easing.

Need to focus on something else.

“Can I...” His gaze rises to mine and he waits. There’s no judgment there. Just quiet attention. I lick my lips because I have to know. “Can I ask about you? All of you?”

The smile he gives me should be illegal. Hells, it probably is in some states. My heart skips a beat the way it used to when I was a teen lusting over the latest pop star, yet this is so much more than that. This isn’t merely lust. Or anything contained to the physical. This is so much more.

Every part of my being sparks to life until I’m filled with a universe of stars.

This is visceral.

Looks like open, boyish intensity is my kryptonite.

“You can ask anything you want.” He doesn’t stop touching me and…I don’t want him to. There’s something magnetic about the way he moves the cloth over the delicate skin of my inner arm. So softly. So carefully. Or maybe it’s the way he watches me while he does it. As though the world is just here and now, and we’re the only two people in it. “We have no secrets from you, Emma.”

The simple honesty in his voice, the open invitation to know them, makes something warm bloom in my chest because I want to know everything.

Want to understand these alphas who defy everything I thought I knew.

Want to learn what makes them different from all other alphas I've known as they awaken me back to life.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Emma

“How did you all meet?” I ask.

Soap bubbles foam through his long, elegant fingers I know can pack a powerful punch as he starts to clean my other hand.

Soren's smile softens. “I met Asher ten years ago at the academy. The moment we met, something just... clicked. It's hard to explain, but sometimes you just know when another alpha is meant to be pack. There's this recognition, a sense of completing each other's strengths.”

His hands continue swishing the cloth over my other shoulder, but his expression grows distant with memory. “With Asher, it was instant. Like finding a piece of myself I didn't know was missing. We balance each other.” He shakes his head slightly, searching for words. “It's like finding your other half. Not romantic love, but something just as deep. A brotherhood that goes beyond blood.”

The washcloth skims across my shoulders. I lean into it, seeking more of this gentle contact. My body responds to him with a kind of melting pleasure.

“Everyone else at the academy was focused on proving their dominance, climbing ranks, making names for themselves. But Asher had this unwavering moral compass. After graduation, it was natural for us to partner up on omega abuse cases. We wanted to change things, make a real difference.”

The way he speaks about Asher, the depth of feeling in his voice, shows me a kind of love I've never witnessed between alphas. Not the bitter competition of Pack Carmichael, but something pure and supportive and strong.

“Pack bonds aren't about power. They're about trust. About having someone who knows all your weaknesses and chooses to protect them instead of exploit them. That's what Asher and I found in each other. What we later found in Phoenix,” he says.

His words paint a picture of connection I never knew could exist between alphas.

Soren's expression grows serious, his hands stilling on my arm. “You have to believe me when I tell you that Asher hates himself for biting you. I've never seen him like this, never seen him so torn up with guilt. In a decade, I've never known him to lose control of his alpha instincts like that.”

I stay quiet, because how can I disagree? I feel Asher's self-loathing through our bond every day, a constant undercurrent of shame and regret that he no longer tries to hide from me.

“It's completely out of character for him,” Soren continues, his voice soft but intent. “Asher's built his entire career, his entire life, around protecting omegas' rights. To find you in that basement, chained, starved. Our scent-match...” His jaw tightens. “His alpha just... snapped. Keeping you safe overwhelmed everything else.”

He lets my hand go and moves to my feet, submerging his hands into the suds to work on my feet. My eyelids flutter when he starts to massage those large thumbs into the sole of my foot. “He's beating himself up about it every day. Not because he regrets finding you—you're our mate, Emma, our perfect match—but because he took your choice away. The very thing he's fought against for years.”

I feel the truth of this in my bones, in the bond that pulses with Asher's constant remorse. Unlike the Carmichaels, who feel nothing but satisfaction, Asher's emotions are raw with regret. Even though he took my choice away, his regret is genuine.

“He'll spend the rest of his life trying to make it right,” Soren says quietly. “We all will.”

The promise in his voice eases the tight place inside me that’s always bound tight, not forgiveness, not yet, but maybe understanding.

“And what about Phoenix? How did he join your pack?” I ask, not wanting to dwell on the complicated mess where Asher is concerned.

Soren understands and doesn't miss a beat. His fingers work magic on tired muscles I didn't even know were aching, finding knots and tension I'd forgotten existed. His hands drift up my calf, working the cloth over my knee and along my inner thigh and every nerve ending jumpstarts to life.

He comes dangerously close to where I'm throbbing, pressing closer and closer, but he returns his attention down my other leg before he can touch me where I’m burning, starting at my foot and I’m…disappointed he didn’t follow through.

Normally every muscle would be drawing up tight and I’d try to keep my terror clamped down tight at this type of alpha touch, but Soren smirks as I groan when he begins to knead the tension from my other foot.

He knows exactly what he’s doing.

I narrow my eyes at him and his smirk deepens. I part my lips to speak but he beats me to it. “Phoenix came crashing into our lives two years later. Quite literally. He tackled a trafficking suspect right into Asher's desk. Knocked over Asher's precious coffee and everything. But he'd chased the suspect fifteen blocks to stop him from reaching an omega safe house.”

That’s so Phoenix. A chuckle jumps from me, driven from that quivering place inside me. Soren’s brows lift. “I like that sound coming from you.”

I ignore the heat drifting over my cheeks.

“You all worked omega cases?” I ask.

“It's what brought us together. We all saw the same problems, the same injustices. Asher's our moral compass, always fighting for what's right. Phoenix brings light to the darkest cases, helps us remember to find joy even in horrible situations. And I...” He shrugs slightly, the movement making his scent shift and swirl around me. “I provide the planning to keep them both in line.”

His eyes meet mine, hazel depths holding something that makes my breath catch. “But we always knew something was missing. Our omega was missing. The one perfect being who would complete us.”

The implication hangs in the steamy air between us.

Me. They were missing me.

He’s also working his way along the inner thigh of my other leg, sending frissons through my body, and then I can’t worry about anything at all other than the way his fingers are…

So.

Close.

My thighs part, wanting—needing—him to go higher. To touch me where the burn is starting to grow uncomfortable.

“Lie back, Omega,” he murmurs, his voice gentle but threaded with command. It’s not a bark. I don’t have to obey, but I want to. Water laps at my shoulders as I recline against the bath. Soren adds more soap to the cloth and traces it over my collarbones with devastating slowness, each stroke deliberate and thorough.

When he reaches the swell of my breasts, my nipples tighten into hard peaks, breasts growing heavy with need. Each careful pass of the cloth sends sparks of pleasure racing through my nerve endings, making me arch slightly into his touch.

When the cloth finally brushes over one aching nipple, I can't hold back the moan that escapes. The rough texture contrasts with the gentleness of his touch, sending sparks of pleasure straight to my core. He repeats the motion on the other side, and my head falls back against the tub. I’m lost in sensation.

“Good omega. Letting your alpha care for you. Letting him touch you where you want me to.” Soren’s deep bass rumbles in my ear and every inch of me agrees with what he said because I do want him to care for me. I do want him to touch me.

His fingers follow the path of the washcloth, tracing the same slow circles. Anticipation coils tighter in my belly with each pass, skin tingling, nerves singing. When he finally rolls each sensitive peak between thumb and forefinger, tugging gently, I nearly come undone.

“I’m going to clean the rest of you. Don’t worry,” he says quickly when my eyelids flicker open again. “I’ll ease your pain.”

His hands move to my stomach, cleaning in circles that make my muscles jump and flutter in their wake. My breathing turns ragged, shallow. Heat pools between my legs, an ache building that makes me restless.

A whimper escapes my throat, needy and desperate. My hips shift restlessly under the water and I need… I need…

Soren’s fingers skim the lips of my pussy and I nearly jump out of the water, seeking his touch. It’s never been like this before. This all-consuming need for touch. Not just any touch.

My alpha’s touch.

“Can I touch you where you need me to, Omega? Can I touch you where you burn?” he asks.

“Yessss.” I grip his wrist so he can’t go anywhere. The noise I make is somewhere between a pleading moan and a whimper. His face is smoothed into serious lines, his focus on me burning before his fingers flutter along the seam of my pussy. When his fingers finally brush over my aching center, we both groan at the contact.

Soren's fingers explore me intimately, learning every sensitive fold, every responsive spot. He teases my entrance, circling, dipping just slightly inside before withdrawing. The sensation makes me gasp, hips lifting instinctively to chase his touch.

“Please. Alpha…Soren, please,” I whimper, my voice breathy and foreign to my own ears.

“Anything for you.” He answers with a gentle thrust, one finger sliding smoothly into my heat. My inner muscles clench around the welcome intrusion, drawing him deeper. Slowly, he starts to move, establishing a rhythm that has me rocking my hips to meet each pump of his fingers.

His thumb finds my clit, circling the sensitive bundle of nerves with just the right pressure. Pleasure sparks through me, building from a slow burn to a raging inferno. I arch into his touch, water sloshing over the rim of the tub.

“That's it,” Soren murmurs, his voice rough with restrained desire. “Take what you need, Emma. Let me give you this.”

He increases the speed of his thrusts, crooking his fingers to stroke a spot inside me that makes stars burst behind my eyelids. At the same time, he presses down more firmly on my clit, rubbing tight circles that send electricity zinging up my spine.

The dual sensations are overwhelming, all-consuming. Pressure builds, coiling tighter and tighter deep inside. My thighs shake, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

“Soren,” I manage, my voice breaking on a moan. “I'm... I'm going to...”

“Let go,” he urges. “I've got you, Emma.”

His fingers thrust particularly deep as his thumb grinds against my clit, and the world shatters. My toes curl as ecstasy crashes over me in wave after wave of pulsing release. I'm distantly aware of crying out, of clenching around his fingers, of pleasure so intense it borders on pain.

Through it all, Soren works me through the peak, drawing out my climax until I collapse back into the water, utterly spent. Aftershocks ripple through me as he gently withdraws. As I float in the hazy aftermath, Soren presses a tender kiss to my forehead. “Beautiful,” he whispers. “You're so beautiful, Emma.”

And with the echoes of my release still thrumming through my veins, with the taste of his care on my skin, I almost believe him.

As the aftershocks of my climax fade, Soren gently guides me to sit up. “Let me wash your hair, Butterfly,” he murmurs.

“Hmmm.” I’m boneless and pliant from the force of my release. I wrap my arms around my bent knees and tip my head back. He starts to wet my hair with warm water from the bath’s shower head. His fingers work shampoo through my hair with the same care he's shown my body, massaging my scalp, working out tangles with patient gentleness.

It should be relaxing. And it is. My muscles are loose, my mind quiet, but as he rinses the suds away another sensation starts to build.

Heat flickers, more raw than the earlier slow build. A spark in my belly grows. Heat simmers in my veins and a restless ache has me shifting in the cooling bathwater. My sweet honeysuckle grows musky with need that’s demanding and urgent.

By the time he's washed the conditioner from my hair, arousal is a living thing inside me. Clawing at my insides. Demanding to be sated. My breath comes faster, skin prickling. The ache between my thighs grows unbearable.

Soren's hands still when he works out the last knot. “Emma? What's wrong?”

“I’m... hot. Empty. Like I need...” I can't finish, can't put words to this all-consuming want. I squirm against the insistent throb of my core.

Realization dawns in his eyes. “You’re having another heat spike.”

Panic claws through the haze of need. Heat means vulnerability, pain; means being used in the worst ways. Everything to fear. Nothing to want.

The last time I ended up in the pool.

Now there's a beach outside, and the waves might really wash me away.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Emma

Soren cradles my face in gentle hands. “It's okay. This won’t be like the other time. I won't let this hurt you, Emma. Not even your own body.”

His promise wraps around me like a balm, easing the edges of my fear. This is Soren, who stopped when I asked, who gave me pleasure without taking any for himself, who looks at me like I'm something precious.

Maybe heat with him—with them—doesn't have to be something to dread.

Maybe it can be something to savor.

The thought sends another rush of molten need through my veins, and I arch against him with a whimper. “Please,” I gasp, fingers digging into his forearms. “I need... Soren, please...”

His eyes darken, alpha instincts rising to meet my omega's call. “I've got you,” he rumbles, lifting me from the cooling water. “Let's get you dry. Then I'll take care of you, I promise.”

Soren wraps a soft towel around my dripping form, the fabric feeling rough against my hypersensitive skin. He starts to dry me, but a sudden cramp tears through my abdomen, making me double over with a gasp. The heat is overwhelming, all-consuming. Even the light touch of the towel is almost unbearable. “I can't... it's too much. Please, I need...”

Understanding flashes in his beautiful eyes, followed by a determined set to his jaw. He lifts me effortlessly, setting me on the cool marble of the bathroom counter. The chill against my heated skin feels so good.

“I've got you,” he soothes, hands running up and down my thighs. “My fingers helped before, but my mouth... that might be even better.” His gaze meets mine, seeking permission even as his scent spikes with desire. “Can I help you with my mouth, Emma?”

The thought of his lips, his tongue, on my most intimate place sends a bolt of pure want straight to my core. Yes. Yes, that’s exactly what I need. His mouth. His tongue. His teeth.

My omega demands his cock and his knot too, but even as I open my lips to plead, the words lock in my throat. Soren spreads my legs gently, settling between them on his knees. “I've got you. Just let me take care of you.”

And I realize, with startling clarity, that I trust him to do just that. To help me, to soothe me, to guide me through this fire without letting it consume me.

Soren's hands slide up my thighs, settling between them like he belongs there, his broad shoulders nudging my knees further apart. His breath ghosts over my heated flesh, making me twitch with anticipation.

His gaze drops to the apex of my thighs, where slick glistens sticky and clean on my skin. The scent of my arousal, honeysuckle and omega need blooms between us. His nostrils flare as he inhales deeply, pupils dilating until only a thin ring of hazel remains.

“You're breathtaking,” he murmurs, reverence in every syllable.

A whine corkscrews out of me. His words, low and rough with desire, make the ache between my thighs sharpen to a keen edge.

He licks his lips, as his gaze rises to lock with mine. “I want to worship you, Emma. Want to taste every inch of your skin, learn every secret place that makes you sigh and moan.”

“Please,” I whisper, the word falling from my lips like an offering.

He leans forward, his fingers circling my thighs, my body thrumming with anticipation. I’m open to him now. Completely bared, offering that most private part of myself.

When his mouth finds my center, I lose the ability to think. My eyelids flutter shut and my head falls back against the mirror. His tongue is hot velvet against my folds, lapping and stroking. He explores me thoroughly, tasting, testing, finding every spot that makes me writhe and moan.

As he focuses on my clit, alternating between broad strokes and targeted flicks, the coil in my belly winds tighter. My hands find his hair, fingers tangling in the short strands as I urge him closer. He responds with a groan that vibrates through my core, making my toes curl.

“Soren,” I pant, hips rocking against his face as the pressure builds. “I'm close...”

He seals his lips around my clit and sucks. The direct stimulation sends lightning bolts of pleasure shooting through my core, making me arch off the counter. At the same time, he slides two fingers into my dripping channel, curling them to stroke that sensitive spot inside.

He pumps his fingers in time with the flicks of his tongue, the dual sensations rapidly pushing me toward the edge. As the pressure builds, my thighs tremble around his head. I'm vaguely aware of the sounds I'm making, breathy moans and gasps that echo off the bathroom tiles. My fingers are a death grip in his hair and I grind against his face.

“I'm... I'm going to...” I can barely form words.

He hums against me in encouragement, the vibrations sending me flying over the precipice. My orgasm crashes over me, starting at my core and radiating out to every nerve ending. I cry out his name as I pulse around his fingers and mouth, wave after wave of intense pleasure making my vision go white at the edges.

Through it all, Soren continues to suckle and tease, prolonging my peak until it borders on too much. He licks me in soothing strokes as I force my fingers to unclench. He works me through aftershocks and murmurs praise.

When the last tremors fade, he presses a kiss to my inner thigh. The gesture is so intimate, so reverent, that it makes my heart clench. He rests his forehead against my knee for a moment, as if composing himself.

Then shame takes hold.

Icy fingers crash over me, dousing the warmth of my heat spike and my feel-good afterglow.

Fuck.

Fuck.

I’ve let an alpha touch me. Gave into my heat and enjoyed it.

I can’t stop the whip of words carving a path against my skull.

Slut.

Whore.

Only good for one thing.

I become rigid on the countertop, held captive by the scars of my past.

Soren curses, stands, and wraps his arms around me as my tears well and fall, streaking down my cheeks in hot trails. “Emma? Butterfly, what's wrong?”

I can't answer, sobs choking my words. I cover my face with my hands, trying to hide from him, from myself, from the mess of emotions twisting in my chest. I enjoyed what he did. Why am I reacting like this?

Fuck I’m a mess.

Then a sound reaches me through the ringing in my ears. A deep, rumbling purr emanates from Soren's chest. The vibrations travel through me where I'm pressed against him, soothing something raw and wounded deep inside.

Alpha purr. Catnip for omegas.

The Carmichaels never purred. Not once, in all the time they had me, did they offer this comfort.

I wasn’t worth the effort, but Soren…his purr is freely offered. It’s deep and steady, and is a balm to my battered soul.

Soren isn’t Pack Carmichel.

Phoenix isn’t Pack Carmichael.

Even Asher, who took what I didn’t offer, has deeply regretted his actions because the emotions he pumps through our bond can’t lie.

Have to stop comparing.

I relax in Soren’s arms, letting his purr and his scent do their job. My sobs quiet to hiccups and shuddering breaths.

His large palms cup my cheeks and guide my gaze to his. “Did I do something to upset you? Did I hurt you? Please tell me, Emma before I fuck this up more than I already have.”

I shake my head against his chest. “You…didn’t fuck anything up.” You only highlighted how fucked up Pack Carmichael is. How out of control I really am. You were just between my thighs and I’m a sobbing mess.

“You were... you were perfect. It's me. I'm all wrong. I shouldn't... I'm not supposed to...”

He pulls them from my face. His eyes find mine, bright with sincerity. “Emma, you have nothing to be ashamed of. You're an omega. I'm your scent-matched alpha. Helping you through your heat, giving you pleasure... it's an honor. One I'm grateful you allowed me.”

I search his face, looking for any sign of deception, any hint that this is a trick, but all I find is honest conviction.

“You... you really mean that.” It's not a question, but a realization.

“With every part of me,” he confirms, his thumb stroking away the last of my tears. “What we just shared... that was a gift. You trusting me, choosing me... I can't even begin to tell you how much that means.”

I shake my head, fresh tears threatening to fall. “I'm so fucked up. I can't... I can't even trust myself. My own reactions, my own desires... they’re wrong. Tainted.”

Soren's arms tighten around me, his purr deepening as if to drown out my self-doubt. “No, Emma. You're not fucked up. You're healing. And it's not your fault that healing is hard. You suffered for years. Years, Emma. It’s going to take time.”

His voice takes on an edge, anger simmering beneath the surface, but I can tell it's not directed at me. It's for me.

“What the Carmichaels did to you... they destroyed something pure. They took your heat, your desires, and twisted them to suit their own sick games. They made you feel ashamed of your own needs, your own pleasure. That shame belongs to them, not you.”

His jaw clenches where it rests against my temple. “They're the ones who are fucked up, Butterfly. They're the ones who are wrong. Not you. Never you.”

His words seep into me, filling the cracks in my soul like the melted gold Phoenix told me about.

I want to believe him. Want to believe I'm not broken beyond repair.

I want to be free from this. Free from them.

He tucks damp hair behind my ears. “It’s going to take time to unlearn their poison. Learning to trust your own body again... it's a process but we'll be with you every step of the way. For as long as it takes.”

We. The word wraps around me like a promise. A vow.

A future.

“What if...” I swallow hard, voicing the fear lurking in the back of my mind. “What if I'm never fully okay? What if I can't give you... everything you want?”

Soren pulls back slightly, cupping my face in his hands. His gaze is fierce, determined. “Then we'll take whatever you can give. We'll cherish every piece you're willing to share. Your pace, your boundaries... they're ours, too.”

The conviction in his voice, the steadiness of his touch... they feel like an anchor. A lifeline. A way back to solid ground.

“I don't know how to do this,” I admit, my voice small. “I don't know how to be... normal.”

“Then we'll figure it out together,” he promises. “One day at a time. One moment at a time. You're not alone anymore, Emma. You'll never be alone again.”

His promise is ambrosia to my battered omega soul. All I have to do is believe. Trust.

And hope I’m not making the biggest mistake of my life.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Asher

Soren disappears with Emma down the hall, her slight form swallowed up in his bulk. That familiar twist of envy knots in my chest as he cradles her so delicately you'd think she might shatter.

Gods, I wish like hell it was me comforting her, but I'm not stupid. I know why it can't be me, why it shouldn't be. My hands flex at my side, fingers curling until my knuckles ache, a physical pain to counteract the heaviness in my chest.

“Looks like our omega's finally getting the rest she needs,” Phoenix murmurs from beside me, leaning against the kitchen island, arms folded, a weary expression on his face that belies the constant mask of charm he wears.

Our omega. Hearing Phoenix stake that quiet, comfortable claim sends a surge of both gratitude and possessiveness rippling through me. I shove down the possessiveness; it's selfish, and I've already been selfish enough with Emma. The ghost of my teeth against her neck haunts every interaction. I scrub a rough hand over the stubble along my jaw, the scratchy sensation a small distraction from the guilt eating through me.

“Yeah,” I mutter, forcing my voice to remain even. “She needs whatever rest she can get right now.”

I wish being here was permanent. I wish she was resting properly in the nest we have in our pack house. The room that’s been empty forever. Waiting for her to fill the empty spaces both there and in my soul.

Still, bitter jealousy burns low in my gut. Soren had her warmth pressed snugly to his chest all damn afternoon, feeling each gentle breath, every tiny hitch of movement as she shifted in sleep. And Phoenix—fuck, Phoenix got to taste her lips as he frolicked with her in the ocean. He saw up front and personal the hesitant trust bloom in her eyes when she leaned into him. And me? I'm the asshole whose reckless loss of control marked her without consent—something she fights every day to forgive.

Something for which I still can't forgive myself.

I opened the bond so she could feel how much I hate myself for claiming her, but perhaps it’s too much for her. She’s already been under incredible stress. Maybe I’m only adding to her load. Feeling what I feel is driving me insane, let alone a traumatized omega. I concentrate on the one-sided ribbon that connects us and tamper down my end.

My gaze shifts to the empty hallway where Soren disappeared, the lingering trace of Emma's scent threading through the air, wild honeysuckle mingling softly with hints of sandalwood. The pack bond vibrates beneath my skin, reaching out for the tantalizing, elusive caress of her I don't yet deserve, because the bond I forced on her is still one-sided.

“Hey.” Phoenix nudges me lightly, breaking through the snarl of thoughts drowning me. “Stop torturing yourself, would you?”

I glance at him, forcing an expression of calm onto my face. “Who said anything about torture?”

Nothing less than I deserve.

He snorts softly, shaking his head with a quiet smile. “You're wearing that haunted look again, and I can feel you. We've been through this. You’ve marked her. Make her want to mark you back. Let her feel how you feel. The good parts. Not the bullshit festering inside you.”

I let out a tired breath and lean my palms against the cold granite countertop, head bowed. “I can’t stop replaying it in my mind. The way she froze, the betrayal in her eyes.” The words scrape out, raw, defeated. “I forced a claim on her. Took the one thing that should have always, always, been her choice.”

Phoenix steps closer, shoulder brushing mine. “Yeah, you fucked up. A shitty mistake, not gonna lie. But she doesn't hate you for it, Asher. Not with how often she looks at you when she thinks no one's watching.”

Something hard and aching lodges in my throat. I want desperately to believe him; want to believe I haven't wrecked any chance of her trusting me fully. Because if she doesn’t trust me, I’ve blown it for Phoenix and Soren, too.

Yet how can she possibly forgive me, when I can't forgive myself?

The truth is, I don’t just want her to want us because we’re scent-matched. Because she’s dictated to through biology. Because we’re alpha and omega. I want her to want us because she desires us. I want her to want our touch. Our company.

Our love.

I want her to love us in return because I’ve already fallen hard, fast and ever-lasting with her.

I shake my head slowly, pushing away from the counter. “Even if that's true—and I'm not sure I deserve it—I can't rush her. She deserves every moment to heal without my fucking shadow hanging over her.”

Phoenix sighs, running a palm through his messy hair before setting his palm on my shoulder, squeezing once in reassurance. “You can’t change what happened, Asher. But you’re here now. We’re here. And she needs all of us. We’re her scent-matched mates. If we can’t help her, then no one can.”

I glance at him and nod, forcing the tension from my shoulders, knowing he's right even if it feels impossible in this moment.

“You're already doing better than you think,” Phoenix says.

I swallow the lump in my throat and let out a humorless laugh. “Let's hope that's true.”

We lapse into silence, both staring down the now-empty hall. All I can do now is stand back, patient and watchful, ready the instant Emma opens the smallest door. Until then, I'll carry the burden I deserve for myself and my brothers—heavy, painful, and irrevocably mine.

“Come on, let’s get this dinner done and ready for her,” Phoenix says.

He’s right. Again. She’s too thin and frail. She needs all the nourishment she can get after years of neglect. Adding to that, shifting into a heat she hasn’t had for years will take another toll on her.

Phoenix moves across the kitchen, pulling the cutting board closer and slicing peppers. We move smoothly around each other without speaking, falling into a comfortable routine. Chopping vegetables, simmering sauce, the rich scent of garlic and tomatoes mingling pleasantly until something deeper, something distinctly Emma, weaves through the kitchen.

My hand pauses mid-stir over the saucepan as the heady aroma curls subtly into the kitchen, slipping in through heating vents, winding through cracks in the doorframe. Wild honeysuckle dripping with fresh vanilla has deepened into something richer, sweeter, infinitely alluring—an intoxicating nectar woven with the unmistakable edge of arousal.

My entire body tightens, muscles going rigid as I white-knuckle the wooden spoon. My cock hardens into a diamond blade and I actually check my front to see if the damn thing hasn’t burst through the zipper.

Fuuccckkkk.

It's nearly impossible to fight the raw surge of hunger flooding my blood and settling low in my gut. My alpha flares awake and paces, resentful at being kept on a leash, desperate with that intense need clawing my restraint. The wind off the ocean wiped away her scent when she kissed Phoenix today, but there’s nothing stopping it inside the house.

Phoenix's knife stills, blade poised as he draws a deep breath, eyes darkening with longing. I’m happy to note his tented crotch, too.

He groans softly as he shoots me a wistful glance. “Lucky damn bastard. Another heat spike, you think?”

“It has to be.” Which means her biology might be clicking back online faster than I can repair the chasm between us. The doc said it might happen being around alphas lucky enough to be her scent-matches.

I force air into my lungs, fighting not to fixate on every delicate nuance of Emma’s scent—the soft warmth, the arousal-laced sweetness I’ve dreamed of tasting at the source. Hell, my body doesn’t care how hard I’m restraining myself. I'm trembling, pulse hammering behind my ribs.

“At least she’s letting Soren give her exactly what she needs.” Phoenix lifts his knife again, resuming with error-free rhythm, focusing perhaps too intently.

“Good,” I rasp, though it doesn't feel particularly fucking great right now. Jealousy tangles viciously with gratitude. A complex snarl of emotions lodge deep in my ribs. I’m glad I tamped down my emotions so she doesn’t feel this.

I have to get myself under control. Emma deserves all the tenderness that Soren gives her. All the gentle reassurance of touch and closeness I denied her in a single reckless mistake. It's a good sign. A sign of healing. That's all that matters, even if my instincts chafe and fight to break free.

I narrow my eyes, forcing my focus stubbornly away from the distraction even if every cell is tuned desperately to the omega down the hall. “It just makes finding answers about why they want her so desperately even more urgent.”

If she goes into heat, it will take the three of us to tend to her. I won’t have her in the danger she’s in now when we’ll be at our weakest.

“Have you had any luck finding this Alpha1465?” I glance sideways at Phoenix, reducing the flames under the saucepan as I turn fully, refocusing on the puzzle pieces laid out in front of us, pieces painstakingly assembled but still incomplete.

Phoenix exhales sharply, frustration shadowing those golden-boy features. “Nothing yet. I've spent hours crawling through that cesspool. Whoever he is, he's covered his tracks tight and deep.”

“We can't stay dark like this forever. And we can’t risk contacting anyone at the precinct. Until we have something concrete, we’re completely blind.”

Phoenix nods, tension etched on his face. “Yeah. I don’t like running blind either. Feels like we're waiting for someone else's move. Whoever's behind this—they’re powerful. Smart. Patient too. It could be Hardwick. Or the commissioner. Or someone else altogether. But,” his voice hardens, determination flashing in his eyes, “no one's invisible forever. We’ll find them eventually.”

“I'm counting on it.” Something sharper than protective instinct drives my resolve. Images of Emma trembling and afraid ignite fury in my gut, demanding justice. Demanding accountability. “I’ll contact Adrian after dinner and ask if Cole has had any luck finding anything too.”

Pack Blackwood are as invested as us to get to the bottom of this. One thing I’m sure of, is that if Sylvia Mercer, Senator Hardwick and Commissioner Axel Turns are involved, this goes big and deep and this Alpha1465 could be the key we need to open a very large can of worms.

The kitchen is quiet for a while, only the steady, rhythmic sounds of preparation filling the silence between us. I keep one eye fixed on the sauce, the other flickering restlessly toward the hallway, anticipation and nerves knotting relentlessly in my chest. Soren knows Emma hasn’t eaten dinner and he’ll want to feed her too. I have faith in my brother that he’ll bring her here when she’s ready, but the wait is fucking killing me.

When footsteps finally echo softly down the hall, I lift my head.

Emma steps into the kitchen tucked close by Soren’s side, and for a second my heart just— stops. Her hair, freshly washed and clean, spills pale and luminous over her narrow shoulders. White-gold strands shimmer beautifully beneath the low kitchen lights, so pure and pale my earlier nickname for her—Moonbeam—hits me squarely in the chest, more accurate now than ever before. This isn’t the pale dull blonde shadowed by dirt and sweat, but something purely bright like captured moonlight, shining clear and true.

She’s transforming. Becoming more beautiful in every moment. Flourishing.

My moonbeam.

The sight of her cheeks flushed a warm, healthy rose where there used to only be pale, fearful hollows is a balm to my battered sense of restraint. Even though her features are still too sharp, even though signs of trauma linger, she's fucking glowing, and it helps cool the embers of my envy.

She pauses in the doorway, hesitant, delicate hands pulling awkwardly at the soft cuffs of Soren’s oversized sweater she wears. She lifts her eyes to mine for the barest instant, a frown marring her brow as she rubs her chest.

I catch Soren’s serious gaze, and he shakes his head ever so slightly. He sends a pulse of reassurance through our bond. Something happened but he’s handled it. Whatever it is, I know he’ll tell us both later, but our omega should never have to feel ashamed of the affection or care she deserves. She has nothing—not one damn thing—to be embarrassed about. Healing from trauma means she’ll be up and down, a perfectly natural response.

The small crease between her brows speaks clearly of embarrassment, worry, the sense of shame lingering around the fringe of something beautiful that's just occurred. She’s all gentle uncertainty and nervous modesty and something fierce and protective flares inside me instead of my normal self-loathing.

She gasps, her gaze finding me again and damn, she felt that pulse of emotion from me. It’s hard to shove it back down but I do it for her comfort. I peel away from the stove to cross my arms loosely, head tilted as I try, despite my own awkward stiffness, to offer her something approaching comfort. “You look...” The words dry suddenly in my throat and I clear it quickly before continuing with more confidence, “You look good, Emma. Really good.”

Her startled eyes widen before ducking away once more with a bashful shift of her feet. I catch the faint, soft smile playing at her lips, the pink warmth in her cheeks deepening further. It's enough to ease the tightness around my heart. She’s trying. The shift it represents—however slight—is hopeful.

Beautifully hopeful.

Unless I’m a complete fool and my brain is superimposing its wants on reality.

Fuck, I hope that’s not the case.

Soren grins at us both, knowing we’re both smelling her sweet, satisfied scent. I ignore him, though it's damn near impossible, and Phoenix snorts quietly under his breath, humor coloring his voice.

“Lucky bastard,” he whispers toward Soren, low enough Emma won't hear, eyes sparkling in amused jealousy.

Phoenix covers the distance between Emma and himself, gently cupping the back of her head to place a lingering kiss against her temple. I keep my groan to myself at the fresh burst of honeysuckle.

So perfect. I want her to have that reaction for me.

I just have to work harder.

“Hey, Tough Girl,” he greets, eyes warm, lingering on her blushing face. And there it is again, another quicksilver flash of color into her skin, another shy, blossoming smile as Phoenix gently guides her toward a chair at the table. “Have we prepared a meal for you. I hope you like spaghetti bolognaise. It’s our specialty.”

She sinks onto the chair, fingers tangling in the sweater, but this time her eyes linger upward. Phoenix’s easy presence has coaxed forth something startlingly lovely on her face— the gentle curve of her lips widening tentatively into a true smile. “I do. It’s one of my favorites…my mom used to make it for me all the time.”

She’s shared something about herself with us and I vow to perfect the art of bolognaise.

The kitchen falls silent. All three of us alphas freeze, eyes fixed in shared wonder at the unexpected brilliance. That smile transforms her entirely, blossoming like fragile petals in moonlight, luminous and pure, colored by a gentle sweetness none of us have yet fully witnessed.

It’s magic. Pure, devastating magic.

Phoenix eventually clears his throat, breaking the spell, though his voice is hushed, reverent, and more than a little teasing. “Careful there, Emma. Keep smiling like that, and the garlic bread will burn.”

A shaky, embarrassed laugh spills from her lips, musical and delicate, and subtly cracks open the shell of caution she still wears around us.

And just like that, hope surges forward, fierce and undeniable, because even if I’m the farthest away from winning her trust completely, her smile right now tells me…we might have a chance.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Emma

Asudden, jarring boom jerks me from sleep, ripping me from soft oblivion into immediate, suffocating panic. Darkness presses down on me from all sides, heavy and absolute.

No. No, oh gods. Not again.

I’m back in the basement.

Imprisoned in that stale, dark tomb.

Buried alive surrounded by damp walls and impenetrable darkness.

My heart explodes into a racing rhythm and fear slices beneath my skin. My breaths are ragged blades, sawing in too-tight lungs as ghost footfalls come toward me. Tap, tap, tap down the stairs. There’s nowhere to go. Nowhere to run. I’m chained to a brick wall with the bite of iron. If I could saw my foot off I gladly would, but even if I did that, I’d never get through the bars.

Pack Carmichael are coming for me to do unspeakable things to my body.

I won’t survive it.

Living terror shatters me apart.

I scream, sharp and involuntary, the sound thin and strangled in my ears as I fight to free myself from the tangles around my legs. Light floods the doorway, silhouettes filling the opening. Three towering shadows framed by dim hallway glow.

They're huge, ominous. Matthew. James. Derek. The dark devils of Pack Carmichael. Come for me again.

“No!”

Need to get away. Scramble back. Legs twisting in blankets. I lunge. Fall to land on carpet. Breath jars from my lungs. My pulse hammers loud and wild in my head. Heart thrashing against the cage of my ribs.

A figure closes the distance. Arms scoop me upright like I'm nothing, like I'm a ghost made of air and terror, and I fight against the strong, solid chest pressed against mine.

“Please let me go,” The words are raw. Broken. Desperate.

The arms stay around me, locking me down. I'm trapped, enclosed, captured again. My nightmare life is a choking reality wrapping its suffocating hands around me. Steel arms bind me. One large hand cradles the back of my head, forcing my face into the hollow of a throat. I inhale to scream again, wild panic flaring higher, deeper, until his scent floods me.

Whiskey. Dark, smoky, and powerful. Old, reassuring leather teases the smoke.

The terror seizing me falls away. A slice of awareness cuts through the tornado in my head.

Asher. Asher is holding me.

My chest opens wide and a rush of emotions stumble through me. Terror—deep, overwhelming. Fear—gut-wrenching fear. Alongside the terror, anxiety pours, colored sharply with worry, tenderness, and raw desperation in a swirling, chaotic storm that belongs completely and entirely to him.

Powerful and overwhelming but…these emotions aren't mine.

They’re Asher’s and he…he’s scared. For me.

Blinking away the hot tears running down my cheeks, my vision slowly shifts into clearer focus. My face presses into Asher’s strong throat. His pulse beats wild and urgent beneath the scratch of his stubble. His breath brushes quickly against my temple as he drags in uneven breaths, desperately trying to calm himself. To calm me. The bond is open and I read his emotions as though they’re my own.

He’s trying to tamp down his emotions, but he’s finding it impossible against the terror shearing through him. For me.

This is nothing like Pack Carmichaels’ emotions. Nothing like their bond.

In fact, with Asher’s dominance, I can’t feel them at all.

Hot breath ruffles my hair and on the wings of it is a whispered plea, anguished and fiercely protective. Asher rocks gently in the chair, cradling me carefully on his lap as though I'm something precious, something devastatingly fragile.

My head clears enough to realize he’s in the chair in my seaside room. I'm curled on his lap, wrapped against the hardened shelter of his powerful chest. His heartbeat pounds fiercely beneath my cheek. He's holding onto me as if he’s terrified I might vanish if he loosens his grip. Holding me as though I'm his anchor, every bit as much as he's become mine in this exact moment.

“I'm here. It’s okay. Nothing’s going to get you, Moonbeam.” His voice is shaky and hoarse, a low rasp in my ear. “You're safe. You're with us. I've got you.”

His surety becomes mine, steadying my shattered breaths, quieting the rush of cold panic along my nerves. My body shudders, hands curling into fists over his broad shoulders, clutching now instead of fighting. My nightmare fades slowly, replaced by the vivid, comforting reality of his arms encircling me, his rich scent enveloping me completely.

It was a nightmare. Nothing but a nightmare.

I draw another unsteady breath, taking in more of him. I can’t stop myself because it loosens the terror, replacing it with something deeper and sweeter than fear.

Trust.

And now I feel so stupid for not realizing the nightmare for what it was, as real as it seemed.

Shame pulses through me. I bury my head against his chest. “I'm sorry. I-I thought…it doesn’t matter. It was just a…a nightmare.”

Saying that doesn’t really describe how real it was. The terror lived inside me. I saw the basement. Breathed in the foul air. Felt the damp surrounding me.

I was there.

“It's okay, Emma. You're allowed to have nightmares,” Phoenix murmurs.

He’s here too. His hand settles on my knee from where he’s kneeling on the carpet in front of me. His eyes, cloudy with concern, are luminous even in the dimness of the room; staring at me intently as though I’m the sole focus of his entire universe.

Soren sits on the edge of my bed, watching me closely, his gaze fierce with worry. Right now, there's no hiding his vulnerability, not as he hunches forward slightly ready to catch me if I spiral back into fear.

My cheeks flush with shame. I hate the fact that I’ve let a nightmare drown me. That I've drawn them all here in frantic worry. Again.

Outside, a storm rages against the windows, rain lashing fiercely in harsh, angry sheets. Bright white flashes periodically flood my room, accentuating the sinister twist of bare tree branches in silhouette against sharp bursts of lightning. Thunder growls a deep, rumbling bass that resonates through the walls and floor, vibrating deep and low within my bones. The storm woke me, the sudden, furious boom anchoring itself inside my nightmare. I’m so stupid.

“I’m sorry I woke you up for nothing,” I say.

“Don't,” Asher’s voice is rough and firm, carrying a quiet intensity that burrows beneath my skin. His arms tighten around me. “Don't apologize, Moonbeam. It's not nothing. Not even close.”

His words hang softly in the air between us, silencing my shame but not quite chasing away the shadow of embarrassment still clinging to me. The three alphas exchange a silent, weighted look, something deep and wordless passing between them.

Soren leans toward me. “You've been through experiences no person should ever have to endure. Nightmares, anxiety, panic attacks and all completely understandable given what you've survived.”

His eyes hold mine steadily, sincerity reflected in their dark depths, and I find myself swallowing thickly. “Remember this isn't weakness, Emma. It's Post-traumatic stress disorder—PTSD.”

The unfamiliar term settles inside my chest, sharp-edged and foreign. “It is?”

“It’s your mind’s way of responding to severe trauma. When you've experienced something deeply frightening or harmful, something dangerous or hurtful that's robbed your sense of safety, the brain tries to cope any way it knows how, often by replaying the event or triggering panic and anxiety through dreams, flashbacks, or even certain sounds and smells. And you’ve been subjected to trauma for years.” In the light falling from the hallway, his face is hidden in shadow, but beneath a heavy brow, his gaze is liquid.

I turn my face against Asher’s neck, inhaling his scent so deep it might drive away these demons, yet shame still twists through my stomach. I don’t want these jagged edges of memories to slice me open night after night. I don’t want them to be my normal, nor my forever. I don’t want to be a damaged, broken omega, unable to stand on my own.

I hate it. I hate the idea of being so…needy. This helpless omega they have to coddle and comfort. A burden weighing down their pack because I'm too broken to hold my own pieces together.

How many times can I do this before they get sick of it? Of me?

A soft squeeze against my thigh pulls my attention toward Phoenix. His smile is gentle, tinged with quiet understanding as though he's heard every unspoken fear threading my silence.

“Hey, Tough Girl, you’re not alone. You’re anything but weak, all right? It takes incredible strength to even admit you're hurting.” He pauses, waiting until he sees the faintest relaxation of my muscles beneath his touch before continuing softly. “Mira told you that she’ll help you.”

My brows come together as I peer at him. She did say that, but she isn’t like me. Not now. She’s strong. Able and sure. But we’ve come from the same place. Shared each other’s shadows. And I trust her.

“When this is all over and you're safe, we will take you to the center she runs with Zane’s sister. Mira knows incredible therapists—psychologists who specialize in helping omegas who've survived different versions of hell. We can do something about this. You don’t have to suffer.”

The thought is both comforting and terrifying. My pulse stutters nervously in my throat and I turn my gaze downward, anxiety flaring again at the thought of trying to put voice to the nightmares, the memories seared into my soul. Everything is too raw, too immediate. How am I supposed to talk about horrors when I'm still struggling to survive the aftermath each day?

Soren brushes the back of my hand with steady, gentle fingers—an anchor of reassurance. My gaze lifts, meeting his warm, patient eyes. “Only when you're ready, Butterfly. You don't have to do anything until you’re ready. This is on your terms. Your timetable, no one else's. We just wanted you to know there is a way out. I told you before and I’ll keep on telling you until you believe us. We’ll help you every step of the way.”

The tight fear inside me eases by slow, cautious increments. They aren't rushing me. They aren't disgusted, exasperated or impatient—they don't see this cracked, frightened version of me as something broken beyond repair. Their eyes don't hold judgment, only compassion and fierce protectiveness.

The tightness in my chest eases, a little piece of tension loosening from around my heart.

The tight knot of shame frays at the edges.

“O…kay.” I’ll try. If not for myself, I’ll do it so that Pack Carmichael is a distant nightmare I can shut away. Perhaps, over time, I can even shut out the darkness they leach through our one-sided bond I never wanted.

I draw my fingertips over the familiar, hated raised skin on my neck where they tore my flesh. Perhaps this psychologist can erase the hooks that Pack Carmichael sank so deeply inside me. The chains still remain, their rusted edges raw and tender, the marks lingering on my heart and mind.

Inhaling deeply, I let my eyes drift closed for a moment, focusing on the steady reassurance of Asher's arms around me, the comforting warmth of Phoenix’s strong hand, steady on my shoulder, Soren's calm presence solid as stone.

Their concern radiates unmistakably outward—raw, tangible, protective in every careful shift of their bodies, every gentle murmur meant only to soothe. What touches me so deeply is how completely I'm the center of their focus, how unquestioningly they're here, wide-awake in the middle of the night because of me.

I'm tired of fear consuming me. I attempt to steady myself, inhaling quietly again, breathing in their mingled scents that are so, so calming. Rain pelts the glass outside, a constant rhythm. Asher’s bond hums through me, inviting solace, comfort and suddenly, exhaustion creeps up on me again. I yawn, body heavy and impossibly tired despite waking up so violently. Tempting sleep creeps at the edges of my consciousness.

“You should try and rest now, Emma,” Soren says.

“I shouldn’t be so tired.” I should be wired from reliving my hell, but my eyelids are so heavy.

“You’re healing. That takes a lot of energy,” Phoenix says.

“Let’s get you back to bed.” Asher stands and carries me to the bed before arranging the blankets over me. A sweet ache and a deeper pang resonates through me when he steps back.

My heart thuds, the storm and shadows threatening to creep closer once more.

“Wait,” I whisper, startling myself with how suddenly the word escapes. They freeze, all three turning quickly back to face me.

“I don’t…” I swallow, embarrassment causing heat to bloom across my cheeks. The thought of admitting how needy I am, of wanting them near, makes my stomach knot, but the lingering fear of being alone and drowning again in nightmare shadows propels me to continue. “I don't want you to leave. Please…stay with me?”

My plea hovers in the air between us. It’s open and vulnerable, and my heartbeat is loud in my ears.

Phoenix’s sudden smile breaks across the darkness first, a warm, brilliant expression of undisguised joy and quiet relief. He crawls onto the mattress without the slightest hesitation before settling next to me on top of the blankets, snuggling down into their softness. “Hell, Tough Girl, you don’t have to ask me twice. There’s nowhere else I want to be.”

The bed dips as Soren sits on the edge, one hand lightly touching my ankle over the blanket. “I’ll stay as well, Emma. For as long as you need.”

Asher hovers near the door, every line of his tall frame rigid. His dark eyes flick in my direction, the longing unmistakable, fiercely palpable even without the unguarded flow of his emotions humming through the open bond. There's such powerful yearning, a desperate ache radiating from within him, it ripples starkly toward me in waves.

Beneath the force of his desperate want lies that heavy undertow of guilt, the bitter edge of refusal shadowing everything else he’s feeling. Though he wants fiercely, achingly, to stay, he won’t. The sting of self-blame spears through the bond, jagged and raw.

The fluttering pulse of honesty and regret whispers truth deep into my heart. Pack Carmichael forced their claim viciously, indifferent to my pain or fear, branding me like a meaningless possession beneath their teeth without a second thought. Asher's deep, soul-crushing guilt reflects who he truly is—honorable, protective, and caring so deeply for how his instinctive bite hurt me that it's tearing him apart.

The rawness of his shame tells me every truth I could ever hope to find.

His bond is warm, steady and true. The brightness illuminates the shadowy darkness of every corrupted mark Pack Carmichael inflicted on me. Where Asher's bond is open and honest, the cruel shadows lurking in my soul are drowned out by the sheer profundity of clarity and warmth he offers. He’s pure light searing away my darkness, and that tells me more than any spoken word.

Suddenly I can’t bear the idea of losing that warmth, even for one night.

I want him here. With us. With me.

I rub my chest over the burn of lightness. His gaze drops to my hand and his eyes flare. Horror fills his face and the emotions through his bond dims.

I reach toward him, my fingers trembling. “No! Don’t! Please…let me feel you.”

“Moonbeam…” The word is drawn out. Tortured.

“Please, I…I don’t want you to hide the bond. I need to feel you. It… it drowns them out. It helps, and I…I want you to stay. Please,” I whisper. The ache inside me is unbearable. I want him here, his scent mingling so perfectly with ours.

Hope flares across his guarded expression. “Are you sure, Emma?”

He moves slowly forward, the bond opening slowly, tentatively, as though still afraid I'll retract my invitation. My chest tightens—this time with gentle warmth—as I realize he's afraid, too. Afraid he still doesn't deserve this. Afraid I'll pull back.

But I won’t. Not when he’s given me this precious, fragile truth. Not when his feelings, washing steadily over me, are the first real anchor I've felt. He may have bitten me against my will and without my consent, but I’m giving my consent now.

His fingers brush against mine as he holds my gaze.

He burns in all the good ways.

“Please stay.”

Warmth unfurls inside my heart as his large hand closes around mine. “Anything for you, Omega. Anything.”

His answer is a careful, shuddering breath of gratitude, whispered hoarsely into the quiet darkness as he finally lets himself sit beside me.

And stupidly, old fears rise. I have three alphas in my bed—alphas I asked to be here. They’re going to want to take from me. This is how out of control I am. The more I try to shut down my mind, the more it rebels.

Phoenix throws an arm around my waist, tucking the blankets tight around me before kissing my cheek. “Relax, Tough Girl. Nothing is going to happen to you tonight, or any other night, except exactly what you want. Tonight? I’m sensing you need comfort. Any other night? Whatever you need, Emma.”

For a moment, I just lie there, his words echoing softly in my mind. Comfort. Choice. Safety. The way he says it, so matter-of-fact, makes my chest ache. My gaze slides to him, searching his face as if to see if he really means it, but he’s already letting his eyelids drift shut, fatigue overtaking him.

His breathing evens out, his arm still draped over me. A few moments later, a gentle snore escapes him, warmth puffing against my cheek.

Soren lays down on the other side of Phoenix. He lifts his brows. “Out like a light as usual. Night, Butterfly.”

“Okay, knock it off. Let’s all get some sleep now,” Asher murmurs quietly, his voice a soft rumble.

His sharp cheekbones cast shadows in the half-light, strong jaw softened by the faintest trace of dark stubble, and dark eyes infinite with emotion as they rest on mine. Beautiful, raw and open. His gaze shimmers, drawing me into those fathomless depths, deep down to a sea of vast and immeasurable emotions that rebound through his bond. Warmth, longing, protectiveness, and something deeper, endlessly tender floods me, holding me steady.

My breath whooshes out. His gaze burns as a soft smile curves the serious set of his mouth. The shift transforms his features. Warmth chases away shadows, leaving only brilliant tenderness and gentle protectiveness behind. And in that single heartbeat, wild things take flight inside my stomach. Heat pools in my chest and floods warmly downward at the astonishing beauty of his smile, leaving me flushed and quietly shaken.

Asher’s eyes finally drift closed, thick lashes shadowing his cheeks but even as he lets himself rest, his emotions don't fade. They continue to pour into me in wave after wave of overwhelming warmth, cradling me softly in the depths of his honest affection.

I never thought a bond could be like this. This was what Mira told me it was like. Now I know why she looked at her alpha the way she did. It all makes sense.

The soft, comforting rumble of their purrs weave together into a deep, soothing vibration that seeps through my skin, calming all my raw edges. It's the best drug imaginable for my weary omega soul.

This time, when I start to relax, no dark memories resurface. It’s too light inside.

I snuggle into their warmth, losing myself in the soothing resonance until all my anxious thoughts and lingering fears fade into silence. Surrounded by the steady presence and reassuring strength of their warm bodies, I let go, slipping effortlessly into a dreamless sleep.

For the first time in far too long, there are no shadows chasing me, no nightmares waiting—just the tender security of knowing I'm safe. At least for now.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Soren

Iflip the bacon, the buttery sizzle filling the kitchen with its comforting aroma, while behind me Phoenix and Asher sit at the island bench. Phoenix is tapping at his laptop keys, his frustrated grimace unmistakable. Asher leans in close beside him, tension in every line of his body. His worry matches my own. Frayed edges of unease tighten around my chest with every passing minute we remain dark, on the wrong side of the line we've always fought to protect, but to do anything else would mean Emma being taken away from us. We need answers faster than the net surely closing around us, because I can’t imagine another day without her squarely in it.

I adjust the heat under the pan, forcing my thoughts away from bitter frustration and back to last night instead. Emma's scream still echoes loudly in my mind, freezing the blood in my veins all over again. I've never felt such pure terror as I did in that one agonizing moment, heart slamming painfully in my chest while I scrambled from my bed and into her room. Phoenix and Asher emerged just as fast from their rooms. Emma’s shattered sobs and trembling panic were my own. All I wanted was to shield her, wrap her so deeply within my embrace she'd never experience that fear again.

Letting her rest now is the least we can offer. Her trauma runs deep and now she’s had a chance not to live in that hypervigilant state that kept her contained, she’s starting to unravel.

Leaving her curled in the blankets felt like torture, every instinct roaring to hold my omega close and secure against me, but we can’t stop pushing forward. Not for an instant. Not until the Carmichaels are legally neutralized. Or dead. Whichever comes first. Right now, I'm far past caring which it will be. All that matters is Emma’s safety, freedom, and peace. Everything else is secondary.

“Anything yet?” There’s grit in Asher's voice as he pushes back from the counter.

Phoenix shakes his head, fingers drumming impatiently against the countertop. “Nothing useful. Fucking Carmichaels have their fingers in everything. Adrian gave us a Hail Mary with this place, but they're powerful and connected. We can't hide Emma forever. If anyone suspects the Blackwoods are putting us up, they’re going to be on the wrong side of the law with us.”

I’m about to respond when something shifts behind me—a faint padding of bare feet whisper-soft against the floor accompanied with a burst of floral honey. The scent is delicate, soft wild honeysuckle mixing subtly with the freshness of morning… Emma.

Her sleep-rumpled state steals my focus. Tousled waves of pale blonde spill across narrow shoulders and tumble down her back. Her sweater hangs loosely down to mid-thigh, one sleeve slipping down enough to bare a soft curve of her shoulder. She shifts her weight softly from foot to foot, causing the fabric to slip and twist further, emphasizing just how delicate and small she truly is.

Her cheeks are flushed with lingering warmth from sleep, contrasting vividly with the fragile shadows of exhaustion beneath her wide blue eyes. Her guard isn’t completely gone, but it’s down enough to expose edges of sleepy tenderness. She’s the sweetest, most achingly innocent thing I have ever seen—beautifully disheveled, slightly shy, yet quietly trusting.

“Morning, Tough Girl. How'd you sleep?” Phoenix greets immediately, warmth coloring every syllable, genuine joy clear in his voice.

I glance over my shoulder, catching a glimpse of Phoenix already pushing smoothly off his stool to move toward Emma, affection radiating from him. Her smile is shy and a little hesitant, but real.

Phoenix gently cups the side of her jaw, tilting her face carefully upward. “Can I say good morning properly?”

Emma nods softly, leaning into him as he dips his head, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. As he steps back, Asher approaches her, his movement careful. Emma freezes —just a tiny hitch in her shoulders—but she doesn't pull away. Her gaze flicks up toward his, nervous emotion shadowing her eyes.

“Hey,” Asher’s voice is deep and rough, but gentle. He waits, patient and cautious, holding himself back until she gives him permission.

A tentative pause hangs thick between them, tension crackling subtly through the air. Then Emma lets out a small breath and steps into Asher's open arms, her embrace shy and tentative but deliberate. I exhale, tension melting inside my chest, relieved by the bravery in her trust.

Last night changed everything. I felt when Asher stopped hating himself for hurting Emma and let her feel everything. Not just the bad, but all the good he’s kept locked down inside. It was overwhelming, and achingly vulnerable. Phoenix and I feigned sleep last night when it happened, pretending quiet ignorance as they shared that powerful, intimate moment, but I witnessed it unfold in secret awe, sensing every ripple of emotion, every careful, raw truth Asher gifted her.

It was a massive step forward, necessary and profound.

Watching the intimacy happen quietly redefined everything. It deepened our pack connection into something powerful and fiercely complete.

Now, anticipation expands heavily inside me, an eager ache that's almost painful, because someday—hopefully soon—I’ll be able to share my bond too, let our omega experience exactly how deeply I cherish and care for her. Being patient isn't easy.

The longing vibrates within me, breathlessly awaiting the moment Emma is ready for us all.

I turn back to the stove to flip the bacon before it burns, my attention pulled away. Awareness prickles along my spine seconds before a hesitant touch brushes my back, the smallest pressure between my shoulder blades.

“Good morning, Soren.”

I still, heart stuttering, pulse pounding at my throat at the sound of her gorgeous, soft voice. It’s such a small thing, her tentative fingers hovering against my shirt, but its meaning explodes through me, shaking my foundations.

She reached for me. She sought contact first.

Asher may share their bond first, but this first is all mine.

Then her slim arms slowly, carefully slide around my waist, her body molding against my back as she buries her face between my shoulder blades, the whispered warmth of her exhale seeping into me. I hold my breath, determined not to move too quickly, not to break this fragile, precious moment of trust.

Warmth ripples from my heart, radiating along every nerve ending. Her soft body behind me is small but fierce in its quiet bravery. Her gesture whispers trust and affection louder than any words ever could. How can something so simple, so tentative and cautious, become one of the most profound moments of my life?

Slowly—oh so carefully—I shift around until she’s no longer wrapping my back, but instead encircled gently within the embrace of my arms, held against my chest. Just where she belongs.

“Morning, Butterfly. How are you feeling this morning?” I ask.

Seeing the lingering effects of last night and the fragile burdens she still carries, sends a fresh bolt of protectiveness through me. I don’t like the evidence of her troubled night, yet having her pressed willingly against me eases something tight within me, soothing away the ragged edges of worry.

Her cheeks glow pink. “I did after you all came in. Thank you.”

“You never have to thank us for looking after you. Never. Do you understand, Emma?” I want to make it clearer than clear that she can ask absolutely anything of us, and we’ll fall over ourselves doing it.

Her perfect rosebud lips part. “I…”

I lift my brows, waiting for the push back I know is on the tip of her tongue. Daring her not to accept her basic need and desire as an omega.

“Okay,” she says.

I smile at her, glad to see her cheeks glow with more color. Floral honey blooms around me, unmistakably warm and musky with desire. My cock thickens, swelling against my pants. I don’t give a shit how uncomfortable I am. She shifts her stance and drops her gaze. That unease is something I definitely give a shit about.

I put my knuckle under her chin and lead her gaze to me. “None of that, Omega. I love it when you desire me. I love it when your scent fills my space. There’s nothing wrong with showing how you feel about your alpha. Do you understand?”

Her pupils dilate, deepening to pools of velvet black that swallow the clear summer-sky blue. Shock jolts through me, freezing me in place because it's there, bright and undeniable. The first glimmer of real heat. Not just a passing spike of arousal. The bond between us flares in recognition, something deep and primal and unexpected.

I exchange a stunned look with Asher and Phoenix, catching the mirrored astonishment in their eyes. Emma's body shut down fully after everything that was done to her. Dr. Chen wasn’t sure if her heat cycles would ever return.

This isn't just biology asserting itself. It's a sign we've earned her deeper trust. Proof that she's starting to feel safe enough, emotionally and physically, to ease the iron-tight grip protecting her instincts. Astonishment mixes in my gut with a cautious pride. Hope, too, fragile and tentative. Maybe what we're doing, how we're caring for her, is precisely the healing she needs.

A heat spike of need is one thing. If she’s truly reaching toward a full heat cycle, that's something else entirely—we'll need to tread carefully with her heart.

Gazing down into her softened, tentative expression, feeling her hands resting at my waist, I smile, unable to disguise the warmth her gesture sparks. It's exactly here, against my chest, safely within my arms that I want this brave, beautiful omega every moment of every day.

I pull her close, knowing she has freely chosen this. Chosen me. Desires me.

And fuck if mornings have never felt sweeter.

I press a soft kiss on her lips. As I reach out to turn the bacon once more, Emma’s voice breaks through the cooking sizzle. “Could I…could I help, Soren?”

Blue eyes gaze at me, ready to withdraw at the smallest hint of hesitation. She wants to do this with me. It takes everything in me not to send a gloating look at Asher and Phoenix.

“I told you. Anything you want, you can have.” I guide her in front of me, between my body and the stove. Her slim form fits perfectly within my frame, my arms lightly caging her as I hand over the spatula, my heart hammering strongly beneath my ribs.

“Here.” I guide her delicate wrist carefully over the sizzling pan. “Tilt, then flip.”

Her hair brushes along the edge of my jaw and my dick lets me know how much I enjoy it. I shift back a little, not wanting to scare her away. She carefully slides the spatula under a piece of bacon, hesitating as it sticks. I place my hand over hers, steadying and guiding under and up until we flip it together.

She tips her head back to look up at me, her expression thrilled. “Like that?”

“Exactly like that.” I’m not talking about breakfast.

Her hand is warm under mine, trust radiating from her every gentle movement as we flip bacon and turn eggs. Each slow and deliberate motion fills me with pride, my omega leaning easily into my secure hold as we cook together, her movements growing less hesitant and more confident with each passing moment.

Conversation flows around us as we bring our bounty to the island and start to eat, Emma fitting into the easy rhythm of our pack. She's still careful with her answers, but I watch her all the same, noticing she grows more at ease and meeting our gazes. Every sign of comfort, every indication of trust she gives us, sends potent satisfaction radiating out from deep within.

As the last bites disappear, Phoenix reaches across the table to grab an empty glass jar that once held coffee grounds. He holds it up with bright eyes and his boyish grin. “Hey, Tough Girl, sun's shining again. What do you say we go see if the waves left any good shells behind for us?”

Emma’s face lights with unguarded joy. Her eyes widen, sparkling bright and open. It's the first time I've seen spontaneous excitement burst so openly across her face and, fuck, it’s breathtaking.

“I'd love that!” Her gaze drifts down again to her oversized sweater, fingers nervously twisting in the sleeves. “Could I—could I go change first? I don’t want these clothes to get wet.”

“Emma, you don't have to ask. You can do whatever you want,” Asher says.

“I’ll be back as quickly as I can.” A relieved little smile curls her lips, brightening further as she leaves the kitchen.

I can’t help but hope she’ll return later with salt on her skin and sand on her toes again. The perfect excuse to slide her slowly into another warm, relaxing bath.

The vivid image sparks immediate heat racing straight down my spine, pooling low and hot inside me. I shift in my chair, adjusting my jeans in vain. Gods, it's almost absurd how hard I always am around her, but I can't even bring myself to care. Not when every longing look, every hesitant touch from Emma says trust, warmth, and hope. Each innocent gesture invites me further into sweet torment and careful anticipation.

And I wouldn't trade this exquisite torture for anything.

“Hey, Soren, get that look off your face,” Phoenix mutters across the table, pointing his fork at me. “We can all see exactly where your mind went. Just so you know, if she comes back sandy and salty again, I'm going to be the one to bathe her this time.”

I stare at him for a split second before the sheer intensity etched on Phoenix’s normally easygoing face forces laughter to erupt from me.

“Is that right?” I manage, shaking my head with genuine amusement. “And you think that’s your call?”

Phoenix scowls, crossing his arms. “Tell me I’m wrong. You got your turn already. I watched you come out of that bathroom last night looking ridiculously damn pleased. This next time it's me and only me.”

“This is not a competition. We all respect her choice—whatever and whoever she chooses. As it should be.” The confident, easy grace behind his statement settles heavily in the air, smoothing our banter into quiet determination.

“Of course. I just wanted to be next.” Phoenix is clearly crushed, shoulders sagging as he sighs, head shaking slightly in resigned defeat.

“I get it. But did either of you catch that new note in her scent just now? It’s different to heat spikes. Stronger. More complex. I’m still hard and she’s not even in the room. I think her body is preparing for heat,” I say.

Phoenix straightens, his playful resignation gone in an instant. “I scented it, too but I was scared to even hope. Her body blocked those cycles after everything she endured. If she's really approaching a true heat cycle, that's...”

“More than biology.” I nod. “If she's heading into a real heat, it means she feels safe around us. Secure enough emotionally, physically, to allow her body to relax enough to fully awaken. She’s healing.”

A charged silence fills the space between us as we absorb that truth. It's monumental. A victory we weren't sure she'd ever reach.

“This is good. Better than good. It means what we're doing—giving her control, building trust—is working. She's not just surviving. She's thriving.,” Asher says.

Tension coils through me because when she goes into heat, she’ll be even more vulnerable. We’ll have to ensure she’s safe and, given the threats circling around us, that task will be tricky. But she’s ours to protect no matter what situation we’re in. “We’ll keep a close eye on her. With the danger we're already in, hiding out, her heat will add another layer of vulnerability, of intensity.”

Asher pins us with a serious stare. “We stay aware, and ready.”

“So worth it,” Phoenix breathes out, gratitude and fierce protectiveness radiating from him. “To see her finally coming out from under everything she endured.”

Asher nods, eyes steady, jaw tight with purpose. “She deserves this. And, whatever happens, we'll keep her safe.”

Our pack bond thrums with quiet agreement. This is the real power of an omega. She’s our center. Our heart. She weaves us together and makes us stronger. She’s also the woman we all love, who is finally beginning to flourish between us. Nothing, not Pack Carmichael, nor her trauma, nor even our own hangups, will keep us apart.

Chapter Thirty

Emma

The beach was extraordinary this morning. Beautifully windswept and wild from the storm. The rough sea had claimed the shore overnight and left its fierce mark behind. A completely different landscape from yesterday's soft, sunny warmth greeted Phoenix and me. Scattered piles of driftwood carved smooth by waves littered the waterline, and tangled sea grass swept in graceful arcs across the sand.

Phoenix was right. Last night's storm changed everything and each step I took with him brought some new treasure. I found a small, softly tinted shell in shades of pink and creamy white lodged halfway in the damp sand and pulled it free.

“It's perfect!” I glanced up at Phoenix, not able to hide my smile.

“Perfect enough to be featured in this exclusive collection?” His answering grin brightened his handsome, windswept features as he held out my jar. I wasn't sure which was better, my new shell or his smile. They were equally beautiful.

I placed my prize among the vibrant shells we had already gathered. The soft clink of it slipping into the jar filled me with quiet joy and satisfaction.

Walking beside Phoenix felt…right. Easy. Even as our feet sank into shifting sand, muscles unaccustomed to the physical exertion burned with the strain, I found warmth and comfort at his side. Awareness prickled along my skin whenever he looked my way, each accidental brush of his shoulder or soft lingering glance sending warmth pooling deliciously low inside me. I ached for him to kiss me again. And more. Something deeper, something tentative bloomed between us, simmering and unstoppable. The pulse was fierce, as gentle as his smile and as inviting as those blue eyes every time he glanced my way.

But he hadn't kissed me again. Instead, we simply walked together along the windswept beach, and we talked. Just talked. Until finally he must’ve sensed my weariness, concern shadowing his gaze. “Let's head back. You've walked far enough today, Tough Girl.”

My heart was lighter, happier than it had been in so long; right until the instant we stepped back into the kitchen.

Soren and Asher hunch over their laptops at the table, their broad shoulders tense, expressions severe as they discuss something between themselves. Reality comes crashing quietly down around me once more, dampening my earlier joy.

The truth of our situation floods me with heavy unease because Phoenix and I weren't simply walking the beach. We escaped reality for a fleeting hour and now, returning to the stark reminder etched onto their worried faces, I'm forced to remember exactly why we're here.

It's a sobering return to reality.

Asher’s dark gaze lifts from his laptop, settling on me. He rises from the kitchen table to step toward me.

The bond between us remains wide open and my heart skips at the deliberate flow of emotion as he lays himself bare for me. Warm, unguarded affection and relief that I’ve returned safe, serious determination tangled gently with fierce protectiveness, and underneath it all a deep, aching longing, pure want and tender affection. Gone is the recrimination he let me feel for so long. What I read from him is no less forceful, but it affects me just as deeply.

His bond is nothing like the bonds Pack Carmichael forced on me. On the beach, I hadn't even realized their darkness was silenced by the quiet companionship with Phoenix, the joy of finding shells, sunlight soaking my skin and the cool rhythm of seawater caressing the shore.

And now, as Asher stands before me, they’re only an annoying hiss in the background. The honesty and potency of his emotions exist on an entirely different frequency, powerful and meaningful enough to drown them out.

Asher’s slow smile melts me. Delicious heat pools low in my belly and a warm and inviting tension blooms through my chest. My body heats, awareness sharpening into desire at just how good he looks smiling at me that way. The knot of longing I carried on the beach tightens, rebounding intensely when his gaze meets mine, a powerful and irresistible magnet.

My scent flares, wild, honeysuckle heavy and rich, threaded with the heady musk of my desire. I’ve never perfumed quite this way before. Not even when my heat came on me with Pack Carmichael. This is so much more. More complex. Deeper. Richer. More everything. My cheeks flame but Asher gently plucks the jar of shells from my fingers and places it on the counter.

“Don't, Emma. Don’t be embarrassed.” His voice wraps around me, and I tumble into that velvet softness. “It means everything to scent you this way.”

Asher's scent is earthy, powerful, masculine; but instead of twisting something inside me into nausea, it gently slips beneath my skin, flowing deep and slow until warm and soothing pleasure tingles along every nerve. It's the gentlest caress, inherently protective, breathtakingly intimate and something inside me unlocks.

I want to scent him.

I crave every molecule of the rich fragrance he offers me.

Rich smoky whiskey woven with warm, reassuring leather winds round me, drawing me to him and I’m powerless to stop the insistent tug.

I don’t want to.

I lean toward him, skin tingling with desperate, urgent hunger.

His large palms come up, his knuckle lifting my chin. His thumb strokes my jaw, leaving tingles. He gazes down at me and I’m struck with the full force of his desire.

“May I kiss you, Omega?” His breath fans over my lips, ghosting where I want to feel the real thing.

Heat races under my skin, spreading through me until I ache. There is only one answer I can give. One answer I want to give. “Yes please, Alpha.”

His gaze rakes over my face, checking my expression for I-don’t-know-what, but when his gaze locks on mine once more, it smolders. “As you wish, Omega.”

His mouth descends. Soft warmth brushes the corner of my lips, a tender exploration edged with agonizing restraint. I sigh into his kiss, the aching sweetness unbearable as the tentative caress deepens and…

I…

Ignite.

His lips fit so perfectly against mine.

I never knew a kiss could make my heart race, but it hammers against my ribs. Every lingering thought about anything that ever entered my head disappears except for the sensation of his mouth coaxing me into deepening the contact. It’s tender. Respectful. Searing.

Reckless need coils in the pit of my belly, hot and demanding.

More. I need more.

I’ve never felt this way before. This is overwhelming. Monumental. And…I don’t ever want it to stop. It feels too good.

My fingers tangle in his shirt. I press my breasts against the solid planes of his chest, molding against him, sighing as a delicious tingle sears a path through me. He slides his tongue against mine and I’m hit in the back of the throat with whiskey burn.

I crave. His touch. His taste. I want to lose myself in him.

Desire crackles through me with each stroke of his tongue along my lips. I'm gladly drowning in sensation, needing him so fiercely I tremble, flushed, panting softly against the mouth that worships me.

The bond is open and pulsing with the good desire. The desire that cherishes me. That makes me feel precious. Thick warmth pools between my thighs as I release a burst of slick. It would normally have me recoiling but this time it doesn’t. This time I want it to be there because I’m starting to ache with a different, deeper need than I’ve experienced in the past.

His arms band around me as his lips claim me with delicious possession. He fits my body against him as well as his mouth. His hard bulge presses into my stomach and I know these panties are destroyed. I lean against him, chasing that perfect, exquisite connection.

We break apart and my breath comes in fragile gasps. I’m entirely, utterly shaken. His eyes are heavy-lidded, dark with longing that matches every aching cell of my body.

I want more. Want him desperately. Completely. More than I've ever wanted anything.

A nearby low groan shatters the intimate little bubble Asher and I have created. Reality floods back in at the warm rumble of desire emanating from Phoenix. He stands at the kitchen island, an elbow propped with easy, teasing grace, his expression openly heated. Openly watching.

“Damn, Tough Girl, that kiss was hot as hell. Good to see you enjoying our Prime.” He shifts his hips, his hand sliding down to adjust the obvious arousal beneath his jeans.

I bite my lip, heat blooming across my cheeks at Phoenix’s unchecked honesty. Need to see how Soren is affected. My gaze slides to him and his brown eyes burn. His jaw ticks as if straining to hold onto control. He’s just as deeply affected as Phoenix.

An irresistible, instinctive urge rises swiftly from deep within my chest, a yearning so overwhelming and intense it leaves me breathless. Every dormant omega instinct clamors wide open inside me, insisting that I gather soft bedding, comfortable fabrics and comforting scents.

Nest.

Want a nest.

A peaceful, protective sanctuary surrounded by alphas.

My alphas.

But just as quickly as that impulse ignites, ice fills my veins as panic wells in the back of my brain and suddenly all my feel-good emotions vanish.

“Emma, what is it? What's wrong?” Asher draws my gaze to his with gentle hands on my cheek but how do I even begin to put words to the years of terror and humiliation forced upon me? How do I admit to them that I'm an omega who's never been permitted something as essential and natural as a nest? I swallow thickly, shame and pain making my chest ache fiercely.

“I…I’m okay. It's nothing.” It isn’t nothing but I don’t want to dwell on the darkness in me. I don’t want to sully the days like this with them. And. That. Kiss.

I want that kiss to remain bright and golden and untarnished.

“It's obviously something, Emma. It's okay. You can tell me anything. Do you want to talk about it?” Asher waits, patient and gentle, his dark gaze never wavering.

I don't want to disturb this type of spun magic that’s still warming the space between us all.

“Not…not right now. I just want to stay here, in this moment.” Please, don’t insist because then I’ll tell you and the moment really will be broken.

He leans down to brush his lips along my jaw before pressing them softly on my lips. “Okay, Moonbeam. When you're ready.”

“But I hope one day you’ll be able to tell us what you’ve been through so we can help. You don’t have to hold this burden alone,” he says, and gods, what is it about this alpha who gives me exactly what I need when I need it? That’s magic in and of itself.

Soren places a slim, black phone into my palm. “We thought you might want a phone again. This one is safe. It’s completely non-traceable. We thought you might like to call Mira.”

I stare at the phone, willing my tight throat away. This kind of care and patience comes from all of them. This is exactly what I need.

“Thank you.” I clutch the phone to my chest against the tender ache just under my skin. I want to say thank you for everything, but the words catch at the sight of their open laptops on the kitchen table and the screens filled with data, images and graphs.

This is the reality I’ve ignored. The blade to the cocoon wrapped around me.

Guilt twists in my chest, the euphoric warmth from moments ago dissipating into tense anxiety. They're here because they’re protecting me. We're hidden away, trapped on borrowed time, because I'm a hunted omega and I’m losing myself in my base instincts.

Their future, their lives, hang in the balance because of me.

Swallowing back the prickling shame, I shift the weight of the phone in my palm, eyes lifting back to meet Asher’s gaze. “Have…have you found anything yet? Anything that can help?”

I don't even have to hear their answer, not really. The tense silence tells me everything.

“We're working as hard as we can, but there’s just nothing yet. This Alpha1465 is covering his tracks well. And the Carmichaels are untouchable. We haven't found a single solid lead yet. Sorry, Emma,” Soren says.

Something sharp and uncomfortable pings inside my memory, flickering just beyond reach. I swear I’ve heard Alpha1465 before, but the meaning is wrapped in mist. A wave of dread rolls through me, cold and heavy and inexplicable. Something about that name fills me with quiet, creeping fear.

A heavy silence settles around us. My heart thrashes in my chest, and a helpless knot forms at the base of my throat. Everything is fragile. This tentative peace we've found could shatter at any second.

“Please don’t apologize. You’re all here because of me, doing everything you can and I'm just making things harder, distracting you…” I trail off softly, miserably unsure what else to say or do.

How can I help when I'm the very reason they're forced into hiding? When I'm the person tangled in instinctual desires and terrified memories, powerless to ease their burden or help their investigation?

Asher draws me against his chest, his heart beating under my ear. “We’re here because we choose to be, Emma. And you haven’t distracted or hindered us. Believe me when I tell you that we will figure this out.”

I desperately want to believe him but as I look around this kitchen, seeing the tense, exhausted set of Phoenix’s jaw, the guarded worry in Soren’s dark eyes, reality crowds back into focus. No matter Asher’s insistence or Phoenix’s charm, the knot of dread drills deeper because right now we're cornered, hiding, and waiting blind.

We've built a fragile bubble here, sweet and delicate but I can't shake the quiet fear whispering at the edges of my mind, warning how easily it could all shatter into nothing.

Chapter Thirty-One

Emma

Iwait until late afternoon to call Mira, spending the hours until then pretending to rest in my room while the alphas pour all their attention into data searches. My unease gradually settles into a dull, aching pressure beneath my ribs. I'm trapped in helplessness, guilt eating at me with each passing minute. They're here, risking everything for me, and I'm doing nothing but hiding away.

I glance toward the nest room door, longing and fear tangling painfully in my chest. The urge whispering through me to gather every pillow, blanket, and plush fabric in the house and curl beneath them is all-consuming. I ache to burrow deep in that safe, warm haven soaked with all their scents.

But the moment I shift toward the closed doors, ice floods my veins, Hugo's cruel voice a sudden hiss in the back of my mind.

Pathetic. Weak. Worthless.

Cold panic winds through my ribs, choking the desire until only ice remains. A frustrated sob lodges painfully in my throat. Battling myself is exhausting but these chains are stronger than the iron that mangled the skin around my ankle. I can’t give into the temptation. I lay on the bed with my back to the nest doors and when the quiet is too heavy and my solitude too suffocating, I pick up the slim black phone and dial Mira. The phone barely rings a second time before she answers in a rush, worry sharpening her voice.

Questions pour out before I can utter a word. “Emma? Oh my God, Emma, are you okay? Are you safe? Tell me you're somewhere safe and they're treating you well. How are you feeling? Have they made you comfortable? I've been so worried—”

“Mira.” I close my eyes briefly, savoring her genuine compassion, a balm soothing the rawness of my nerves. “I'm okay. Really. The alphas are treating me better than well. Much better.”

Mira exhales, the tension in her voice easing. “Oh, thank goodness. I knew they would. I mean, they're your scent-matched mates, Emma. Your perfect matches. Believe me, those three alphas will do whatever it takes for you.”

I curl one arm around myself as my chest tightens at the quiet certainty in her voice. “You were right about them, Mira. They're nothing like I expected. Nothing I've ever known. And now…”

“Now what?” she urges.

“I'm developing feelings for them. Real feelings, Mira. And it's…it's terrifying. They've been so kind, so good to me, but…” My voice wavers and I take a deep breath. I need to get this out. If anyone will understand, Mira will. “When they find out I’m a defective omega who can’t build a nest, they’ll leave because I’m too much work.”

The silence is soft between us. “Oh, Emma. We only knew cruel alphas who tortured us. Mercer and Hardwick were responsible for that, and those alphas deserve to rot in hell. Asher literally shot Mercer in the head for attacking me and I guarantee you when they can take down Hardwick, they’ll be in the front line alongside my mates.

“The alphas they prepared us for are twisted and wrong, too. They taught us what they wanted us to know. They devalued us to make us second guess when we wanted more, but there’s nothing wrong with what we need. Our instincts are not wrong.” She draws a shaky breath. “Everything is scary and new now, I know. But Asher, Phoenix, Soren see you for who you are. I promise, the truth about your past won't drive them away. They work to save abused omegas and that’s the reason Adrian went to them for help. Our past, your past, won’t change anything. These types of alphas don't scare easily. Certainly not when it comes to protecting the omega they're falling for.”

I swallow, tears collecting along my lashes at her comforting certainty that I'm worthy of such gentleness and devotion, and gods, am I over crying. I want joy. Happiness. Healing. Just like she has. “It’s hard. The fear. It stops me. It’s so overwhelming when they get close, but…gods, Mira, they're so patient. What happens if I ruin it all?”

“ It would be impossible for you to ruin anything for them. You're brave, strong, and resilient; you deserve every precious thing these alphas offer. They're meant for you. Your past can't possibly taint you. It only makes your future more powerful and beautiful. It happened to me with the right alphas. It is happening for you too.” Her voice is firm and filled with quiet affection.

My heart squeezes at the love and unwavering belief in her words. Mira has always seen the things inside me that I've never been able to see myself, and if anyone deserves love it’s her.

Us.

Any of the omegas who were thrown into Haven’s basement deserve that too. There are so many of us.

I grip the phone hard. “I've missed you so much.”

Another gentle exhale rustles quietly through the phone. “And I've missed you too, Emma. So much. You're exactly where you're meant to be, with exactly whom you're meant to be with. Hold onto your alphas. Trust them. Let yourself believe you're worthy of whatever beautiful future they offer. You deserve every ounce of happiness.”

Her words soothe some of my overwhelming fear and dread. She's right. They've already seen me broken and terrified, and they still chose me despite that. Maybe I need to believe that I'm no longer defined by my old chains.

I hesitate a moment before I manage to whisper the question that's haunted me. “Mira, have your alphas found Leah?”

A pause on the line makes my stomach clench. Dread and fear rise bitterly in my mouth. What if Leah... what if she wasn't as lucky as Mira and me? I hardly want to give the thought a chance to escape, but what if, of the three of us, Leah didn't make it out whole or even alive?

“There's still no word. But Emma, please know that every single resource my alphas have, every person at their disposal, are pouring everything into finding her. They know how important Leah is to both of us. They won't give up. I promise you that,” Mira says.

I nod even though she can't see, biting my lip tightly against the sudden threat of tears. A wave of guilt twists in my chest: here I am tucked away safely in luxury, kissing alphas who cherish me, while Leah's fate remains uncertain.

I draw a breath, determined to shift my focus to something lighter—safer. “Your alphas have let us stay in this incredible beach house. Are they really as rich as this place makes them seem?”

Mira laughs, warmth melting through the tension and I hear the obvious affection in her voice when she speaks. “They are. But they weren't always. They built themselves up from nothing. They worked hard for everything they have. I promise, Emma, they're not the usual arrogant, entitled alphas you're probably imagining. They're down-to-earth, committed. They've used almost all their resources to help omegas in trouble, just like me. Just like us.”

Her sincerity spills plainly into my ear, soft and open. She cares for her alphas. Her love runs deep and warmth blooms in my chest that she’s found the type of love we always dreamed about while locked in the cold darkness.

“When this is all over, will you tell me properly about them? I want to know everything, Mira. I'm dying to know what kind of alphas won your heart.”

“Of course, Em. When we're finally together again—and we will absolutely be together again—I'll tell you every tiny detail. About everything. And you'll do the same with me, okay?” she says.

“It’s a date. Or can we make it a slumber party like we always wanted?” I don’t care that we’re in our mid-twenties, I still want the slumber party we always talked about.

She chuckles. “Of course. We have a lot to catch up on.”

“Thank you, Mira. For everything.”

There's a gentle pause before her voice returns. “Emma, please don't doubt how incredibly strong your alphas are, and don't underestimate the lengths they'll go to for you. Trust me on this—you've got all of us now. You're not by yourself anymore. If you need anything, even just to talk, please reach out. Any fear, any anxiety, any doubts, we'll work through everything together.”

Tears prick sharply again. Happy tears, hopeful ones that scatter warmth through my heart. “I promise. Thank you, Mira. I'll talk to you soon. I promise.”

Ending the call is bittersweet but Mira’s words linger, embedding themselves deep beneath my skin and bringing forth all the questions I should have been asking myself. Why should I let Haven, Hugo, Lars, Mercer, Hardwick, and Pack Carmichael still chain me? They had no right to define who I am. Not then, and certainly not now. Every moment spent in fear, every hesitation, only gives them power they've never deserved.

They’ve taken so much of me already.

They don’t get to do that anymore.

From now on, I get to choose what and who I want. I've been theirs for too long.

The heavy iron weighing me down cracks open enough for warm relief to pour through. It sweeps into every corner of my heart and soul, shaking off the strangling heaviness.

I feel…lighter. The burden normally so heavy inside me is not so unbearable. The heavy clouds inside my head part and shafts of sunlight stream inside. A delicate type of joy blossoms. Fragile at first, but undeniably mine, and with that comes a driving want. A clarity I never felt before.

I want to reclaim myself. Because I choose to.

Just like Mira did. Unapologetically. And fuck those people who chained me down for their own purposes.

The crime is theirs.

Not mine.

I see Mira in my mind, eyes sparking as she hugs me. She did it. She crossed boundaries put on us by others who did not have our best interests at heart. People who tormented and tortured us for years to achieve their purposes, but no more! Mira has shown me it can be done. That there is nothing to be afraid of in reclaiming myself. Once again, she’s proven she’s more than a friend. My chosen sister wants me to choose the best for myself, too.

A gentle knock at the door pulls me back to see that dusk has fallen across the sky, marking the hours I’ve been here.

“Emma? Dinner’s ready if you’d like to join us.” Soren has come to collect me.

I rise from the bed, heart skipping in my eagerness to see him. I cross the distance and open the door and my gaze lifts to meet his calm, steady eyes. The fading daylight catches his brown hair, bringing out subtle shades of russet and gold as sandalwood wedges in the spaces between the cells of my body.

He’s ridiculously handsome.

Quiet lines of strength mark his lean, muscular arms folded loosely over his chest. His shirt sleeves are rolled to his elbows, displaying the subtle flex of muscle beneath tanned skin. His hair is a little longer than when I first saw him, adding more dimension to the faint shadow of stubble over his strong jaw.

He exudes steady power, quiet authority but always gentle, always careful, never overbearing. My heart flutters, familiar stirrings of attraction whispering warmth along my veins. His eyes flare as my own scent intensifies around us, giving my thoughts away.

“Thank you.” I slip around him before I give in to my urge to drag him into my room and arrange soft blankets around the both of us.

He lets me lead and I’m hyper aware of his solid form stalking behind me. As I head into the kitchen I marvel at how safe and easy I feel walking beside someone this powerful. Someone who, a week ago, terrified me.

Thank you for your pep talk, Mira.

Phoenix’s face lights up when he sees me. He steals a kiss as he seats me at the kitchen table. Asher lingers behind me when he sets a heaped plate of roast chicken and vegetables in front of me, his large hand trailing up my arm leaving tingles that stoke slumbering embers to life. I squirm as my core pulses and slick trickles from me.

Dinner passes quietly at first, the comfortable silence wrapped around us while we eat, but then Phoenix sets down his fork, casting a thoughtful glance toward Soren and Asher. “We all need something relaxing tonight. What if we do something ordinary? Like people who aren’t fugitives hiding from a deranged, criminal network.”

A quiet laugh escapes me at his blunt sarcasm, and when Soren suggests, “We could always play board games,” my eyes widen in surprise. The suggestion sounds so beautifully mundane. Domestic. Like I used to do with my parents to pass an evening.

Asher catches my expression, smiling as he explains. “We found a decent collection stored in the cabinet. Are you interested?”

Curiosity blooms. Witnessing them relaxed and playful is irresistible. “I'd like that.”

The dishes clear quickly, each alpha moving easily around the kitchen, and then Phoenix proudly produces an unopened Monopoly box. The four of us settle around the kitchen table, arranging colorful money and tokens.

At first, I'm uncertain how this will unfold, but as minutes pass, their personalities emerge, coming to life in intriguing ways. Soren makes every property acquisition a calculated military maneuver. He plots long-term returns, examining choices from every angle. Phoenix, unsurprisingly, is all dramatic bargaining and risk-taking, happily offering absurd trades with charm, laughing even when his impulsive choices backfire.

Asher watches the board like a field general, assessing every angle. It’s an intense, fascinating contrast between the easy warmth of Phoenix, the meticulous logic of Soren, and Asher’s purposeful confidence all mingling together.

The seriousness cracks when Phoenix confidently misquotes a rule when the move doesn’t go his way. “Everyone knows if you land on Free Parking, you get all the cash from the bank on the tenth round through the game. That’s common knowledge, right?”

“I’m only going to check because I know you won’t let it go unless you see in black and white how wrong you are.” Soren sets his token down and reaches for the rulebook with a stern look that makes Phoenix’s exaggerated eye-roll comical. He begins reading. “Official Monopoly rules, chapter three, subsection five. Free parking space. No reward, monetary or otherwise, shall be dispensed upon landing here.”

Phoenix’s dramatic groan slices through Soren’s words. “See? He does this every time. Welcome to playing board games with a human rulebook.”

“Says the person who only bends the rules to suit themselves,” Soren says.

Phoenix gestures with open palms. “Why else do rules exist!”

Laughter bursts from me, bright, honest, genuine. I press a hand to my mouth, eyes widening in startled delight. Warmth spreads through my chest as Phoenix beams at me, Asher’s eyes soften, and Soren’s mock-serious frown melts into amusement.

Phoenix leans forward across the table, his eyes lighting with sparks. “Tough Girl, gods, I love hearing that laugh of yours. I think I want to hear more of it.”

I shake my head and raise my brows. “I can't just laugh on command.”

Phoenix tilts his head as he considers me. “Are you sure? Because…I mean, I could just tickle you.”

My eyes widen, nerves fluttering through my belly, the ridiculousness threatening a reluctant smile despite myself. “That definitely doesn't count.”

“Oh, it absolutely does.” He rounds the table with deliberate purpose. “It's an official rule. Like the Monopoly one earlier that Soren conveniently pretends doesn’t exist.”

“There’s no rule about tickling!” I say.

Phoenix cocks a brow, a smile playing on his full, kissable lips. “Oh, isn’t there?”

I jump to my feet as Phoenix advances, giggling like an idiot. “No—Phoenix—stay back!”

I spin around to make my escape, only to skid to a halt, the air knocking lightly from my lungs as I collide safely into Soren's solid, muscular chest. His arms lightly circle me, holding me steady.

“I wouldn't mind hearing your laughter again, either,” he murmurs, eyes sparkling down at me.

A soft, breathless laugh escapes. “You too? This is completely unfair.”

Desperate for an ally, I search for Asher, hoping to find someone to halt their playful ambush but as his dark gaze holds mine, there’s absolutely no help to be found there.

Instead, heat simmers in their depths, fierce and intense.

My protest dies, replaced with a rush of heat inside me, pulsing and heavy. A fluttery, excited mixture of nervous anticipation, simmering with longing, tightens the knot in my core but without the strength of a heat spike behind it.

This is need, pure and simple. Desire. Arousal free from my biology.

I want my alphas.

Caught within Soren's strong arms, Phoenix hovering behind me, Asher’s eyes burning deliberate heat upon my skin, I do something I never would have had the courage to do even yesterday. I lift my chin. “And what are you all going to do about it?”

Chapter Thirty-Two

Emma

Soren's eyes meet mine, warmth pooling in their melted caramel depths. He inhales, and I sense his hesitation mingling with the spiced sandalwood in the air.

“I’d like to kiss you, Emma. But only if you allow it.” His voice is quiet. Tentative. A gentle rumble that wraps ribbons of longing around me.

It's an offering, not a demand, a reminder that I have a choice. They've always granted me space, offering endless patience while I stumbled back into myself. I can stand here in this circle of strength and admit to myself—I deserve this.

I deserve to want, to ache, to reach out and demand without shame.

They’ve always given me the power to choose. The power of my voice is a gift.

Another shift, perhaps the final one, happens inside me, fast but everlasting. This is my choice. My power.

Yes, I choose this. This moment. These alphas.

I am fire and want and I want my alphas.

I claim them.

Heat rises inside me, different now—pure, clean, unafraid. Free from the mind-fog of any biological need. My desire for them isn't a biological compulsion. This is joy. This is trust. This is hunger, born from genuine longing. I am an omega, yes—but right now, I'm a woman first. A woman claiming her place, her pleasure, and her heart.

I raise my gaze. Strength pulses through me. A newfound, hard-won strength that’s expansive and good. “Yes, I want you to kiss me, Soren. I want you all to kiss me.”

Mine. On my terms. I don’t just accept his kiss—I demand it.

My fingers fist in his shirt, dragging him down before he can exhale. Our lips collide, and the world blurs into scent and sensation. Sandalwood explodes across my tongue, crisp as winter but burning now, burning for me. His groan vibrates against my mouth and I swallow it greedily.

This isn’t soft. Isn’t tentative.

It’s possession. Mine of him. His of me.

His hands spear into my hair, tilting my head back as he licks into my mouth. Whiskey and coffee erupt in the air, scorching my skin even before Asher’s palm grips my hip, before Phoenix’s mouth finds the pulse point where my neck meets my shoulder.

“Fuck, Emma.” Soren tears his mouth from mine, breathing ragged. His forehead presses to mine, his scent a storm of snow melted into pure, aching heat. “You—”

Behind me, Phoenix’s laugh is dark velvet against my ear. “I knew she’d ruin you first, brother.”

Asher’s grip tightens, his growl reverberating through my bones. “No more waiting.”

No. No more waiting.

I bare my teeth in a smile and drag Soren back to me.

He doesn’t hesitate.

His mouth crashes back into mine, all restraint gone. His kiss devours, his hands rough in my hair, tilting my head to take me deeper. I whimper, my body arching into his, and he answers with a growl that vibrates against my lips. “Mine,” he rasps between kisses. “Ours.”

Strong hands span my waist, spinning me before I can gasp. Phoenix’s golden-boy smirk is the last thing I see before his mouth claims mine. Where Soren was fire, Phoenix is lightning. Hot, wicked, teasing. He nips my lower lip, licking into me with a dark chuckle when I moan. His fingers dig into my hips, pulling me flush against him, and I feel him—all of him—hard and wanting against my stomach.

“Fuck, Tough Girl,” he murmurs against my lips. “You taste like honey and sin.”

Before I can catch my breath, calloused fingers slide under my chin, tilting my face. Asher. His smoky whiskey scent is a live wire, his dark eyes burning. “My turn,” he growls.

His kiss is dominance and demand, his tongue sweeping into my mouth like he’s staking a claim. One hand fists in my hair, the other sliding down to grip my throat. Not tight, just enough to make my pulse hammer. I melt, my knees buckling, but Soren is there, his chest pressed against my back, his mouth on my shoulder. “We’ve got you,” he murmurs.

Phoenix doesn’t let go. His hands roam my body. Palming my breasts, thumbs brushing my nipples through the thin fabric of my shirt until I gasp into Asher’s mouth. Soren’s fingers trace my spine, slow, possessive, before slipping under my waistband. “So fucking soft,” he groans against my neck.

I’m drowning in Asher’s commanding lips, Phoenix’s wicked hands, Soren’s relentless mouth on my skin. Their scents twist together, whiskey and coffee and winter storm, drenching me in heat.

“Tell us what you want, Omega,” Asher rumbles, pulling back just enough to watch me unravel.

I don’t hesitate. “Everything.”

Phoenix’s grin incinerates me. “Good answer.”

“Want your clothes off. Need to feel you against me. Can I undress you, Moonbeam?” Asher rasps.

My answer is a deep groan. There’s nothing else I want more. “Yes, please Alpha. Please undress me.”

His fingers trace down my arms and around my waist to hook under the hem of my shirt, pausing just below my navel where my muscles tighten, anticipating his slow-moving touch. He drags the fabric up in one excruciatingly slow motion, exposing me inch by vulnerable inch, his knuckles grazing on my belly.

The cotton rises above my bra. Asher's breath hitches. “So beautiful, Omega.”

His thumbs brush deliberately across the sensitive undersides of my breasts, the contact so light yet so electrifying that my back arches. The scent of my arousal spikes in the air, dripping with honey, turning heady and rich.

Asher groans, lowering his head to my neck where he nibbles with lips, tongue and teeth. “Smell so good. Smell like mine.”

Oh. Fuck. Yes.

When the fabric finally slips over my head, the cool air raises goosebumps across my newly bared skin, but I have no time to shiver before Soren’s mouth crashes onto my bare shoulder. His teeth sink into the tender junction where neck meets shoulder. This isn't the claiming bite of a bond, but something just as possessive. The sharp pleasure-pain wrenches a cry from my throat that echoes through the room.

I feel Soren's satisfied smirk against my skin as he soothes the sting with his tongue. “Mine too,” he growls against the damp mark he's left, his woodsy scent promising everything. His hands slide around to palm my breasts over my bra, thumbs circling my nipples with just enough pressure to make my knees weak. “Hmm, I think we need to get you out of this restrictive clothing, butterfly.”

If I had control over my limbs, I’d rip it off me. As it is, I’m clutching Phoenix’s shoulders while my knees do their best to not buckle. I nod. “Fuck yes.”

Soren chuckles. He licks my neck at the same time as unclipping my bra and drawing it off my body.

“That’s much better, isn't it?” Phoenix murmurs against the shell of my ear, his breath hot as his hands claim one bare breast. And gods, he's right. The moment his calloused palms slide over my pebbled nipple, fire licks through my veins. I arch into his touch with a whimper, my head falling back against his shoulder as he teases me, rolling the sensitive peak between his fingers until I'm trembling.

“Look at her,” Asher growls to the others, his thumbs brushing one last tantalizing circle on my other breast before he stills. “Our pretty omega, all desperate for more.” His voice drops to that wicked, knowing tone that always unravels me. “Emma, baby... you want Phoenix to suck on these perfect breasts? Put his mouth all over you?”

The question alone sends a rush of slick between my thighs. My arousal is a living thing, coiling tighter with every second they draw this out. “Yes,” I gasp, my hips rocking. “Please, Alpha. Please, I need…”

“Use your words, sweetheart. Tell us exactly what you want,” Phoenix prompts, pinching my nipples lightly enough to make me cry out for more.

“Suck my breasts,” I beg, my voice breaking. “Please, Alpha, I need your mouth—”

I barely finish the sentence before Phoenix is there, his summer eyes locked on mine. He doesn't speak. He doesn't have to. The way he looks at me—like I'm everything—says it all.

Then Phoenix kneels before me, putting his face at my chest height. The first hot swipe of his tongue over one of my nipples wrings a sob from my throat. His mouth closes over me, sucking deep, and my back bows off Soren's chest. My fingers tangle in Phoenix’s golden locks to hold him there. “Oh gods…”

Asher chooses that moment to claim my mouth, his kiss devouring and possessive, his tongue sliding against mine in time with Phoenix's pulls on my breast. The dual sensations short-circuit my brain. While Phoenix's lips and teeth and tongue work me relentlessly, Asher's kiss stealing every ragged breath I try to take. Soren's cock presses against my back, his hands roaming my stomach, my hips, my thighs…

I'm surrounded.

Consumed.

When Phoenix switches to my other breast, biting down just shy of too hard, my moan is swallowed by Asher's kiss as my body clenches around nothing, desperate for more.

“That's it,” Soren murmurs against my neck, his hand sliding down between my thighs to find me dripping through my yoga pants. “Fuck, you're soaked for us.”

As if I could be anything else but saturated for them.

Asher draws back from our kiss just enough to watch me. His dark eyes track every desperate hitch of my breath, every tremble of my body caught between them all. His thumb brushes my swollen bottom lip, his voice a rough scrape of sound. “You need more, Moonbeam?”

I nod, my fingers twisting in his shirt, my hips rocking helplessly against nothing. Every nerve in my body is alive, sparking under their hands, their scents, their control.

Asher’s gaze flicks to Phoenix, still kneeling in front of me, his broad hands resting on my thighs. “She wants your mouth, brother,” Asher tells him, his voice thick with command. “Take these pants off her and make her come.”

Phoenix’s eyes find mine. His pupils are so dilated the blue is eaten by fathomless black. “Do you want my mouth on you again, Omega? You want me to suck your clit and make you come?”

I groan and slick floods down my thighs. I’m a hot sticky mess and I don’t care.

Let them see how much I desire them. Let them drink it up.

Consume it until their pores drip with the smell of me.

My omega lifts her head, hissing with agreement and for the first time ever she and I are both on the same page.

“Please, Alpha. I need…”

“Shhh, Omega. I’ll take good care of you.” Phoenix doesn’t make me wait. His fingers hook into my waistband, peeling my yoga pants down my legs with agonizing slowness, his calloused palms skimming my calves, my ankles, as he helps me step out of them. The cool air kisses my bare skin, but it’s nothing compared to the heat of his gaze as he looks up at me from between my thighs.

Gods, the way he looks at me.

All heat and hunger and dark, simmering desire.

His lips part. His breath comes faster. He’s always been quiet and steady, but right now, he’s wrecked. His scent deepens, turning storm-dark and possessive. “Look at me when I taste you, Omega.”

I drop my gaze.

And then his mouth is on me.

The first swipe of his tongue wrings a broken cry from my throat. He starts slow, teasing, lapping at my slick like he’s savoring it, his fingers digging into my hips to keep me still. “Fuck, Phoenix...”

I gasp, my hands flying to his hair, my thighs trembling. He groans against me, the vibration sending shocks of pleasure up my spine.

“You taste perfect,” he growls, before dipping his tongue inside me, fucking me with slow, relentless strokes.

Soren’s hands tighten on my waist, his lips brushing my ear. “That’s it, Butterfly. Let him ruin you.”

Asher’s whiskey scent is thick with approval, his fingers stroking my cheek. “Good omega, letting your alpha give you what you need.”

Phoenix’s mouth is merciless, his tongue circling my clit before sucking hard. Some sort of garbled sound falls from my parted lips. My back arches, my legs shaking, my breath coming in ragged sobs. I tilt on a precipice. Every muscle is locked tight and begging for release. “Please…Alpha…please.”

“Come for us,” Asher orders, his voice a dark caress.

The orgasm rips through me, my body locking up as pleasure blooms white-hot and endless. Phoenix drinks me down, his fingers biting into my skin as he rides it out with me, not stopping until I’m whimpering, oversensitive, collapsing back against Soren.

Asher catches my chin, forcing my gaze to his. “Beautiful,” he rasps.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Emma

Awhine crawls up my throat in a near breathless whisper, because I’m not done. My omega side grows stronger with each passing moment, and she needs all her alphas. Asher takes me in, his gaze roaming my face that no doubt looks as wrecked as I feel.

He brushes his nose along my neck and brings his lips to my ear. “That wasn’t enough, was it, Omega? You’ve gone for so long without the right kind of touch that you’re desperate for us. Your scent-matched mates. Is that right?”

It is. Everything he said is true and this time another whine drives through my parted lips, laced with the kind of need that makes alphas lose their minds.

I’ve never made this noise before.

Never before and only for them.

Asher's eyes flare dark, approving at the desperate edge in my tone. His nostrils flare, inhaling the thick honeyed musk of my arousal, the way my slick soaks my thighs, the way my scent thickens with arousal.

I want to come apart between all my alphas.

Not just once. Not just for Phoenix.

I want Asher and Soren too.

Again. And again. Until I forget my own name.

Asher's thumb strokes my jaw. “You want Soren next?” His voice is rough, but there's no hesitation. Only the quiet authority of my prime alpha who knows exactly how to give his omega what she craves.

And gods, do I crave.

My pulse thunders, my skin alight, every nerve ending singing for more. I don't just nod. My body answers for me, my hips rocking forward, seeking friction, seeking him. “Yes.” The word breaks on a gasp. “Please.”

It's not just permission.

It's a plea.

Soren's grin is pure sin as he peers down at me. “You heard her. Our omega's still hungry.”

And then before I can even draw my next breath his hands are on me, spinning me and pulling me against his chest. “Let's fix that.”

Soren’s strength is effortless, his grip unshakeable as he lifts me. My thighs lock around his waist, my arms winding around his neck like I’m clinging to salvation itself.

His erection fills the space between my thighs and sensation spirals through my core, made sensitive with Phoenix’s mouth.

This is exactly what I need.

I grind down against him, rolling my hips in a slow drag along the thick ridge of his cock, still confined behind his jeans. The friction is maddening. Denied and delicious all at once, the rough fabric teasing my oversensitive flesh, the pressure just shy of enough. A broken sound escapes me, part whimper, part plea, as my nails bite into the back of his neck.

Soren reacts instantly.

A ragged groan tears from his throat, raw and unfiltered, his head dropping to bury his face against my shoulder. His breath scalds my skin, his hips jerking up instinctively to meet my next roll. “Fuck.” His voice is wrecked, his usual playful control shattered. “Emma…”

His hands tighten on my ass, fingers digging into the soft flesh, not just holding me—guiding me, urging me to grind harder, faster. Every snap of my hips drags another rough sound from him, another jerk of his body. He throbs against me, the damp heat of his pre-cum seeping through the denim, mingling with my slick.

“That’s it,” he growls against my ear, his breath hitching as I circle my hips, chasing my own pleasure against him. “Use me, Butterfly. Fucking take whatever you need while I get you more comfortable. Maybe your bedroom, hmmm?”

“Yesss,” I breathe. His words send a fresh rush of slick between my thighs, my body clenching around nothing, desperate for more. Every step he takes down the hall jostles us, the movement sending sparks through my nerves, my breath coming in ragged little gasps.

His muscles tremble, his scent pure woodland forest as he turns feral, intoxicating. His lips find my throat, teeth scraping, sucking bruises into my skin between ragged breaths.

“You feel that?” he rasps, thrusting up against me once, hard, making me cry out. “That’s what you do to me. Fucking destroy me.”

He stumbles into my bedroom, his breath ragged, his body trembling as he eases me onto the mattress. The moment his warmth leaves me, I cry out, my fingers clutching at the sheets. “Soren, please!”

His name tears from my throat, raw and needy, and his eyes lighten to molten gold, his chest rising and falling like he’s been running for miles.

Asher’s voice cuts through the haze, low and commanding. “Give her what she needs, brother.”

“It will be my pleasure to give you everything, Butterfly,” Soren rasps.

His hands go to his belt, the leather sliding free with a sharp snick before he shoves his jeans down his hips. His cock springs free, thick and heavy, flushed at the tip, veins running along the length. A pearlescent bead drips from the slit. He swipes it with his thumb, coating his digit with the liquid. My mouth waters at the sight, my core pulsing with another rush of slick. Honeysuckle, thick and heady, makes the air heavy with arousal.

“Fuck, look at you.” Phoenix groans, only a step behind Soren as he releases his cock, too. He wraps his fist around himself, giving one slow, torturous stroke. “Dripping for your alpha.”

I whine, my thighs pressing together to try and alleviate the throbbing that’s quickly bordering on painful, but Phoenix is there, strong hands easing my legs apart as he settles beside me. He swirls his fingers around my clit as his lips brush my shoulder. “It’s okay, Omega. Soren will take care of you.”

Asher mirrors him on my other side, his whiskey-dark eyes locked on my face as his fingers slide over my breasts. “Just feel.”

Then Soren kneels between my thighs, his gaze burning as he drags the head of his cock through my soaked folds. He slides his thumb between my lips and sharp, salty coffee bursts on my tongue. I suck as hard as I can, eager to drink in as much of his essence. Gods, he’s delicious. He teases my entrance before sliding up over my clit in one torturous glide.

Electricity shoots through me.

My back arches off the bed, a scream catching around his thumb as pleasure sparks white-hot behind my eyelids. He does it again, slower this time, the thick ridge of him rubbing against my most sensitive flesh, smearing my slick over both of us.

I rip my mouth away. “Soren!” I sob, my fingers digging into his hips.

“I know, baby,” he grits out, his own control fraying as he grinds against me, his hips jerking. “Fuck, you’re so soft… so fucking wet…”

Phoenix’s hand slides into my hair, tilting my face toward his. “Breathe,” he orders, but his voice is rough with his own need.

Asher’s fingers drift lower, circling my nipple, pinching just enough to make me grind against him. “That’s it, Omega. Take what he gives you.”

And when Soren drags his cock through my dripping heat again, the thick, velvety head catching on my clit before sliding back down, the world dissolves into white-hot sensation.

“Soren!” My voice shatters before I can finish his name as pleasure detonates through me. His grip on my hips tightens, his fingers digging into my flesh as he grinds his hardness against my clit, mapping every ridge and pulse of my climax with his own body.

“That’s it,” he growls, his voice rough with awe. “Use me. Let me feel you come.”

My thighs tremble violently around him, my slick painting his skin as my orgasm rips through me in relentless waves, each one sharper, brighter, more consuming than the last. My vision blurs at the edges, my fingers leaving marks on him as my body clenches around nothing.

I unravel beneath him, his cock still sliding through my soaked folds, prolonging the torture, turning my pleasure into something borderline unbearable.

“S-stop—too much—” I beg, my voice breaking, my hips jerking weakly, caught between the need to escape the overwhelming sensations and the primal urge to chase them.

“Take him, Omega,” Asher murmurs from beside me, his hand sliding down to grip my wrist, pinning it to the mattress. “You need it. You can handle it.”

My climax stretches, fracturing into something deeper, something that doesn’t just wrack my body but reaches into my soul, rewriting every nerve ending.

I’ve orgasmed and he hasn’t even entered me.

“Emma.” Soren's voice is rough velvet against my ear, his breath hot where his lips brush my temple. “Can I make love to you?”

The question undoes me. Asking. Not taking. Not demanding I beg or present or any of the things Pack Carmichael made me do.

I shove thoughts of them aside. They have no place in this perfect moment.

“Yes—please—” The words tumble out between panting breaths. My hips lift, aching for him, my thighs cradling his hips. “Need you inside me, Alpha. Now.”

“As you wish, Butterfly,” Soren rasps.

One strong arm hooks beneath my knee, his hot palm scorching against the sensitive skin of my thigh as he drapes my leg over his hip, opening me wider. His other hand grips himself, the thick head of his cock dragging through my slick, coating himself in my arousal before positioning at my entrance.

The first press steals my breath.

Not just from the stretch, though he’s thick, the blunt head of him nudging past my clenching muscles with slow, devastating pressure, but from the way his entire body shudders above me, his abs flexing, his biceps cording with tension.

“Fuck,” he gasps, his forehead dropping to mine as he pushes deeper, deeper, his breath ragged against my lips. “Emma!”

I feel every inch. The way my body yields, then resists, then yields again as he works himself inside me. The stretch burns but the moment I whimper, his hand slides between us, his thumb finding my clit and circling just hard enough to make the burn ease. My muscles relax around him and he slides home, his hips flush against mine, his cock buried to the hilt inside me.

For a heartbeat, neither of us moves.

His length pulses inside me, the thick veins along his cock pressed against my walls. I breath in fresh forest, dragging his scent into my lungs. His muscles tremble with restraint, sweat beading on his chest. His gaze finds mine. Locks, and I see the open promises he doesn’t hide.

“So fucking perfect,” he rasps, his lips brushing mine.

He’s not just talking about being inside me.

He pulls almost all the way out, the drag of his cock ruthless and exquisite, before surging back in with one smooth, deep stroke that punches a sob from my throat.

I whimper, oversensitive from Phoenix's ruthless mouth and my own climax, every nerve ending alight and raw. The fullness is almost too much—almost—but Soren reads my body like the complex code he masters so well.

Withdrawing almost completely before urging back in, each thrust a slow, deep glide that hits places inside me I didn't know could shatter and reform. My back arches, my nails scoring his shoulders as he sets a rhythm designed to unravel me.

“Look at me, Omega,” he rasps, and when my eyes open, his gaze holds me captive. Dark with love and need and quiet, endless devotion. His sandalwood forest scent turns storm-ripe as sweat beads on his brow.

“Soren…”

His hips snap forward, sending sparks through my vision. “Come for me, Omega. Let me feel you climax on my cock.”

My orgasm rolls through me, my internal muscles clamping down on his hard length as I sob his name. Soren’s thrusts turn erratic before he buries himself deep within me with a groan, his release flooding me in pulsing waves of heat.

For endless seconds, we cling to each other, breaths mingling, hearts hammering in tandem, until he pins me with another open gaze and threads his fingers through my hair.

“Mine,” he whispers against my sweat-slick skin.

“Yes. Yours.” My body hums with satisfaction, my muscles lax and pliant, my eyelids suddenly heavy. “Mine too.”

Sated. Spent. Boneless.

His chuckle causes his cock to twitch. “Oh yes. We’re never going anywhere without you, mate. Ours forever now.”

Sparks shoot through my overstimulated body, just on this side of discomfort. Soren eases out of me, slick and cum gushing between my thighs onto the bedsheets beneath us, and I can’t help my whimper. I wish I had more stamina, but exhaustion is still a real thing. I barely have the strength to lift my head when Asher’s strong arms gather me against him.

“Shhh, little omega. I’ll be here when you need me,” he murmurs. “Just rest for now.”

He shifts to position me on his chest, and his bond floods with care. With protective safety. And his bare chest, skin on skin contact, is exactly what I need.

My head finds its perfect place over his heartbeat, his steady rhythm grounding me as my legs rest either side of his hips. I mumble a faint protest, because he’s still wearing jeans, but Phoenix slides to one side, his fingers lazily tracing patterns on my hip, while Soren covers us all in a blanket and rests against my other side, his sandalwood warmth a soothing counterbalance to Asher’s smoky intensity.

A deep, resonant hum builds in Asher’s chest first, vibrating through me where our bodies press together, the steady pulse of it syncing with my slowing heartbeat and melting me further into him.

Phoenix’s purr is a playful rumble as he nuzzles against my shoulder and his fingers come to rest on my hip. “Sleep, Tough Girl. We’ve got you.”

Soren’s purr comes last. Quieter, softer, but no less powerful. The vibrations ripple through the mattress as he tucks the blanket around us, his sandalwood scent wrapping me in warmth. His hand settles lightly on my back, a grounding weight as he presses a kiss to the crown of my head.

It’s too much. Too good. My muscles loosen completely, my breath evening out as the combined rhythm of their purrs lulls me under.

The last thing I feel is Asher’s lips against my hair as consciousness slips away.

“Sweet dreams, Omega.”

Chapter Thirty-Four

Emma

Golden dawn spills through the open window, painting lazy stripes across the rumpled sheets. I stir slowly, my body heavy with sleep, my cheek pressed to the steady rise and fall of a warm chest.

Asher’s.

The realization unfurls inside me like the sunlight filling the room. He’s still here with me.

I lift my head, blinking against the golden light, and find his serious gaze already trained on me. No distraction. No hurry. Just me, his entire world in this quiet moment.

I slept on him like this all night.

And I didn’t have a flashback.

The thought sends warmth through me. My legs are still tangled with his, my arm draped over his waist, my fingers curled lightly against the rough trail of hair leading down his stomach. He let me cling to him. Didn’t move even though it must have been uncomfortable for him.

“This is nice. Waking up like this. Holding you,” I say.

A shadow flickers through our bond. Anger, sharp and protective, but not directed at me. His hand slides up my bare back, fingers splaying between my shoulder blades, holding me closer.

“You have it backward, Moonbeam. You let me hold you all night long. That’s the true gift,” His voice is a gravel-soft rumble.

The truth of his words settles into my bones. This bond doesn’t lie.

I don’t tell him how, after Pack Carmichael used me, they’d leave me alone in my own filth for days, my body aching, my skin crawling with the memory of their hands. How I’d try to scrub myself down with a corner of the blanket and cold water from the sink and curl into myself on the cold basement floor, wishing for touch even as I feared it. Those memories have no place in this moment.

They’re nothing but ghosts.

Asher’s bond hums between us, golden and alive, so much stronger than the fractured, pain-fogged connections Pack Carmichael forced on me. In fact, they don’t even simmer hot and stinging in the back of my head anymore. The bonds are still there, but faded and frayed. They’re dying. Or perhaps it’s because the bond I share with Asher is so much stronger and brighter than those ever could be.

It simply drowns them out, too brilliant for darkness to exist.

Golden light slides across Asher’s features, chasing away the shadows and illuminating every quiet detail of him. Sleep-rumpled, warm, impossibly handsome, he looks younger here, peaceful in a way he rarely allows himself to be. My fingertips tingle with the need to touch, and before my nerves can get in the way, I reach up, lightly tracing the pad of one finger along the strong curve of his jaw.

His stubble is roughened silk against my fingertip, sending a delicate thrill skipping down my spine. His dark eyes remain fixed solely on me, deep and warm, a quiet intensity simmering behind their gentle calm. I breathe in slowly, soaking up every reassuring note of smoky whiskey and leather.

The only things missing are my two other alphas.

“Where did Phoenix and Soren go?” I ask.

Asher’s brows pull together, tension shadowing the soft warmth of his gaze. Frustration, sharp and helpless, bleeds clearly through our connection.

“They’re already back at their screens, chasing any lead they can find on Alpha1465,” he says.

A quiet shiver slips beneath my skin at the note of worry beneath his lingering frustration. “The investigation isn't going well, is it? No breakthroughs, even after days?”

“We've looked everywhere, Moonbeam, but whoever Alpha1465 is, they're deeply buried and extremely protected. Every lead hits a dead end.” Asher draws a faintly unsteady breath, arms tightening protectively around me, firm and warm. “And now Cole has alerted us that the commissioner has personally ordered us to return you.”

“The commissioner? Shouldn’t he be on your side?” I ask.

Asher’s jaw clenches, a muscle twitching just beneath the shadowed line of his stubble. “We suspect he’s anything but on our side. In fact, he’s been implicated with Sylvia Mercer and Evelyn Hardwick. We’ve been quietly trying to link him, but we haven’t found anything.”

I heard Matthew threatening to use his connection with the commissioner to get me back, so the information comes as no surprise. I tuck closer into the circle of Asher’s arms, needing his closeness to steady the uneasy pounding of my heart. His rich smoky whiskey and sturdy leather wraps around me but I catch the sharper note beneath, a subtle acrid smoke, a bitter edge of worry he’s trying hard to conceal.

“If I knew anything, I’d tell you. But they kept us in the dark and didn’t tell us anything,” I say. Mercer and Hardwick were very careful about that. The only thing we knew was that they were going to sell us, and our lives would belong to the highest bidder. “You have to believe me.”

He exhales, slow and measured, his fingers brushing through my hair. “I believe you, Moonbeam. I just don’t like unknown variables. Especially when it compromises your safety.”

My throat tightens, fear swirling coldly in my stomach, but he cups my cheek and tilts my face to lock eyes. His gaze is fierce, unrelenting, a promise etched clearly there in deep, blazing conviction. “Listen to me, Emma. Whatever happens, whoever pressures us, we won't turn you back over. Not to Pack Carmichael, not to anyone. The commissioner's involvement doesn't change my vow to keep you safe.”

I release a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding, melting slightly into the unwavering warmth of him. Yet, even as comfort washes over me, an icy sliver remains, deep beneath my ribs.

“We can't hide here forever. Sooner rather than later, the vultures are going to close in. If we don't find answers soon, we'll just make another move to stay ahead of the game,” he says.

Dread fills my chest. Not just for myself, but for these three alphas who've risked everything they’ve spent their whole lives building. Still, his dark eyes soften, never wavering, his hold steady and protective. He brushes gentle fingertips along my spine, grounding me quietly in his touch. “I promise you we will never stop fighting for justice for you. We won't ever stop protecting you. You're more important than anything else we've ever had in our lives. You're the center of our world. The one thing we're willing to lose every damn thing for.”

Desperation winds through me. “But…”

His thumb brushes my trembling lower lip, halting my protests.

“Our careers mean nothing if you're not safe, Emma. Nothing if you aren't in our lives. It's that simple. Don't you understand? Our badges, our positions, mean nothing compared to you. I'd give them all up without hesitation. Phoenix and Soren would do exactly the same. We promised you everything and you’ll get nothing short of that.”

All along, they told me their vows, but now, wrapped securely within Asher’s strong arms in this perfect, golden-lit morning, I understand these aren’t just words.

He's so open with me. Every thought, every emotion that flows from him is raw and unfiltered. He's showing me everything, allowing me into each hidden corner of himself. And the depth of what I feel for him in return swells from a long-forgotten place inside me. My heart aches with tenderness and longing, a deep, abiding need to shelter and soothe him as he's sheltered and soothed me. Sharing ourselves equally.

My alpha.

My mate.

But one thought lingers, tugging at the edges of my mind. Last night was beautiful. So deeply intimate, filled with a closeness I never dreamed I'd find. Heat blooms across my cheeks at the memory of offering myself to them but Asher held back and I…I need to know why.

“Last night…Asher, you didn't make love to me, even though I wanted you to. Even though I wanted all of you. Why?”

A heavy silence stretches between us as his gaze flicks between mine. “Moonbeam, I didn't—couldn't—bring myself to take more from you. Not after the unforgivable damage I caused the night I bit you without permission and took your choice away.”

His thumb traces the line of my jaw as desperate sincerity floods the bond, his pain flaring wide open between us. “That mistake haunts me. Every time I touch you,”—his voice roughens—”every time I hold you, every kiss you give me, I remember the betrayal in your eyes. Above all else, before I ever dare ask you to give yourself, I have to beg your forgiveness. Not even desire, not the most intense wanting I've ever felt, could make me risk causing you that pain again.” He cups my cheek. “I'm so sorry, Emma. Sorrier than I've ever been for anything in my life. Until I know you've completely forgiven me, until I’m certain your desire truly comes freely, I won't take advantage of your trust. Or your body. Your forgiveness means more than anything I could ever ask from you.”

Remorse, genuine and powerful, surges into me. He means every word he says, showing the truth also through actions, thoughts, emotions, and in this moment, my feelings carve new paths that only Asher can navigate. Now I understand clearly why he held himself back last night: because for him, my consent truly means everything.

Tears spill, trembling along my lashes as I lean into his palm. “You already have my forgiveness.”

He stills, gaze searching mine, thumb brushing along my cheek. “Are you sure, Emma?”

I don't hesitate, don't think. I just move.

Want to claim him now.

I surge upwards to mold my mouth to his. His emotions flare pure gold, bright and breathtaking. He groans, the sound wrenched from his chest as his lips part against mine. His strong arms tighten, pulling me flush against him, chest against chest, heart to heart.

There's no more question now, no room for doubt.

Only honesty.

Only this.

My fingers tangle into his hair, anchoring in his strength. His breath hitches. I swing my leg over his hips, lodging the hardness caged in his jeans between my thighs where I throb in the sweetest way. I press down, savoring the weight of his hands sliding down my back, tracing lightly over bare skin. His touch sparks desire through me, burning hotter and brighter.

His bond whispers fierce tenderness and possessive devotion, drowning out the shadows of my past. I deepen our kiss, drinking him in, claiming each heartbeat, each ragged breath. This alpha—my alpha—gives everything freely, withholding nothing, asking only what I'm ready to give.

And I'm ready now.

His breath is uneven. “Emma,” he murmurs against my lips, my name a prayer, a plea.

I roll my hips, grinding down on the hard length trapped between us, reveling in the way his jaw clenches, the way his grip tightens not to control, but to savor.

This is different.

Not the desperate, starved passion I shared with Soren, nor the playful, wicked heat Phoenix drew from me. This is deliberate. A claiming. My palms slide down his chest, feeling the pound of his heart beneath my touch as I work to open the button on his jeans.

“Alpha, let me see you,” I whisper.

His dark eyes never leaving mine as I rise to run my touch over the dips and rises on his chest, over his pecs and down the raised muscles of his abdomen. His skin is warm bronze and hard planes, scars mapping his history. I trace them with my fingertips, my throat tightening at the way his breath catches when I brush over the oldest-looking scar, just above his heart.

“You’re beautiful,” I say, and mean it.

His hands rise to frame my face, his thumbs sweeping over my cheekbones. “And you’re everything.”

Then I lean down, sealing my mouth to his, kissing him like I have all the time in the world. Because I do. Because he’s mine, and this moment is ours to worship, not rush.

His hands feather down to my waist, helping me rise just enough to free him from his jeans. The first brush of my fingers over his cock wrings a groan from his throat.

“Can I touch you properly?” I whisper, my fingers hovering just above the hard length of him.

Asher’s chuckle is dark, rough with need. “You never need to ask me.” His voice is a gravel-edged caress, his hands dropping from my waist to brace against the mattress, fingers digging into the sheets. “Take what you want.”

I don’t hesitate.

My fingers wrap around him, and the moment my skin meets his, his body locks. Every muscle draws tight. He’s hot silk over steel, thick and heavy in my palm, the velvety skin stretched taut over rigid arousal. A bead of moisture glistens at his tip, and without thinking, I swipe my thumb over it, spreading the salt-sweet dampness in a slow circle.

“Fuck!” The word tears from his throat, raw and shattered. His cock jerks in my grip, veins standing out along the length as his breath comes in ragged bursts.

I don’t stop.

I can’t.

The way he reacts, the way he comes apart under my touch, sends a rush of slick between my thighs, my need spiking hotter than ever. I need more. Need to taste him, to hear him groan like that again.

I lean down.

The first swipe of my tongue over his tip has his hips snapping off the bed, a guttural snarl ripping from his chest. “Omega!”

I don’t give him time to recover. My lips close around him, taking him deeper, savoring the way his thighs tremble as I hollow my cheeks. His taste floods my senses, musky and rich, uniquely alpha, uniquely Asher, and I moan around him, the vibration wringing another broken sound from his lips.

His hands fly to my hair, not pushing, not guiding. Just holding on, his fingers twisting in the strands as if he’s afraid I’ll stop. “Look at me,” he demands.

I do.

Our eyes lock as I take him deeper, my tongue pressing along the underside of his cock in slow, deliberate strokes. His gaze burns, black with need, his chest heaving as he watches me. Watches his omega claim him in the most primal way.

His thumb brushes my cheek. “Thank you, Omega. Thank you.”

He doesn’t have to thank me.

This is everything I want.

I tighten my grip around his swollen knot at the base of his cock, swirling my tongue over the head before sinking down again, losing myself in the salt-sweet taste of his skin, the way his breath shudders above me, the thick, velvety heat of him heavy on my tongue. His groans fill the room, raw and unfiltered, music to my omega soul.

His light is golden and radiant, brighter than I’ve ever felt it. His essence thrums under my skin, humming with every pulse of his cock in my mouth, every ragged breath he takes. This—his pleasure, his surrender, is everything I need.

His fingers tighten in my hair, not forcing, but pleading. “Emma—” His voice is wrecked, trembling. “I can’t hold on. Need you on my cock.”

The command sends a flood of slick gushing from my core. Need him now. I release him with one last lick, my own breath coming in shallow gasps as I rise to my knees.

Asher sits up, his hands gripping my hips, his eyes wild, possessive. “Look at me, Omega,” he orders, and I do, my fingers curling over his shoulders as he helps lower me over his cock.

The first press of his hard-as-steel dick steals my breath.

“Take me slow, Moonbeam. Fuck yourself on me. Use me however you need to,” he growls, though his jaw is locked tight, his muscles trembling with restraint.

I sink down inch by agonizing inch, my body stretching, burning as he fills me. His grip on my hips is bruising, but his eyes—his eyes are soft, watching me take him like he’s memorizing every flutter of my lashes, every hitch of my breath.

Need his knot. Need it all.

“Oh!” I sink lower, feeling that delicious stretch as the thick crown of his knot begins to press against me. My body resists for half a heartbeat before giving way, accepting him deeper with a slick, molten glide that wrings a ragged moan from my throat.

His knot stretches me perfectly, claiming me in the most primal way an alpha can. My forehead drops to his, our panting breaths mingling. His chest heaves against me, every muscle in his powerful body trembling.

“Feel that?” he rasps, his voice thick with possession and awe. His hands slide down to cup my ass, holding me flush against him as his knot pulses inside me. “That's me. All of me. Yours. Sealed inside you where I belong.”

The fullness is maddening, perfect pressure against every sensitive inch, the slight burn of the stretch sending sparks through my nerve endings. I roll my hips, and his groan vibrates through my chest where we're pressed together. The knot tugs deliciously with the movement, the sensation pulling another breathy whimper from me.

“Fuck,” Asher chokes out, his fingers digging into my hips. “You take me so good, Omega. So fucking perfect.” His praise washes over me like sunlight, the bond between us thrumming with golden satisfaction as we remain joined, knotted, complete.

His eyes are black with need, his scent smoky and thick, but his touch remains gentle, his thumbs stroking circles into my skin as I begin to rock.

It’s slow. Torturous. Perfect.

I can’t move as high as I could if I’d just taken his cock, but I move as far as I can. He throbs inside me as I grind on his abdomen. His hands roam my body, kneading my thighs, skimming my ribs, cupping my breasts but always, always returning to my hips, anchoring us together.

“You feel—” He breaks off, his head falling back as I roll my hips. “Gods, Omega, you feel like home.”

The words unravel me.

My rhythm falters, my body tightening around him as pleasure builds, slow and sweet and inevitable. Asher senses it—of course he does—his hands sliding up to tangle in my hair, tilting my face down to his.

“Come for me,” he orders, his voice a dark caress. “Let me feel you splinter apart around me.”

My climax crests, spilling through me in warm waves, my muscles fluttering around him, my cry muffled against his lips. Asher follows moments later, his hips jerking as he spills into me, his groan vibrating through my chest where we’re pressed together.

“Alpha…. Need to…claim you.” The words don't just leave my lips. They erupt from some ancient, wordless place in my soul. My voice cracks on the plea, sounding foreign to my own ears. Guttural, omega-raw, stripped down to pure instinct.

My fingers convulse against his shoulders, my entire body trembling like a bowstring pulled too tight. This isn't mere want. This is marrow-deep necessity, primal and undeniable, a wildfire in my blood that scorches away every rational thought until only one truth remains: mine.

Asher's pupils swallow his irises, those whiskey-dark eyes flaring with shocked understanding even as his scent explodes between us, smoky bourbon igniting into something richer, headier, molten gold and burning leather. His rough palms cradle my face like I’m a sacred thing. When he speaks, his voice is shattered glass and velvet, scraping low with reverence.

“Yes.” A shudder wracks his powerful frame as he bares his throat. “Gods, yes. Take what's yours, Omega. I've been yours to claim the moment I failed you.”

The last thread of restraint snaps. I surge forward, teeth finding that sacred juncture where neck meets shoulder. For one suspended heartbeat, I register the salt-sweat taste of his skin, the coppery anticipation flooding my tongue, the way his pulse thrums against my lips.

Then I bite down.

Hard.

The world detonates.

His essence—pure alpha, pure Asher—floods my mouth in a torrent, searing through me like liquid sunlight. It's warmth and protection and homecoming, the bond between us blazing to life. Every nerve sparks to life as his energy pours into me. Rewriting me at the cellular level, fusing our souls with light that sears away every false bond until only us—only this—remains.

The mark on my own neck burns in sympathetic resonance, our bond weaving tighter, deeper, permanent.

“Emma!” His broken cry is my name as prayer, as benediction. He arches beneath me, his body surrendering completely to my claim. Some distant part of me registers the hot spill of his release inside me again, but it's drowned by the all-consuming rightness of our bond singing in perfect harmony at last.

We collapse together gasping, the air between us thick with the mingled scents of honeysuckle and whiskey, storm and smoke. Inseparable now. His arms lock around me with desperate strength, his lips moving soundlessly against my hair as our bond thrums between us, bright and unbreakable.

Mine.

Yours.

Ours.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Emma

Three days pass, wrapped in warmth and comfort. Three days since I claimed Asher, since I sank my teeth into his skin and broke the chains that tethered me to Pack Carmichael. My mind still struggles to believe how his bond burned them away, leaving only golden peace and alphas who desire my heart, not my submission.

Joy radiates from Asher, constant and vivid, filtering into my heart like warm molasses. Through him, whispers of Phoenix and Soren drift across our tangled bonds, their desire quietly clear.

They long for their claiming, their turn beneath my teeth, their bonds woven deeply with mine. But I wait, even though the sharp, hopeful anticipation from both men pierces softly into my heart. They deserve moments equally sacred, equally right.

Not yet.

A tension snakes through our days and nights, beneath every moment of laughter. We feel it, waiting, vivid as an unspoken warning. Until we find answers, danger shadows us constantly. The commissioner has put more pressure on them. Maybe because of that, they never leave me alone. Never move far from my side.

Phoenix and I comb the beach together, warm salt-spray clinging to my skin, laughing as waves bring new treasures to add to my jar. Soren invites me into the kitchen each night, quiet smiles and gentle encouragement as we prepare dinner. He shows me spices I’ve never seen and teaches me how to chop vegetables in precise shapes. And Asher watches over me, quiet yet aware, his warm, possessive gaze lingering.

Together we cook, walk, laugh.

They pull out board games at night, inviting me deeper into their lives. Stories unfurl, room by room, opening doors into themselves they want me to know. Phoenix embellishes tales of their early days when they’d just formed their pack, despite corrections from Soren. As each hour unfolds, warmth seeps into my bones, seamless ease flowing between us.

Their gentle touches no longer provoke fear. Instead, I ache for them. I crave the brush of fingers on my waist, palms gliding down my back, lingering lips grazing the tender skin of my neck.

We make love daily, freely and sweetly.

I learn the taste of their mouths, the shape of their bodies beneath my palms, their whispered praises hot against my skin. But even as we unite each day, an unsettling awareness hovers at the edge of my consciousness. Despite my thickening scent, I've had no heat signs. Even bonding Asher didn't unleash my dormant heat. Everything has simply…gone away.

I'm a ticking time bomb, uncertain and dangerous.

Perhaps more unsettling, though, is what still lies unspoken. They opened themselves completely, giving me their histories, their laughter, their vulnerabilities. Yet I've remained silent, hoarding memories too dark to share.

They feel my closed doors. My walls. Yet none of them push or rush me. They want my healing, not my pain, and each moment spent in their warmth and patience helps me understand exactly what being scent-matched means.

This emotional tangle, feeling safe yet fragile, wholeheartedly loved yet cautiously guarded, is both exhilarating and terrifying but each day strengthens our bonds, shapes foundations of trust, and knits us ever tighter despite the dark clouds hanging over our heads.

Now I know how much I will lose if Pack Carmichael steal me back.

I don’t think I’d survive it.

I step into the kitchen, my skin still carrying the warmth of sunshine and ocean spray from a walk with Phoenix. The salt-tinged joy fades at the low urgent tone of Asher’s voice as he leans against the island bench with one of our untraceable phones to his ear. I freeze mid-step as Asher’s body goes rigid. His fingers tighten on the phone, tension coiling through his broad shoulders.

“Adrian, slow down.” Asher glances up and meets my eyes, a shadow passing over his expression before he schools his features. “We’re all here now. Might as well tell us once.”

He places the phone on the granite countertop and turns on speaker. I edge closer, my pulse racing, nerves winding tight around my spine, knowing that nothing good is going to come of this conversation.

“I’m sorry to deliver news like this, but Carl Jones's body was pulled out of the Mercy River early this morning,” Adrian says. “Estimated time of death is two days ago.”

I brace against the countertop, my fingers gripping the hard, cool edge until they ache from the pressure. Asher places a steadying palm on my chilled body.

“But that's just the beginning. Cole's already hacked into the backend of their police investigation report… your names are listed right at the top of their current suspect pool.”

Phoenix curses. “We left him alive back at the compound. Unconscious, but definitely breathing.”

My alphas left him there on the kitchen floor after Phoenix took his phone.

His phone.

My breath catches. Could he have been killed because of us? Because Phoenix found evidence that first revealed the existence of Alpha1465?

“Adrian, is there mention of evidence? Anything concrete?” Asher asks, bringing me back to the moment I wish wasn’t happening.

Adrian exhales heavily. “The report is vague about specifics. It mentions eyewitness accounts placing you at the scene. A match with your fingerprints, but anyone with half a brain knows that’s where you were stationed and that you were ambushed. The report is thin and calculated but just enough to aim suspicion right at you. Right at Emma, too.”

“Me?”

“Relax Butterfly. Anyone would be insane to think you could render a fully grown male unconscious. This is obviously fabricated, and we’re being framed,” Soren says.

“Stay alert out there. We'll keep digging and let you know if we find anything more.” Adrian cuts the call, leaving the kitchen heavy with silence saturated by dread. I lean into Asher, letting his strength ground me as his arms wrap protectively around me. Yet, for the first time since we arrived here, even the safety and heat of his embrace can't fully erase the net closing in around us. Something shifts in my peripheral vision, snagging my attention on Soren’s open laptop.

The screen displays footage of three figures I know intimately. They are lounging on deep, leather sofa chairs in a room I saw only once on that horrible day my alphas dragged me, starved and delirious with fear, from the basement. Matthew. Derek. James.

My stomach lurches and everything around me fades to icy static as my eyes lock on the screen. I'm embraced by crisp sandalwood as Soren turns my face gently but firmly away from the view. He pushes my nose against his neck, guiding me straight to his scent gland, filling my senses with clean, calming reassurance that cuts straight through the fear.

“I'm sorry, Emma. I should have warned you I was monitoring them.” His hand curls protectively around my head, holding me carefully.

My tremors slow, warmth seeping into my bones as two more bodies cage me between them. Phoenix's coffee weaves seamlessly into Asher's rich leather. Low purrs vibrate against my skin, steady rhythms grounding me. Their touches push away the cold clawing tendrils of memory, bringing me back to the present and grounding me fully in their warmth.

I draw a deep breath. Their scents, their steady heartbeats, soothe the edges of panic, reminding me that the Carmichaels' bitter, frayed bonds no longer own space inside me.

Their insistence on taking me back doesn't make sense, and now this. “Why won't they let me go? Why do they want me so badly? What good am I to them now? Why don't they just give up?”

Violent emotion ripples through our bonds as silence clings to them, heavy and uneasy. The answer comes to me slowly, knowledge dark and ugly clicking into place.

“They think I know something incriminating about them,” I whisper, swallowing hard. “I do. They bought me at an auction. Kept me captive. Abused me for years. That's more than enough evidence against them.”

“It should be.” Quiet anger bleeds heavily into Asher’s voice. He lifts a gentle palm, cupping my cheek carefully, despite the harshness of his words. “But your word as an omega won't count if it goes to court. They'll twist it, invalidate you, dismiss the evidence outright. To be so persistent they must believe you have something more concrete. Something that would actually destroy them.”

Helplessness creeps back through me, frustration bubbling beneath my skin. I search their serious gazes, pleading silently for clarity.

Soren brushes his fingers through my hair. “There has to be something else you know, Emma. Something hidden, something powerful enough they're willing to destroy us all to silence you.”

I close my eyes, their quiet certainty pressing heavily into my heart. Searching my memories is overwhelming, painful scraps of darkness scattered among false tenderness. What could a chained omega hidden in darkness for years know that would threaten alphas so much that they're prepared to go to war for my silence?

“I'm sorry. I just don't know,” I say.

Phoenix's palm slides slowly down my arm, fingers slipping through mine, threading our hands together. “Not yet, Tough Girl. But we'll help you find it. Whatever you're holding will end this for good.”

Even shaking my head, something deep inside whispers that whatever secret I've kept unknowingly hidden, someone very powerful is afraid of it getting out. Whatever it may be, it's hidden inside shadows. But I’m not alone anymore. I have my scent-matched mates supporting me and with their strength, I'll finally uncover what they're so desperate to hide.

I take a steeling breath, knowing how fully I’m going to have to bare my soul. “I’ll tell you everything about me. I’ll tell you everything you need to know. If I don’t see something there, then perhaps you will.”

Asher's voice is a deep, soothing rumble. “Emma, you don't owe us anything you're not ready to give. You don't have to relive anything uncomfortable. We'll find other ways to get answers.”

His protectiveness warms my heart from the inside out, but it isn't fair. How can I rely on their strength, on promises they keep giving freely, yet shelter myself away from truths they desperately need?

“This is mine to share. Mine to face. You all deserve to know about me, especially now that…” My voice ends on a soft whisper, my cheeks warming, fragile but certain. “Especially now that I'm falling in love with all of you.”

A breath of stunned silence stretches between us. Asher freezes, eyes widening. Even Soren holds still. Before I can second-guess the overwhelming truth I just voiced, Phoenix leaps forward with a whoop of delighted laughter, radiant joy lighting his handsome face.

“You said it! You seriously said you're falling in love with us!” He sweeps me into his arms, spinning me around in dizzying circles.

I can't help smiling, the world twirling as I clutch his shoulders. Phoenix sets me down gently and cups my face in warm hands. His kiss is bright, joyful, breathtaking in its excitement. “Damn right, Tough Girl. You're ours!”

Before I catch my breath, gentle hands turn me. Then Soren is there, his steady gaze shimmering. He cups the back of my head, tilting my face upwards, his mouth claiming mine in a kiss as deep and certain as morning sunlight. “You're everything, Butterfly,” he whispers against my lips. “Always.”

Asher’s kiss is searing. His fierce intensity sizzles under the tenderness in his touch. My body melts beneath the heat, craving him, needing him desperately. When he finally ends the kiss, resting his forehead to mine, my heart pounds wildly.

I must do this. I have to face my deepest fears now because whatever it is I can’t remember affects them. “I need you to know. About what they did to me and everything I've buried. If they want me this much, perhaps the four of us can work it out.”

Asher studies me, then nods, accepting. “All right, Moonbeam. But if you feel uneasy about anything, we’ll stop. We won’t make you say anything you don’t want to.”

I know they won’t, which is all the more reason I need them to know. Asher scoops me into his arms, carrying me to the sofa and settling me on his lap, arranging me close to his heartbeat. His warmth and solid strength seep into me like an anchor, calming my nerves like the best kind of drug. Phoenix and Soren settle beside us, each one gently holding, touching, grounding me, as I pull in a deep breath and start to talk.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Emma

My voice trembles at first as I reach into memories I locked away because I didn’t want to tarnish them in the filth of that basement. Doing that would have broken me more, but bringing them out, as hard as it is now, is better than keeping them locked away.

I lean into the strength of Asher's chest, soaking in the quiet patience radiating from Phoenix and Soren. “My childhood was happy. My parents were both betas. Ordinary, loving parents who never expected their daughter to present as an omega. We lived in a small house on the edge of town, close enough that I could walk to school, but far enough away that we had fields behind our back garden. My room had large windows that looked out onto those fields.”

I pause as the memories rise behind my eyelids.

“I loved those windows. At bedtime, I'd beg Dad to lift me onto his shoulders so I could see over the hedges at the edge of the yard. He'd tuck me against him, tall and safe, and he'd say, 'Tell me what stars you can see tonight, Emma.' And we'd stay out there counting stars until Mom had to come out and scold him for keeping me awake.”

Asher brushes the hair back from my face, his thumb warm and gentle along my temple. “It sounds beautiful.”

I nod, the ache in my chest growing heavy.

“When I presented as an omega at sixteen, it felt like the ground tilted beneath me. Everything became uncertain.” A shiver runs down my spine at the memory. “I was terrified. Suddenly, there were all these new laws applying to me, rules to follow that neither of my parents fully understood. All we knew was that presenting meant I had special requirements, special needs. The law demanded I attend The Haven Institute, which claimed to be the best place for omegas like me.”

Soren frowns, fingers brushing along my arm in quiet reassurance. “I’m sure that was a different kind of scary. All I can say is that it’s stopped with Sylvia Mercer’s death. No new omegas have to go through that again.”

Thank the gods something good has happened from this mess and I know my alphas are—were—at the center of enforcing the positive change.

A sad laugh slips from my lips. “I cried for days at night, quietly, so my parents wouldn't hear. But they believed they were doing the right thing. Even though they knew how upset I was, and even though I sensed they couldn't afford the tuition, they assured me everything would work out. They said Haven would give me a better life.”

I pause, swallowing hard. Silence fills the room. When I speak again, my voice is hollow, shaking with suppressed horror.

“I’d only been registered for three days and was still at the normal beta school so I could say goodbye to my friends, when the principal came to my Math class. She took me to her office where guards from The Haven Institute had already arrived. She told me my parents had died in a car accident and that, given I had no other family, I was to be taken to Haven immediately because it was the best place for me.” I shudder, pressing deeper into Asher's protective embrace because that was the farthest thing from the truth.

Phoenix draws a sharp breath. Soren's jaw flexes, his grip around my hand. Deep-seated anger floods our bond, hot and fierce. I lift my head, searching Asher’s dark eyes, seeing the untamed fury burning. “Asher? Why are you feeling like that?”

He hesitates, clearly reluctant to burden me with more pain. “Emma, there's something else you need to know. There's a connection between you and Mira. Her parents also died in an accident, just like yours.”

I nod. “Yes. Mira and I spoke about that. Our shared grief was one of the things we first bonded over. It felt impossible that we'd both lost our families the same way.”

“It's deeper than that. Both wrecks were officially attributed to brake failure under identical circumstances. We think—” he hesitates again, clearly unwilling to hurt me, yet determined for honesty, “—we thought the accidents were deliberate, and now with the same signature turning up on our warrants, it’s more than likely.”

My heart thrashes painfully against my ribs. “Are you saying my parents might have been murdered?”

“I’m so sorry, Moonbeam,” Asher says.

His words shatter something fragile inside me. Tears spill down my cheeks, the sudden grief raw and overwhelming. “They were just good, ordinary people. They didn't do anything wrong. They didn't deserve…if I hadn’t presented as omega they’d still be alive!”

Phoenix wipes away my tears, his thumb brushing tenderly over my cheekbones. “Emma, none of this is their fault or yours.”

I hear the truth in his words as determination pulses through me. It takes tremendous effort to steady myself again, but beneath crushing grief, fierce determination builds slowly. I understand this pain and these ugly truths won't go away if I close my eyes and hope. No matter how horrifying, these memories can't claim me anymore. I'm tired of silent fear.

I push forward, my voice quiet but steady, pulling painful scraps of memory from the dark depths of my heart. “The Haven Institute isn’t what they say it is. At least not to orphaned omegas. That place is a nightmare. At least it is to those taken to the Basement.”

Not every omega disappeared into the Basement, never to be seen again. Before they dragged me below, I saw the difference money made. The wealthy omegas flourished upstairs—catered to, shielded, given every comfort their parents could buy. Even those from average families had choices: smaller dorms, simpler meals, fewer outings. Not luxury, but never cruelty. The real abuse was reserved for girls like me—the ones with nothing, no one. We were the invisible ones, sold off to cover our so-called ‘fees.’ Mercer and Hardwick needed a mask for what they were really doing, and some got to play along on the surface while the rest of us paid their price.

“What did they do to you, Emma?” Soren asks, his voice steadying and gentle.

Drawing a shaky breath, I begin describing incidents I've never spoken aloud to anyone, apart from the omegas trapped with me. “We were alone. Isolated. Given no beds, just a thin mattress on the concrete floor. They gave us one blanket each, and it was always cold. Sometimes, it was so cold I couldn’t feel my limbs.”

I grow lost momentarily in the chill of memory, the heavy weight of misery dragging at my bones. The constant, gnawing hunger that hurt so much. “I was desperate for something comforting, something instinctual. So once—just once—I tried folding my blanket, shaping it into a small, pathetic nest on the mattress.” My cheeks burn with deeper shame, my voice lowering. “Hugo found me.”

Asher growls, deep and low in his chest, but my words won't stop. They pour out of me, flooding past the gate now that it’s been cracked open. “He was furious. Stripped me naked, dragged me to the industrial freezer. He poured a bucket of cold water over me—then—then he made me—present for him.” My voice breaks with shame, humiliation choking in my throat. “He used his alpha bark to force me, even though I fought it, even though it tore something apart deep inside me.”

Asher’s arms tighten around me. Phoenix curses under his breath. Soren’s fisted knuckles whiten, yet his expression remains supportive.

“I worked for hours. Fed scraps barely enough to survive. I spent every minute trapped in fear, never knowing what they'd do next, how they'd punish me for whatever infraction they thought I’d made.” My voice shakes, but anger ignites beneath the feelings of shame—strengthening my resolve because this is something they do need to know. “Sylvia Mercer and Evelyn Hardwick oversaw everything. They ordered our ‘training’. Watched Hugo and Lars enjoy whatever cruelty Sylvia and Evelyn demanded.”

Silence falls between us, the raw weight of what I've shared settling deep. But even in my worst memories, I feel the bonds around me tighter than ever. I lift my gaze slowly, ready to find revulsion in their eyes. Instead, in my alphas' steady faces, there's sorrow and fury and gentle pride for the bravery I've shown in the telling.

“It wasn't all darkness. Because that basement is also where I found Mira and Leah. Without them, I wouldn't have survived.” My voice tightens. “We bonded, the three of us, fast and deep, because we were the only light any of us had. We shared food when there wasn't enough. We whispered stories late at night, reminding each other who we were, dreaming about what our lives might be beyond those walls. Without Mira and Leah, I'm sure my spirit would've broken entirely.”

I pause, throat closing, before I force myself to continue. “There were others too. Other omegas who were taken and never brought back.” My voice trails off. “We all suffered the same. They groomed and broke us to make us ready to sell at auction for our first heats, so we could be force-bonded to alphas rich enough to buy us. We were nothing but merchandise. Broken omega husks they could do with whatever they wanted. Hugo and Lars weren’t subtle about it, either. The threat of our futures was their running joke.”

My heart speeds up at one particular memory, sharp as the night it happened. “Mira, Leah and I planned our escape. We waited for the perfect opportunity. Finally, impossibly, the chance came. One slip in security was all it took and suddenly we were out of those doors and running.”

My breath catches as cold dread turns in my stomach. “We ran into the forest, the darkness so heavy I couldn't see ten steps ahead. I felt hope for the first time in years. But it didn't last. They set hunting dogs after us. As the barking got closer, I panicked. I told Mira and Leah we had to split up.”

Guilt tears through me, a fresh wound re-spilling the grief that has never healed. “It was my fault. My idea. I was sure that splitting up would confuse them, make it harder to find us all. But now… I don't know if I was right or wrong. And that was the last time I saw my best friends, both of them sprinting away into the shadows.”

Asher’s lips brush against my temple, his arms tightening around me as though he’s trying to absorb my pain. “You’re doing so well, Emma.”

“Ten minutes of freedom. That’s all I had before the dogs caught me. Hugo and Lars dragged me back and locked me in a room. That night Pack Carmichael bought me.” My voice lowers. “When I was there in that cage, with all those alphas leering at me…Hardwick injected me with an accelerant to force my heat.”

I feel sick, thinking of that night again. The terror. The shame. The confusion.

“Water. You need water.” Phoenix gets up and walks into the kitchen. As he moves to the sink my gaze locks through the doorway onto Soren’s laptop still open on the kitchen table, and the huge silver-haired alpha now sitting on Pack Carmichaels’ luxurious lounge with a frail omega on his hands and knees on the end of a fucking dog leash.

I point to the screen, horror rising in my throat, catching the words I want desperately to speak, but instead the memory I locked down the tightest bursts free.

I'm cold and naked, curled in the middle of a cage, steel pressing into my palms. I jerk backward, panic flooding me as a needle jabs into me and iced liquid stings under my skin. Evelyn Hardwick's souless eyes hold mine, gleaming with satisfaction as she removes the syringe.

“At last you'll be of use now,” she whispers, that horrible smile crawling across her lips.

Heat races through my veins, bitter and wrong. My skin prickles, burning too fast. Nausea swirls in my gut, vision sliding in and out of focus as sweat drips into my eyes.

Movement flutters around me, shadowy shapes crowding closer. My heart slams against my ribs as countless alpha gazes rake over my body. Hands brush their crotches, their intentions clear and threatening as bitter honey rises from me.

A hulking alpha pushes forward from the silhouettes—tall, broad-shouldered, his silver hair gleaming. He pulls a thin, sickly-looking male omega behind him on a dog lead. The omega’s fragile bones strain beneath bruised and scarred skin. His wild eyes dart around, body curling inward, mouth moving in frantic mutters as he rocks on the floor.

He’s so close I hear what he says.

“One, four, six, five. One, four, six, five…” Over and over and over.

Evelyn Hardwick moves to stand next to the alpha. The omega cowers, putting his hands over his head to protect himself. The air is tinted with his muffled words as he shakes from head to toe. “One, oh, three, seven.”

The silver-haired alpha growls, his lips twisting. He yanks the lead, and the poor omega collapses, dazed, pulling into himself.

“Shut up, mongrel.” The alpha tightens the chain hard enough to choke the poor male before turning toward me.

The silver-haired alpha’s eyes rake over me, his expression calculating and excited. “You're going to make me very, very good money tonight, Omega.”

I retch and a bucket is thrust under my mouth as I lose the contents of my stomach. I heave until I’m drained, sweaty and panting from the force of vomiting. I blink up into Asher’s eyes, as Phoenix takes the bucket away. Soren appears with a warm washcloth. He wipes my face before Phoenix hands me a glass of water.

I’m here.

I’m not in that cage.

That night happened years ago.

It can’t happen again.

The memory can’t hurt me anymore.

The memory releases, allowing me back into the safety of the present—shaking and trembling, shuddering in Asher’s strong grip. My prime alpha peers down at me, brows knitted either side of a deep groove in his forehead. “What happened, Moonbeam?”

My lips move but I can’t seem to make a sound.

“Emma?” Phoenix whispers.

“Just breathe, Emma. One breath in. Release slowly out.” Soren gently rubs my back. Both of them murmur soft, grounding words, clearly trying to draw me back from the horror.

I do as Soren says and the vice around my chest eases. “I'm sorry—I should've remembered—I just…”

I never thought I could forget a single moment from that terrible night, but the mind does strange things to survive. Layer by layer, my subconscious had buried my memories, driving them deeper beneath dense folds of pain and trauma. No one at that auction had openly called him Alpha1465. There had been whispers, ragged numbers muttered desperately from the broken omega who knelt, hollow-eyed, at his alpha's feet. I'd heard them, I realize now. Heard and buried them beneath a haze of terror, the burning agony of heat accelerants stealing clarity from my brain and pushing me past the brink of comprehension. Only when I saw that same omega again—shattered, empty—kneeling beside the silver-haired alpha’s polished shoes, did those whispered numbers resurface, slicing through the layers of my mind with merciless clarity.

Asher tips my chin upward, his gaze trained on me. “It's okay, Emma. You're safe. Just tell us.” His voice is strained. He’s trying to hide his worry. Nausea rises again, but this time I fight it down.

“The big alpha, the one in Pack Carmichaels’ living room right now, is Alpha1465.”

The words fly out of my mouth and do their job. They swing around to view the screen. Asher freezes, every muscle locking rigid around me. Phoenix’s breath hisses between his teeth. Soren stands and stalks over to the laptop, muscles vibrating with tension. Time suspends for one tight, endless moment before Asher runs a hand through his hair. “Alpha1465 is the fucking commissioner.”

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Emma

“You can connect Pack Carmichael to the commissioner. It explains why they want you so badly,” Phoenix says, landing a gaze on me that turns liquid. “Why things have escalated. And why they’ll never stop coming for you.”

This is the knowledge I had without knowing it. Frigid dread fills my veins because the commissioner of the entire police force has too much to lose for me to be free.

“Quickly. Turn up the audio,” Asher barks, the quiet urgency of his command slicing through our stunned silence.

Soren darts to the laptop, fingers flying over the keys. We all surge closer around him, pulling together, as our eyes lock on the screen.

My heartbeat thunders in my chest, each echo reverberating through my ribs, pulse roaring in my ears as dread pools sick and heavy in my stomach. Phoenix stiffens beside me, his muscular frame tightening like a coil ready to snap, the deep lines in his jaw ticking. Asher grips me tightly, fingers splayed around my waist, holding me securely in his unyielding strength.

They have me.

Soren adjusts the audio controls, his breath coming out slow and steady, eyes intense and focused, and then voices emerge from the computer’s speakers loud and clear.

I cringe at Matthew’s familiar rasp. “You promised we'd be safe, Axel. You said you'd have her back under control by now. Yet here we are, still waiting for merchandise we paid a lot of money for.”

“Enough money to ensure your loyalty.” James’s voice dips low.

The commissioner gives them a cool smile. “Calm the fuck down. I’ll handle Pack Mitchell myself. My best agents are tracking them as we speak.”

James scoffs. “You've been saying that, and yet they remain ghosts. They’re the best you have, and they got away with our omega.”

The commissioner’s face shadows. “It's only a matter of time. She will be found, and when that happens, she'll be disposed of immediately.”

Matthew stabs a finger at the commissioner. “If by ‘disposed of’ you mean that bitch is hitching a one-way ride to the bottom of the ocean, you’d better pray those alphas give her up soon. She knows too much for her own good about you and us. It’s only a matter of time before she lets something slip and I won’t be taken down by any fucking omega.”

“I also want a replacement. If you have no intentions of returning her, our pack’s needs haven’t been met since she was stolen from us and my balls are throbbing for omega pussy,” Derek snarls.

Nausea rises sharply, bitter and sour. I clutch Asher's forearm, fighting to quell the sickness inside me. They are so brutally indifferent. After everything they've done to me, they don't see me as human, not even slightly. I'm nothing. Less than nothing. Only a body stripped of any value except what they decide to take. I know this. It’s the very thing that has haunted me, but hearing their blatant disregard, their absolute lack of compassion out loud, strikes a fresh blow.

Asher growls deep in his chest, the rumble vibrating against my back. My alphas cluster around me, wrapping me in protective warmth.

“They will fucking pay,” Soren mutters

“Amen to that, brother.” Phoenix cracks his knuckles, restless anger easy to read in every tense line of his muscular frame.

Their scents rise around me, blending and weaving together into a perfect symphony. The alchemy of their combined presence pours through me, spilling into every broken place inside my chest, gently smoothing each shattered edge of fear and shame. I breathe them in, letting their strength sink deep, soothing the rawness of my wounds, filling every fractured corner of my soul with quiet, golden warmth. Like the Kintsugi pottery Phoenix told me about, my alphas’ presence knits my fractured pieces back together, transforming something once damaged into something new, beautiful, resilient. With every steady breath, my pain softens, changing shape until all that remains is a deep, comforting sense of safety that wraps around my heart.

Complete relief.

Whispered muttering sounds through the speakers, an almost silent raspy voice uttering a series of numbers over and over again. The commissioner shifts on the couch and the same poor male omega I’d seen at my auction at his feet is shoved against his massive thighs, clawing at the chain around his neck. “Shut up, mongrel. I told you to be silent.” He returns his attention to Pack Carmichael. “And I told you to fucking relax. No one will find out anything and if she does slip up, who the fuck believes an omega anyway? In the interest of good customer relationships, I'll arrange a replacement for you. Someone convenient, trained just as well as your runaway—perhaps better. In fact, I do know an omega who will suit. She’s outrun her current usefulness, but she still has holes to fuck. She also happens to be your last omega’s friend. Consider her an upgrade.”

Rising dread snakes around my spine, sickening and bitter in my gut. Another omega? Someone I knew—someone already drawn through the torturous hell of the Basement? Mira and Leah were my only true friends there. Unless…

My mind goes straight to Leah, but the horror of that thought is too much. He couldn’t possibly mean her. Please gods, let it not be her. Perhaps he means one of the other omegas who suffered. Who came and went as I never saw again.

My mind races, frantically searching for the memory of hidden faces lost in the shadows. I can’t pinpoint who the replacement might be.

Matthew's irritated voice sounds through the speakers. “We’ll need her soon. And we won't be paying. Consider this one an apology. You owe us.”

The commissioner sighs. “Fine. In that case, I won’t run her through the auctions. The transfer can be made privately. You’ll take Leah at the Aegis Gala in five days.”

Oh my gods. He did mean Leah.

Not Leah…not gentle Leah…please, gods, no.

The commissioner stands and the leash goes taut. He frowns at the choking omega as though he’s only just noticed the poor male can’t breathe. He releases the leash with an annoyed flick of his hand. The omega collapses to the floor. His chest heaves as he draws in big, panting breaths, tears running down his cheeks. “We’ll finalize the details there. Come on, mongrel. Time to go.”

The commissioner starts to walk with disregard for the omega, who frantically tries to keep up. Time stops completely for me, everything freezing in gut-wrenching horror. Leah’s name echoes in my head, drowning out their venomous voices, engulfing me in sudden, overwhelming grief.

They're planning on giving Leah to those arrogant, callous monsters. My sweet and gentle friend, whose laughter once lit up the dim, dark rooms meant to break us.

Leah, whose hope kept Mira and myself alive.

The truth tears an awful, shattered hole straight through my healing heart.

My knees buckle, strength bleeding from my limbs. Asher catches me, steadying me while guiding me into the chair behind us. I collapse into the seat, my breath shallow, fast, panicked. His large hand cups my shoulder, anchoring me in calm reassurance even as my pulse races.

The commissioner strides from Pack Carmichaels’ living room, leaving behind tense silence.

James is first to speak. “We can't trust him. We're taking too much heat over this lately.”

“Axel Turns might say he's on our side for now, but when shit falls apart, he won’t hesitate to toss us out as scapegoats. He needs a pack to take the heat he’s been attracting with this mess and it’s not going to be us,” Matthew says.

Derek begins to pace. “Then we leave. As soon as we have our new omega secured, we disappear.” His voice lowers even further. “We leave nothing behind so nobody will track us down. We settle somewhere new, far from the reaches of law enforcement or the commissioner's fucking reach.”

“Agreed. Another state. Hells, another country. Some place no one will take this omega from us. We only have five days to organize everything. Let's not waste a moment,” Matthew says.

The three alphas rise, their movements hurried as they exit the living room. I’m left with the thunder of my heartbeat in my ears. The four of us stare at the empty living room on the screen as we grapple with what we just saw.

“Please tell me you recorded that entire conversation,” Asher finally rasps.

“Every word.” Soren’s fingers move over the keyboard, securing the recording.

Phoenix scrubs a hand roughly over his jaw, frustration tightening his voice. “We’ve got him. We’ve finally got him.”

Asher's palms flatten onto the kitchen table, knuckles whitening as he leans forward. “This evidence still isn't enough on its own. A single recording won't bring down a man as powerful as Axel Turns.”

Soren frowns, frustration heavy in his reply. “What else can we do? How much more concrete can our proof get than a confession directly from Alpha1465 himself?”

Asher shakes his head. “He can spin words. Claim coercion or doctored footage. Our proof against him must be airtight. We have to eliminate every doubt, every shadow of uncertainty. To truly take down the commissioner, we have to catch him red-handed, right in the middle of the act.”

Phoenix straightens. “Then we get him at the gala. Right there, in the act of handing Leah off to Pack Carmichael.”

“It could work.” Soren rubs a hand over his clenched jaw. “But the logistics and timing have so many moving parts. So many unpredictable factors. The gala is public, high profile. The commissioner might think he’s protected, that no one would dare confront him there, but we can use that arrogance against him.”

“Exactly. We catch him with his guard down, with Leah clearly being traded to the Carmichaels. We strip away every possible excuse, every denial. We leave nothing to doubt,” Asher growls.

“Leah—gods, I can’t bear to imagine what she’s been through—what she's facing right now,” I say. What that poor male omega is also going through. He’s the devil’s omega and has been for years.

Asher wipes away fresh tears from my cheeks. “We’ll save her, Emma. But if we’re going to do this, we can’t do it alone. We have allies. Alphas we all trust.”

“Pack Blackwood won't hesitate to help us. Saving Leah is as personal to them as it is to us,” Phoenix says.

He’s right. This is personal—deeply so. For Adrian, Cole, and Zane, this is about Mira. For my alphas, it’s about me. About protecting one small, fragile omega who thought the world had long forgotten her, but the truth is, these extraordinary alphas would have stepped forward for Leah anyway. They'd rescue any omega at risk, because they're not like the alphas we've been subjected to before. Not cruel, indifferent, or selfish. These alphas cherish instead of hurt, protect instead of dominate, and carry strength deeply rooted in kindness.

The heavy fear around my heart loosens, releasing knots of old pain and guilt. Leah won’t be alone in this fight. They surround me completely, a careful web of strength and endless devotion woven in their every quiet gesture, whispered word, and fierce promise.

Anxiety twists painfully in my chest. There are too many unknowns, too many ways this could go wrong, but despite that, I know they’re right. Without absolute, undeniable proof, someone as powerful as Commissioner Axel Turns will slip through every net we try to cast.

He'll walk free.

They'll all walk free.

And Leah will be lost forever.

The next several hours pass in a tense blur of intense planning and calls to Pack Blackwood. They didn’t even have to think before agreeing to help us. My alphas move like the choreographed team they are. Phoenix paces as he brainstorms details, Soren taps at his keyboard, narrowing logistics and timing, and Asher coordinates communications with Adrian, Cole, and Zane.

The courage in their voices calms, even as the high-stakes, intricate web of our plan sends anxiety crawling beneath my skin. No matter how prepared these three powerful alphas are, I know they feel the gnawing, relentless knowledge that a single mistake could shatter the only chance we have.

Adrian assures Asher he'll deploy his elite security team—Pack Hawthorne—to keep tabs on the commissioner and Pack Carmichaels’ whereabouts, and to also be at the gala, adding their considerable strength to our own.

That makes nine devoted, formidable, and determined alphas to help rescue Leah. Yet, despite their combined abilities and reputation, fear whispers beneath my optimism. Even with Pack Hawthorne’s strength behind us, there's no predicting how many others at the gala will be working against us. Hidden threats we can’t plan for. Worry still gathers in my own chest, my own personal storm cloud.

I lift my head, determination threading through my fear. “We need to talk to the commissioner's omega. The male on the…dog leash. He said other numbers too, on that day at my auction. When I heard 'one four six five,' he muttered something else.” My eyes widen with the memory, and I grip Asher’s arm tightly. “He said ‘one zero five seven’. If one four six five is the commissioner, then maybe the other is equally important.”

Asher’s gaze locks onto mine and swings to Phoenix and Soren. “Did any of you catch a clear image of this omega in the footage? Can anyone recognize him?”

Soren brings up a section of the video and enlarges a still of the omega’s face. The footage clears slowly, sharpened by whatever tech-magic he's using, and a gaunt, hollow-cheeked face stares back from the screen, empty eyes shadowed beneath bruised skin.

My chest tightens. He's so utterly frail, skin stretched taut over sunken cheekbones, those mismatched eyes empty and shattered beneath heavy lines of trauma. My breath becomes shallow, aching in my chest as I look at him, my fingers stiffening against Asher's arm. Whoever this omega is, he's been broken down to almost nothing, a shadow of what he once must have been.

Asher goes rigid. Phoenix curses, disbelief in his voice. They shift closer to the screen, absolute shock rippling through our bond.

“Holy Gods,” Phoenix whispers, horror etched across his features, “That's Aubrey—Pack Turns' omega! He looks completely different. I…I didn’t recognize him!”

“How could we not have recognized him?” Asher rasps.

“Whatever the commissioner has done to Aubrey, it's monstrous. He's less than half the omega he once was.” Soren drags a hand over his face.

Aubrey. At least now I know his name. I also know only too well how that level of abuse hollows out a soul. The vacant, hopeless stare on his sunken features fills me with painful understanding. Aubrey is broken, traumatized beyond imagining. I swallow hard, tears pricking behind my eyes.

“We rescue Aubrey too, then. Not just for the information he might hold but because no omega deserves that,” Asher says, his voice hoarse.

Something inside me loosens, the tightest knot of tension easing at their immediate trust. Yet anxiety still lingers. I clutch Asher’s hand, as nervy dread coils inside. “I'm so scared. What if none of this works? Something could change. Anything could stop them from bringing Leah to that gala.”

Asher cups my face, his thumb stroking soothing warmth along my cheekbone. “Then we keep trying. If something changes, we’ll make sure we’re on top of it. We will get her back and we will take down the commissioner.”

I release a shaky, grateful breath, and squeeze his fingers. “Thank you…for everything you're doing. For Leah, for all of us.”

His dark eyes grow more intense. “Emma, there’s nothing we wouldn't do for any omega who needs our help. But especially you. We're yours, completely at your command.”

Warmth blossoms beneath my ribs as truth resonates between us. My voice shakes as I whisper. “Then I command some anxiety relief, Alpha.”

“As you wish, Omega.” Asher's mouth tips into a quiet, soft smile. He dips his head, claiming my lips in a warm, tender kiss that sinks into my bones.

For one precious, perfect moment I lose myself, breathing in his strength, because despite all the danger ahead, I trust these alphas—my mates—with my life and with my heart.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Emma

The next day passes in a flurry of activity, contingency plans layered over even more contingency plans until my head spins. I linger quietly nearby as my alphas strategize. Their determination is unwavering, but each moment’s calculation presses tension deeper into our bones. Through it all, Asher’s bond hums steadily in my chest, delicious and comforting, but I find myself craving more. I ache for Soren and Phoenix’s claims, longing to belong just as fiercely and completely to them both as I do to Asher. But between planning, fear, and endless tasks, the time hasn't been right.

Anxiety sharpens its claws, driven higher by frustrating heat spikes that have reappeared. I had one yesterday, sharp and sudden, and though their careful touch had soothed me, my full heat never arrived. I feel like a walking time bomb, tension winding tighter inside me by the minute.

As the afternoon wears on, Asher and Phoenix head out to restock our groceries. While they’re gone, Soren offers a distraction, suggesting we play an online game.

It’s fun and passes the hours but as the game winds down, curiosity nudges forward the question I’ve wondered about for days. “How did you become so incredibly good at all this technology, Soren?”

A smile lifts the corners of Soren’s mouth, softening the intensity from moments earlier. He runs a thoughtful hand over the back of his neck, his gaze drifting back through memories.

“I was a typical kid at first. Introverted. Quiet. Video games became my escape—somewhere I had control. Eventually just playing wasn’t enough. Games turned into mechanics. Mechanics evolved into code, and soon, I dove headfirst into learning how technology really worked.” He pauses, eyes warm, distant. “By college, tech was my calling. It fit. Coding became my life.”

I lean closer, hypnotized by his quiet voice and calm presence. My shoulder brushes his as I shift forward to better see the screen. The scent of crisp sandalwood surrounds me, sweet and grounding. Perfect.

Home.

“Then what happened?” His quiet sincerity draws me into his memories more deeply than I expected. “How exactly did you meet Asher at the Academy?”

He tilts his head thoughtfully, recalling. “By university, I knew I could do more than just code from behind a screen. I wanted action, a way to use my skills to make a genuine difference. Signing up for the police academy seemed logical. Tech skills combined with active police work drew me in. What better way to put it all together?”

Soren pauses, something intense flashing across his face. “I recognized Asher as my bond brother instantly the first day I attended.”

I study him. “What exactly does it feel like?”

Soren searches for the perfect words. “It’s like clarity. Like pieces falling into place. We understand immediately we're stronger together. That independently we’re capable, but united we become untouchable.” He pauses, his warm hazel eyes focusing on me. “But it's still nothing compared to meeting our omega. Meeting you is entirely different.”

My breath catches as his gaze turns softer, warmer, heat slowly blooming in his gaze. “Tell me. What does it feel like to meet your omega?”

“You mean, when we met you, because you’re the only omega for us, Butterfly,” he says.

I nod. Not stifling the shiver that runs through me.

“Meeting packmates is clear, logical. Easy to understand. But I wasn't prepared at all to meet you. None of us were. Your scent—” His voice falters, his gaze dropping to my lips. “Emma, your scent calls out to us. For me, you smell of comfort and clarity. You smell like home, like peace, something precious to protect, to cherish. Your scent reaches into places I didn't know existed inside me. It lights me up from within.”

My pulse leaps as his eyes meet mine again, quietly intense. “With Asher and Phoenix, we connected as companions, as trusted brothers, but meeting you, our omega, knocked down every wall. You touched our hearts. Your connection is raw, fierce, beyond explanation or logic. Like a flame lighting the darkness we didn’t even realize existed.”

His words strike straight into me, warmth swelling tight and sweet in my chest. Understanding and tenderness whisper between us, louder and more profound than any words. He said it so well he could have been speaking from my soul.

My heart quickens as I lean even closer, lips parting to whisper softly, openly, “That’s exactly how it feels to find you.”

His breath catches when my lips brush his ear, his musk spiking. The screen is forgotten as Soren turns toward me with his focused intensity that makes my pulse stutter. When his hand rises to cradle my jaw, his thumb tracing the line of my bottom lip, I see the question in his gaze.

I answer by closing the distance between us.

The first kiss is soft. A brush of lips, a shared breath, a silent yes, Gods, please. But when I skate my fingers over his hair, tugging the short ends just enough to make him groan, the restraint between us shatters.

His mouth moves over mine with hungry focus, his tongue sweeping in to taste me as his arms band around my waist, lifting me off my chair at the kitchen table and onto the island counter with one smooth motion. The cold granite beneath me contrasts deliciously with the heat of his body pressing close, his strong thighs slotting between mine.

“Butterfly. Emma,” he rasps against my lips, his voice deeper than I've ever heard it. His hands slide down to grip my thighs, squeezing before dragging me flush against him. The hard ridge of his cock presses against my core, separated only by thin layers of fabric. Slick coats my thighs, the sweetness of my honeysuckle flooding the kitchen.

“Feel what you do to me?” Soren murmurs, rolling his hips in a slow grind that makes us both gasp. His nose trails along my throat, inhaling deeply before he nips at my bonding gland. “Gods, you smell perfect, Omega.”

I open my thighs wider, a silent invitation, a plea, wanting to feel him right there, where I ache and throb and clench around nothing. Where my slick has already soaked through my panties, the fabric clinging to me like a second skin.

“Tell me what you need,” he demands, though his voice shakes. The musky scent of dark amber and coffee floods my senses as his fingers slip lower. “Your words, Omega.”

“You,” I gasp, arching into his touch. “All of you. Your claim. Your knot.”

I want fucking everything right here right now.

Something in his expression shifts. Darkens. His pupils swallow the warm brown of his irises entirely as his grip tightens. “You're sure?”

A whine slips from me. I bare my throat in the ultimate act of trust for an omega. “Make me yours. Please, Alpha.”

The growl that tears from Soren's chest is pure alpha. His scent rises, potent, hot, mine.

His hands slide down, fingers hooking into the waistband of my leggings, his knuckles grazing the sensitive skin of my hips as he peels both leggings and underwear down and off my body. The cool air kisses my exposed flesh, but it’s nothing compared to the heat of his touch when his fingertips finally—finally—brush through the dampness there.

“Soren—” My voice fractures, my back arching off the counter as his fingers glide through my slick, gathering the evidence of my need. “Please—”

His fingers paint wet heat across my trembling skin before two thick digits sink into me with one smooth, relentless thrust. The stretch is immediate—perfect—the rough pads of his fingertips pressing against that sweet spot inside that makes my vision blur.

“Oh gods!” I choke out, my head tilting back as he curls those talented fingers.

Soren's mouth crashes onto mine, swallowing my moans as his thumb finds my clit, circling with just enough pressure to make my thighs clamp around his wrist.

“Breathe,” he orders against my lips, his breath ragged. Hot puffs of air mingle with mine as his thrusts turn punishing. He drags his fingers out of me before plunging back inside me again. He flicks my clit with his thumb and snags my bottom lip between his teeth. My hips roll desperately against his hand.

It's too much.

Not enough.

“I can't…Alpha…Soren…” The warning spills from me half-formed, but he increases the pace just as my body locks around him. My climax destroys me without mercy, my back arching off the counter as my inner walls flutter around his fingers, slick gushing over his knuckles. He withdraws from me, glistening fingers hovering between us as he studies my wrecked expression.

“That's just the first,” he murmurs, and before I can process the threat—the promise—he's sinking to his knees. His long fingers wrap around my thighs, drawing my legs over his shoulders and he positions me on the edge of the bench and brings my soaking center to his face.

His breath scorches my still-quivering flesh. “Look at you, Omega,” he growls, nosing through my folds, inhaling deeply. “Dripping for me. Fuck.”

The first lick is a revelation—broad and flat, dragging through my soaked slit from entrance to clit in one filthy stroke. My hips jerk, but his free hand clamps down on my stomach, holding me still as he licks into me like a man starved, groaning.

He devours me.

His tongue flicks at my swollen clit before sucking it hard between his lips, his stubble scratching deliciously at my inner thighs. Every nerve ending ignites, pleasure coiling low in my belly again—too soon, too intense—but he doesn't relent. Not when my legs tremble. Not when my screams echo off the tile.

“Soren!” His name shatters from my lips a second time, my orgasm crashing through me as he drinks down every drop of my slick as though it’s his favorite smoothie.

“You taste fucking delicious, Butterfly,” Soren growls, his lips and chin glistening. He drags his thumb along my clit one last time, making my thighs tremble, then rises to his feet, his cock thick and flushed between us, his hips pressing my legs wider. “Please, Omega. May I?”

He’s asking me?

I can barely think, let alone form words. My limbs are liquid, my skin oversensitive from twice falling apart under his touch. Raw, primal need burns in my veins. I nod, breathless, my fingers curling into the counter’s edge for balance as a hard breath punches from his lungs.

He doesn’t make me wait.

One hand grips my thigh, the other guiding himself to my dripping entrance. Then he impales me on his cock with one brutal thrust made so easy with the amount of slick pouring from me.

The stretch is blissful agony, his thickness filling me so frigging perfectly, and I cry out as he buries himself inside me right where he belongs.

“Gods, Emma,” he grits out, his forehead pressing to mine. “Take me. All of me.”

My arms start to shake while I try to hold my position on the countertop. His hands slide under my thighs, and suddenly I’m airborne. He lifts me like I weigh nothing, my arms and legs wrapping tightly around him, my body still speared on his cock as he carries me to the couch in the living area.

The shift in angle makes him hit deeper, and I moan into his neck, my breath coming in ragged gasps as I suck in his potent scent. He drops onto the cushions, settling me astride him, his grip firm on my hips. “Good?” he murmurs, though his voice is rough with barely leashed hunger.

I whimper. It’s soooo good, but I still need more.

His lips crash into mine, desperate and possessive. His tongue sweeps into my mouth like he needs to taste every inch of me. His free hand slips beneath my shirt, palming my breast, thumb circling my nipple until it pebbles against his palm. His other unrelenting hand presses firm against my clit, keeping up a steady rhythm that threatens to shatter me all over again.

The tension builds, coiling tighter, hotter. Each thrust of his cock stokes the fire burning low in my belly. His knot swells at the base, teasing my entrance with every rock of his hips.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he pants against my lips, his fingers twisting my nipple in time with his thrusts. “So tight—so wet. Mine.”

Something inside me snaps because yes, I am fucking his and he is all mine.

“Alpha—!” My scream rips free as my climax hits me, my body clamping down on him.

With a final thrust his knot slips inside me.

Locked.

Together.

So right.

The stretch is beyond bliss, beyond perfect, a fullness that overwhelms my senses, my clenching walls milking his cock as he roars my name, his release flooding me in hot, pulsing waves.

The pleasure crashes over me —longer, stronger, endless—until my voice is hoarse from screaming, my fingers tangled in his hair as I beg for the only thing left.

I sob, cheeks wet from my tears. “Bite me, Alpha. Claim me, please...”

Soren's eyes blaze, his iris swallowed by black as venom wells along his elongated canines—crystalline, golden, dripping with promise. His breath fans across my lips, sweet like burnt sugar and dark coffee, the scent of his essence calling to my omega soul.

His teeth pierce my skin.

Pain flares bright and electric just for an instant before his venom floods my veins, liquid fire racing through me, rewriting my DNA strand by strand. My back arches off the couch, a scream caught in my throat as pleasure detonates because I feel him.

Not just his body locked to mine by his swollen knot, but his soul, blooming behind my ribs like a supernova. His fears, his devotion, his quiet yearning are laid bare, woven into the fabric of my being.

And gods, he’s beautiful.

Tears streak his cheeks, his lashes fluttering as he trembles against me, his breath ragged against my throat. “Emma—” His voice cracks, his fingers twining with mine as if he’s afraid I’ll vanish. “I feel you.”

My own teeth throb, omega instincts flaring hot in my blood. I don’t think. I act.

My mouth finds his bonding gland, and when I bite down, Soren howls, his hips jerking as his cock pulses inside me again, his release mingling with the rush of my essence flooding his system. Our bond ignites, a golden thread stitching through our chests, pulling taut then snapping into place with cosmic finality.

Somewhere across the bond, Asher jolts awake, surprise flickering through the pack connection then a surge of fierce joy, warm as summer whiskey. Further away, Phoenix’s amusement curls like smoke, his contentment a steady hum against my psyche.

But here now is only Soren. Forehead to forehead, breath to breath, his tears cooling on my cheeks as he whispers, “I’m yours, Omega. Always yours.”

I trace my fingers along his jaw, drawn into the stars in his eyes and the space in my chest where he’ll always belong.

I mirror back his own words. “And I’m yours, Alpha. Always yours.”

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Emma

Islowly open my eyes, blinking away wisps of restful sleep. Arms encircle me, tight and comforting. Beside me, Asher breathes deeply, still asleep, one arm thrown protectively over my hip. Phoenix sprawls out nearby, relaxed and peaceful.

A quiet, beautiful resonance calls in my chest. I turn my gaze to my right, and my throat tightens as I find Soren staring quietly back at me, his gaze calm and filled with gentle affection. The bond we now share drums softly between us. Pure, golden, unwavering. A silent welcome into waking together.

My breath hitches, rocked by a flutter of shy delight. Soren's quiet smile curls slow and beautiful, melting through me like sunlight. My chest aches, my pulse quickening beneath his tender gaze.

“Good morning, mate,” he murmurs. Rising onto his elbow, he leans closer until he brushes gentle lips across mine. A slow, careful good-morning kiss that stirs something deep and content within me.

My body melts, his bond mark on my shoulder tingling. I smile up at him, fingers drifting to trace the matching claim on his skin. Happiness settles in my chest, sweet and certain, resonating every time our bond hums clearly between us, bright and permanent.

“Good morning,” I whisper back, savoring how those words settle something deeper inside my soul.

Soren pulls me closer, his quiet warmth wrapping around me again. My cheek rests against his heart, absorbing calm, steady beats that ground me to him. This here, nestled in his arms, with our bond humming gently, is exactly where I've always longed to be.

Asher stirs beside us, a low rumble vibrating in his chest as he wakes. His dark eyes open and immediately find mine, his bond igniting inside my heart. “Good morning, mate,” he says, and gods if his voice isn’t the sexiest sound I’ve ever heard.

His bond glows beside Soren’s, both equally bright, strong and steady within me. He reaches out, fingertips grazing my jaw, and tilts my face toward his. His kiss is slow, tender, and thorough. He takes his time, his careful lips showing everything he feels without words—his affection, devotion, and promise.

Phoenix groans dramatically beside us, stretching his arms above his head and giving Asher and Soren a mock glare. “Seriously? Neither of you woke me up for this kind of action? Totally unfair.”

Heat rises in my cheeks when Phoenix’s eyes fix directly on me. My heart quickens at the powerful brightness in those playful summer-blue eyes. The urge rises instantly. I want to claim my last alpha. Need to claim him, every nerve in my body thrumming with desire to create our final bond. But I also want it to be special, perfect for him like it was with Asher and Soren.

Phoenix grins, diving between Asher and Soren, pushing them aside with playful exaggeration. He captures my mouth boldly, his kiss exuberant and full of sunshine—completely and utterly Phoenix. His strong arms surround me, pulling me into him. My body melts beneath his kiss, fingers winding up into his messy hair as I hold tight.

He breaks away, eyes bright as he chuckles against my lips. “Now this,” he murmurs with a satisfied smirk, “is the best good morning I've had in forever.”

His strong, warm body presses tight to mine, igniting my senses as our scents mingle. Need spikes through me, and Phoenix notices, his gaze darkening, but instead of leaning in again, he eases back, pressing a chaste kiss to my forehead to soothe the moment before it can erupt into something more.

“Don't worry, Tough Girl.” He traces a thumb softly along my jaw. He studies me closely, understanding clear in his expression. “I know you’ll claim me soon, too. When the time's exactly right, okay?”

I exhale slowly, gratefulness and affection swelling in my chest as I whisper, “Yes.”

He grins then, eyes sparkling. “Right now, though? I'm starving. And if I recall correctly, someone didn't get dinner last night since Soren decided to steal all your attention.”

“Hey!” Soren protests from behind Phoenix. “I thought the trade-off was more than worth it.”

I smile as I meet Soren's tender gaze. “Totally worth it.”

Soren’s mouth curves into a pleased, gentle smile. His bond glows bright inside me, mirroring my own happiness.

“Well, breakfast sounds amazing.” Phoenix draws me out of bed. “Come on, mate. Today, food. Bonding, definitely later.”

After washing up, I slip into fresh clothes and walk toward the kitchen, following the familiar scent of coffee and cinnamon. I pause beside the kitchen doorway, savoring the easy friendship between my alphas.

Asher stands at the counter, flipping pancakes onto waiting plates. Morning sun drapes over him, highlighting sleepy eyes and tousled hair. He moves with quiet confidence, entirely at ease.

Soren sits at the table, eyes focused on his open laptop. When he sees me enter the room, he glances up, pausing long enough to catch my eye and wink. My heart flutters at the small gesture, perfectly intimate.

Phoenix stands by the kitchen island, a steaming mug of coffee in hand and a welcoming grin on his face. He passes it to me, our fingers brushing. Pleasant tingles spark along my skin. The scene feels beautifully domestic. Ordinary, yet spectacular in its simplicity: sunshine spilling through the windows, the scent of freshly made pancakes, coffee in my hands, and the gentle murmur of their conversation punctuated by quiet laughter. This is what home is supposed to feel like. Real. Safe. Cozy. Brimming with gentle comfort.

I want these mornings forever. I want a life bathed in golden sunshine, laughter, and their steady scents surrounding me. I want to reach for my coffee each morning surrounded by these three alphas who’ve become my family.

More than anything, I want it without fear. No shadows, no lurking threats from Pack Carmichael or the commissioner. No dread hanging heavily over us.

But my fear has changed. It’s grown sharper, more focused. It no longer leaves me helpless or trembling. Instead, it fuels a fierce spark of defiance deep inside my chest, bright, sharp, and impossible to extinguish.

“Emma, are you sure you're ready for this? You can talk to us. If you're afraid, it's understandable; none of us would blame you,” Phoenix says.

I meet his gaze. “I know I can. I admit, I’m shaken. But this time it's different. This time I’m not just afraid—I'm angry. Angry at Pack Carmichael. Angry at the commissioner. Angry at every single alpha and beta who allowed things to get to this point. The laws, the corruption…the twisted belief that an omega's life is disposable. That we’re property, tools to trade and use up. Senator Hardwick helped push those sick laws forward, but society turned a blind eye. They're all equally accountable. Every single one of them.”

Silence hangs heavily for a heartbeat. Asher’s bond flares inside me, pride glowing steady and strong alongside Soren's.

Phoenix’s eyes spark, a slow smile spreading across his handsome face. “Damn, I like your fire, Tough Girl. And we'll take that fire and grind the rules, laws and every single asshole who hurt omegas right into the fucking dust.”

I breathe out, tension releasing at his fierce promise. I believe him. I believe all of them—I trust that together, we'll do exactly that. My throat tightens, emotion welling hot in my chest.

“I love you all,” I whisper, surprised at how easily the words come now.

Asher captures me in strong arms, his ridiculous biceps bulging as he cups my face and tilts my head up. “We love you too, Emma. More than anything.”

The bond pulses bright and true and I feel his love flow through my veins. This is everything I thought I’d never have. Soren comes next, taking me from Asher's grasp. His kiss is fierce, thorough, filled with unspoken promises that send warmth flooding through my veins.

“Ditto, Butterfly. You’re everything and we’ll be right by your side razing everything to the ground in your wake.”

Phoenix muscles in front of Soren with a broad shoulder. “All right, all right, enough. My turn to tell her how wanted she is.”

A shiver steals through me at the hunger in his eyes. Phoenix slides a possessive arm around my waist, pulling me flush against his chest. His blue eyes darken as he tips up my chin with his thumb. He claims my mouth without hesitation, his kiss scorching, hot enough to burn away every lingering trace of fear. Desire flares beneath my skin, liquid fire flooding through me—fueling my determination until I feel nothing but fierce clarity.

This…this is why I’m going to fight.

Why I’m going to take down Pack Carmichael and the commissioner.

I don’t care how big and powerful they are.

They’ll just fall harder.

I’m done hiding, done being used and discarded.

Done being chained.

Pack Carmichael, Axel Turns—anyone who stands in the way of my happy ever after no longer controls my story. And anyone who thinks otherwise is about to discover exactly how fierce an omega can become when her heart and freedom are on the line.

Chapter Forty

Emma

Standing by my bedroom window, I gaze out toward the sea over the top of the perimeter fence, the rolling waves reflecting silver beneath the late-afternoon sun. My skin still hums pleasantly from Phoenix’s touch, remembering the gentle slide of sand beneath my back, the soft whisper of his encouragement in my ear when my heat spike surged through me in the dunes. These heat spikes are sudden and unpredictable, leaving me trembling and desperate inside. He soothed me, gentling me through the intensity, wringing three exquisite orgasms from my body and quieting the frantic pulse of heat. Yet my full heat refuses to arrive. Now, back in the house, I feel frustratingly normal again, no residual symptoms, just the nagging worry of when the next spike will catch me unawares. My worries don’t end there.

Leah’s face haunts me each time I close my eyes.

Pack Carmichael getting their hands back on me.

The commissioner choking me with a dog leash, as he does poor, poor Aubrey.

The extent to which my alphas are willing to risk their own safety to protect me.

Fears compound every day, knotting tighter even when I see my alphas offering determined smiles. I’m not blind. I glimpse the tension hidden in their expressions when they think I’m not looking. Their worry, so clearly for me; their quiet frustration when they can’t shield me from my own body or this endless stress. It breaks my heart and strengthens my resolve at the same time.

For the first time in forever, though, I can fight back. My alphas stand by my side. We’ve taken dangerous steps forward and now, finally, there is a chance. But that chance terrifies me just as much, because it means I have something fragile and precious to lose. My alphas. Leah, and Mira.

I’m spinning in circles, making myself insane with too many fears and too many hopes racing through my mind.

I can’t keep these thoughts inside any longer. I need to talk to Mira. I hold the phone tight to my ear while the quiet ringing fills me with nervous anticipation.

Mira answers before the second ring fully ends, the warmth in her voice wrapping instantly around my heart. “Emma? God, I'm so glad you called. I've been so worried about you.”

“I'm worried about you too,” I whisper, the ache in my chest overflowing into that admission.

As soon as the words break free, emotion cracks through my voice. A sob escapes, raw and unstoppable. Then Mira is crying too, our shared tears closing the distance between us. For a moment we're both quiet, letting unspoken understanding and hurt flow on silent breaths. I wish I could reach through the phone and hug her, the sister by choice who carried me through hell.

“I wish we could see each other,” I choke out, wiping wetness from my cheeks with my sleeve. “I just want to hug you. I need to see you're safe.”

“We can't. Not yet. It's still far too dangerous,” Mira says.

I close my eyes, sinking onto the edge of my bed, gripping the phone tighter. “I can't stand not knowing anymore. I'm terrified for Leah. Every hour that passes without answers eats away at me. Not knowing what she's going through, how she's surviving. Or if she’s…” Alive. My throat closes around the last word, painful and raw.

My bonds with Asher and Soren pulse with immediate concern and I feel their need to chase away the dark emotions crashing through me. Phoenix’s emotions are close on their heels, our bond not yet claimed, but no less determined. I send a pulse of reassurance to them and wait until their concern settles.

Mira draws a shaky breath, pausing for a heartbeat. “We’ll find her, Emma. We won’t lose her again.”

“I want her back with us so badly. It's killing me that she's been in the commissioner's clutches all this time, enduring God knows what.” My voice breaks. “We all escaped together. She was supposed to be free.”

Mira sighs, the sound heavy over the phone line. “What about the commissioner? Did he say anything—anything at all—that might help us find Leah?”

Frustration tightens my chest, “No. He talked about her like she was nothing, Mira. Just another transaction. Another commodity to be bought and sold. Like she was someone he could profit from.”

“Gods. They make me sick,” she rasps.

My stomach twists. “I’m worried about how Leah might react when they finally reach her. If it comes down to a confrontation at the gala, the commissioner will have a full contingent of alphas at his side. We'll only have nine.” The image of Leah, terrified and desperate, fills my mind, pain sharp and immediate at the thought. “What if Leah tries to escape from everyone? What if she doesn't trust anyone who shows up? Mira, you know as well as I do—after everything she's endured, it would take a miracle for her to trust any alpha at all.”

Gods know Mira and I hadn't been in any state to trust alphas after what we experienced. Every instinct in me had screamed to run, Mira told me she'd felt exactly the same way. Leah would be no different, maybe even more wounded; even harder to reach.

“Then we have to get to her ourselves. She'll trust us. Leah knows us. Knows we’d never hurt her. If we're there at the gala, it could make all the difference. We could be exactly what she needs to accept help,” Mira says.

Warmth rises in my chest, chasing away some of the fear. “You're right.” Together, Mira and I understand Leah’s pain on a level no alpha ever could. “If we're there, she'll know she’s safe.”

“We'll need to convince our alphas. They have to understand that we need to be there at the gala. Not just for ourselves, but for Leah. We could be the difference between saving her... or losing her,” Mira says.

The fear in my heart is still there, but now, there’s something else too: a spark of purpose, burning away the helplessness.

Mira falls silent for a second before taking a steadying breath. “It won't always be like this. When it's safe, I’m going to show you both the entire town. Every ridiculous boutique, café, and pastry shop. We'll eat bad food, buy overpriced coffees, and spend half the day doing absolutely nothing important. You know, normal things. The kind of things that alpha bastards like Hardwick and Mercer denied us. Just to remind ourselves we have a place in this world.”

Her words sober us both. She's right. It hits that simple things others take completely for granted, have been denied to us for years. Our lives have left us existing in darkness so long, we forgot simple pleasures even existed. That we could choose our own futures.

Suddenly, unspoken worries flood me, questions I've feared to voice rising urgently to my lips. “Mira…are you really, truly happy? With your alphas?”

There is no pause when she answers. “More than happy.” Her voice softens as emotion shines through. “They're everything to me, Emma. They hold my heart with a gentleness I never thought possible. They healed wounds I didn't realize were still bleeding. For the first time in forever, I'm completely safe. Utterly loved. They complete me in a way no one else ever could.” She pauses and when she speaks her words are cautious. “Emma…are you happy?”

I don't even pause. “Yes.” I press fingertips against my heart, over the steady thrum of the bonds I already share. “Asher and Soren are incredible. Their bonds make me feel whole. Complete in a way I didn't think I'd ever feel again. They saw me at my worst and still cherished me anyway. Now their love holds me steady every second.”

Mira hesitates, tentative in her next question. “What about Phoenix?”

Heat flushes softly through my cheeks, and I glance down as my fingers twist nervously in the fabric of my shirt. “I haven't claimed him yet. I want to. Gods, Mira, I want him desperately. But it hasn't felt like the right moment. It needs to be special, perfect for him…for us.”

She hums quietly. “Emma, can I ask... why didn't you claim them all at once?”

“Honestly? If I'd been properly in heat, maybe it would have happened that way. But my system is such a mess, Mira. These past days I've been having heat spikes, but no real heat cycle fully sets in.” My voice wobbles with worry. “It's scaring me. I feel like a ticking time bomb. My body keeps starting and stopping, and none of us know why.”

“You're healing, Emma. It took years for those asshats to fracture and harm you. It’s going to take your body time to right itself,” Mira says.

I close my eyes briefly, absorbing her comfort. Yet, anxiety still knots quietly inside me. “I hope you're right.”

“Have you…used the nest?” Mira asks. “Maybe that's partly the reason why your heat hasn't come. The nest is instinctive. It's healing. Your omega side knows exactly what you need. You've got to start trusting yourself again.”

My gaze slides across the bedroom to the closed double doors. Longing coils through my chest, sharp and bittersweet. I haven't had the strength to open those doors, let alone step inside.

She lets out a knowing sigh, understanding my silence. “Emma, listen to me. Don't you dare let Haven or those waste-of-space alphas tell you that you can't have a nest. Do you hear me? I know exactly how hard it is to stand up against all those terrible things we've been taught, but don't mistake it for anything other than abuse. Pure, twisted abuse to stop you from giving in to your omega nature, so bad alphas can control you. That guilt is not yours to bear.”

I swallow down painful emotions, pressing fingers against my eyes. She's right—I know she is, but the feeling still lodges tightly in my throat.

“I'm trying. Really, Mira, I am. You're right about so many things, but the truth is, this place isn't mine. Even though I love it deeply, it's yours.”

“Emma—”

“When all this is over, I’ll beg to visit. The beach outside this house feels like mine. The sand, the waves…they’re my safe space. I claimed Asher and Soren here, bonded heart and soul to them within these walls. I know it sounds crazy, despite why we came here and the danger, but it’s the safest I've ever felt.”

Emotion thickens my throat as I lower my voice. “It would destroy me. To let myself have this nest and then have to leave it behind.”

“Emma—”

“Don’t ask me to use the nest. I...I don’t even know how to start—”

Mira raises her voice over my babbling. “Would you like to keep the house?”

A heartbeat passes. My lungs freeze mid-breath. “Keep—your house? Mira, you can't mean that.”

“I do.” The sincerity in her voice leaves no doubt she's serious. “Look, I know Adrian, Cole, and Zane bought it for me, but I've never even been there. For me, that place isn't home. But for you…” Softness creeps into her tone. “For you, it is. I've known you half my life. I hear it in your voice. You’re healing there. I want this for you, Emma—more than anything.”

My throat tightens. “Mira, it's too big an offer. It's too generous. I can't just—”

“No pressure, okay? Just promise me you'll think about it. Take time, talk it out with your alphas. You don't have to rush. The offer stands as long as you need it to,” she says.

“What about your alphas?” I ask.

“They want what I want, and I want this for you.” She takes another breath. “Please, please open the doors to that nest room. There's no wrong way to build a nest. Follow your instincts and do what feels right. And maybe…” Her voice is gentle, full of quiet hope. “Maybe it'll help your heat finally come. Maybe that’s where you’ll bond Phoenix, too. You deserve this, Emma. You deserve every happiness.”

Warmth blooms behind my ribs, spreading slowly outward.

“I…” Emotion rises, stealing my breath. “Thank you, Mira.” Because what else can I say?

“Always,” she whispers back. “Just…please try, Emma.”

The call ends, her words lingering in my mind long afterward. My friend knows too well all there is to know about pain, darkness, and healing, but now we both see glimpses of something better, something pure and bright on the horizon.

Can I actually do this?

My pulse thuds beneath my ribs. Waves crash in the distance, a comforting murmur cascading through the warm, sunlit silence of the house. My feet move of their own accord, bringing me to a stop in front of those two closed doors I've both dreaded and longed to open.

I was punished for daring to hold onto my omega nature. Beaten down so viciously my body refused even its own instincts. How can I trust now that I'm doing the right thing?

What if I get this wrong?

Anxiety coils in my chest, whispering cruel doubts, but slowly, rising alongside that fear, comes an inner whisper Mira awakened. A fierce anger, burning hot beneath the anxiety.

This rage isn't new. It's the same fury I felt when Pack Carmichael ripped my dignity from me, the same bitter anger born the instant Haven stole my right to choose. My choice, something every omega deserves by virtue of just existing, was stripped away without remorse or care, buried beneath years of savage cruelty.

The bonds I share with my alphas flare warm, golden, and unwavering. They pulse beneath my skin, steady as heartbeats, each one lighting inside me with renewed strength. I'm no longer alone in the dark. My alphas thread through me, as close to me as my own heartbeat.

They anchor me and chase away the shadows from the hidden corners of my soul. Warmth bleeds into my bones, spreading light into places held hostage by fear. Their strength is mine, lifting me, empowering me to take back what no one had the right to steal.

Mira is correct.

My life is mine to reclaim.

Curling my fingers around the polished brass handles, I pause for just an instant, gathering courage from the split-second feeling of rightness that whispers through me. Then I twist both handles, pushing slowly forward. Warm air spills past me as the double doors swing open, revealing the nest waiting beyond.

Chapter Forty-One

Phoenix

We’ve already spent the better part of three hours hunched over blueprints, scattered laptops, and a handful of burner phones. My back aches, and I flex stiff fingers as I pace behind the table, tension coiled tight beneath my ribs. Contingency plans layered upon more contingency plans twist through my mind like tangled threads, knots of worry forming in my gut as I chase each possible scenario to its conclusion.

Asher is leaning over the blueprint of the Aegis Gala's venue, tapping against certain points on the map. Across the table sits Soren, fingers flying over his keyboard as he reprograms our encrypted comms, eyes scanning lines of code far faster than I can follow.

“Adrian, Zane, and Cole are patched in again,” Soren calls over his shoulder. Relief settles briefly through me at their names. They're the best damn backup we could've hoped for. Frankly, the only outside alphas I would trust anywhere near Emma, but even their presence isn't enough to soothe the anxiety pumping through my veins.

I sink into a chair at the sound of their voices through the speaker, tapping the blunt edge of a pen against my thigh.

“We'll have Pack Hawthorne positioned strategically throughout the venue. No one is going in or out of that building without eyes on them,” Adrian says.

A faint scowl creases Soren’s brows. “Don't underestimate the reach of the commissioner's influence. They'll likely have ex-military assets. If they're cornered, locking down whole floors won't be out of the question.”

I glance up, unsettled. “Security will involve cops too. They'll have APBs out on us. Doesn't help that we're technically wanted by half the precinct.”

I can’t help pushing to my feet again, unease crackling along every nerve. “We need a contingency if this shit goes sideways fast. What if they get spooked and try running with Leah in the chaos, or if she panics and tries bolting? We all know the kind of shape she's likely to be in.”

Soren rubs his fingers over his mouth. “Our original strategy still holds. All nine of us will enter together. No one splits up. Nobody wanders off solo. Once we have Leah secure, we make absolutely sure the commissioner doesn't slip away in the confusion. Anyone involved—and that includes Pack Carmichael, Carmichaels’ buyers, and the commissioner’s hired guns—doesn't get out.”

“All of it while staying incognito, until the exact moment we decide to let hell erupt.” Asher folds his arms over his chest. “Everyone wears body cams. All conversations, every second of footage recorded clearly. This isn't just a rescue anymore. It’s crucial evidence to clear our names. It has to be ironclad, undeniable.”

Cole’s voice rumbles through the speaker. “I’ll back it all up real-time off site. Any attempt by the commissioner to push back or bury this will trigger a full drop to every investigative journalist, press contact, and internal affairs hotline in the city.”

As reassuring as his confidence is, I can't shake the bitter truth that we’re teetering close to a line we can't come back from. Our tactics, however noble, certainly don't fall neatly into the bounds of law and order. Pack Blackwood can’t risk leaving any openings that could later see the whole thing dismissed in court. If Asher and my packmates end up incarcerated, repercussions won’t stop there. Pinnacle Therapeutics would grind to a halt, depriving countless omegas of support, medication, and protection they desperately need.

We simply can't let it get that far.

I clear my throat, interrupting the grim silence. “We might need an ace up our sleeve. One powerful enough to legitimize our actions and testify on our behalf if this blows back legally. Someone inside, independent, unimpeachable.” I shift as the others watch me, saying the only name who might be close to trustworthy. “Someone like Kevin Dawson.”

Soren’s brows lift sharply. For the first time since we began the planning, he stills briefly, hands pausing above his keyboard. “Are you sure we can trust him?”

I hesitate. “I'm not a hundred percent sure, but when Pack Carmichael tried to file emergency proceedings against us, he stepped up. He's risked his neck to help us before and there's no love lost between Dawson and the way omegas are treated within the system. Acting with the blessing of the head of the Legal Affairs Department would give us protection at the highest legal level.”

Adrian grunts over the line. “Hell of a gamble but you’re not wrong. Someone like Dawson in our corner would lock down any charges we bring against the commissioner. Make them bulletproof.”

Asher straightens, eyes narrowing, clearly weighing the risks. At last, his gaze turns decisive, echoing confidence that steadies my frayed nerves. “I'll make the call. I’ll vet Dawson and if he’s on board I’ll make sure he’s fully briefed. He's either completely with us, or we leave him in the dark. But, you’re right, if he steps in, his presence means the legal difference between winning or losing this fight.”

All I want at my core is to forget the plan, storm through those doors, and tear Pack Carmichael limb from limb for what they did to Emma. Rage flushes hot through me, blurring the edges of the building’s blueprint.

“Simmer down, Phoenix. We need you clear-headed, not blinded. We can’t afford anyone making mistakes when it’s time for us to act.” Asher lays his large, solid hand on my shoulder and squeezes. I take a measure of comfort that our prime has our back. Of course he does.

I just want this over. I want Emma safe. I want justice finally served so we can all live free, but there’s so much at stake, so many ways we could lose everything.

So many ways we could lose Emma.

A waft of sweet honeysuckle, wild and unmistakably Emma, drifts down the hallway. Her scent slips beneath my tension and goes straight to my cock. My thoughts derail, all strategy forgotten.

It’s been hours since I’ve seen her, touched her, or heard her soft voice.

Far too fucking long.

I glance through the kitchen window, noticing how the sky’s shifted to deep indigo, shadows pooling thick in the corners. Shit. The night’s dropped fast, and we’ve been so wrapped up in contingency planning, not one of us bastards has checked on our omega. Guilt stabs sharp through my chest. That’s not right. She’s been on her own too long.

I push back my chair, the legs scraping loudly across the floor. “I’m going to check on Emma. I need…hell, I just need her. She’s the only one who can calm me down after this much strategy.”

Soren gives me a knowing look, lips twitching, while Asher’s face softens with unspoken understanding. We’d all fight to the death for her, but sometimes we forget how she can steady every damn one of us with nothing but a smile.

“Okay, brother. I’ll finish up the call. Go and make sure our girl is doing okay,” Asher says.

Pushing out of the tension-filled kitchen, I follow the trail of her scent through the house, letting the sweet honeysuckle guide me. She’s everywhere inside this house now, making it feel like home more than our condo ever has, but the fragrance grows thickest as I near her bedroom.

This place is different now.

Real.

Every surface, every soft blanket or smooth bit of wood, carries some trace of Emma. Her honeysuckle has woven into the walls, her quiet presence soaking into every room. Our old condo? Nothing like this. It was always just the three of us, the air thick with coffee and leather and the leftover scent of takeout. Comfortable, sure, but empty in ways I never wanted to name because I never thought we’d be lucky enough to meet our omega. Our scent-matched mate. I can’t picture her there, surrounded by bare walls and sharp corners, with nowhere to curl up and make her own.

Here, though…it’s all her. Softness layered over strength. Light in places we never thought could feel safe. Somehow, without meaning to, she’s claimed this space. Not as a guest, but as the heart of something bigger than us all.

That realization unsettles me. It stirs up a nervous kind of awe, the sense that everything is changing, shifting into something we’ll never come back from. Part of me fears needing this softness, fears how much I crave it now.

When I step into the doorway, I find her sitting in the chair by the window, knees pulled to her chest, arms wrapped around herself as she watches the waves roll along the horizon beneath a darkening sky.

She doesn’t see me yet, lost in her own thoughts. The sight punches relief and that grounded calm only she can give in my chest. My eyes catch on the nest room door cracked open. The gentle glow of the lights inside shimmers across the wide, sunken mattress, bare but inviting, waiting for her touch.

She opened those doors.

After all these days of shutting herself off from this room, this instinct, Emma’s finally taken a step toward making it her own. This is…huge.

I move deeper into her bedroom, drawn forward by the open nest and the fragile hope curled in the way she hugs her knees, staring out at the surf. The tension that always rides high in my chest eases just a fraction, replaced by pride thick enough to choke me.

Her gaze lifts, catching mine and shimmering with something unsure and brave all at once. My chest fills with a fierce, protective kind of warmth that tells me I’d do anything to keep this spark alive in her. I smile, gentle as I can manage, and nod toward the open door behind her.

“That is a big step, Tough Girl,” I say, letting her see every ounce of pride and tenderness that’s blooming inside my chest. “I’m so damn proud of you.”

She looks up at me and manages a shaky, watery smile, but her eyes are glassy with tears. My gut twists because she’s been in here crying instead of in my arms where I can comfort her. I can’t stand seeing her in pain, especially alone.

I kneel in front of her, my hands bracing on her knees. “Why are you crying, love? Talk to me. Please.”

Her mouth trembles. For a moment she just shakes her head, but then it all comes out in a rush, voice cracking and words tumbling over each other. “I talked to Mira. I needed to hear her voice. I needed my friend. She—she…she gave me this house, Phoenix. She wants me to have it, for good. Gods, can you even believe that? And then, I thought if I opened the doors to the nest it would feel right. But…I stood in there and I… I don’t know what I’m doing.”

She takes a breath, her eyes turning luminous with unshed tears. “I don’t know how to build a nest. I…I thought I could but then I just stood there and stared, but nothing happened. It felt like there was a wall in my brain, Phoenix. What if I can’t do it? What if…what if I’ll never be a proper omega? What if that part of me is just…gone? What if they took that away from me forever?”

Her pain and the horror of what she endured slices straight through me. The deprivation. The cruelty. The way entitled alphas tried to destroy her most basic instincts fills me with a cold, shaking fury. There’s nothing weak or broken about her. Everything she doubts is wrapped in wounds left by monsters.

I take her fragile wrists and draw her hands away from her face so she can see how much I mean these words. “I saw what they did with my own eyes when you were trapped in the basement with the Carmichaels. You had one blanket. One. They left you to freeze and called it caring for you. You had to curl up on that cold, filthy floor and pretend you had something more, when really all they gave you was the bare minimum.”

I cup her face, my touch gentle even with the anger sparking in my chest. “Of course you’re tangled up inside, sweetheart. Of course it feels impossible. Mira’s correct. It’s your right to build a nest, to be safe, to claim comfort as your own. But no one—not one person in your past ever taught you that. They beat it out of you every chance they got.”

I draw her closer, letting my voice soften. “You survived more than most people ever could. You learned to get through hell, not how to be an omega in a world that’s safe. Your doubts? They’re trauma, not truth. That part of you isn’t gone. It just needs time, safety, and choice. Your choice. Let me help you. We can start as small or as slow as you need. I’ll be here for every step, I promise. You’re not broken, not less. Never.” I hold her gaze, desperate for her to hear my conviction all the way to her bones. “You are whole, Emma. And whatever kind of omega you are, is exactly right.”

I gather her gently into my arms, pressing her tight against my chest, desperate to soothe her, to hold her for every day she’s ever been denied even a scrap of comfort. “You’re the bravest person I’ve ever met. You keep trying, no matter how scared you are. You open your heart after everything that’s been done to you. That’s courage. That’s strength. You’re already more omega—more beautiful—than anyone I’ve ever known, nest or no nest.”

I see her wanting to believe me, but uncertainty still clouds her features. So, I push up on my knees, bringing my face to hers until I’m close enough to share her breath.

“You don’t have to prove anything to anyone. You are enough. You are perfect.”

And before she can argue, before worry has a chance to cloud her thoughts, I cup her face and kiss her. Slow, deep, pouring everything I can’t say straight into her mouth until she’s breathing nothing but reassurance, nothing but love.

Chapter Forty-Two

Phoenix

Emma’s kiss is tentative at first, her lips soft and questioning against mine, but then she melts, her body pressing closer, her fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt like she’s afraid I’ll disappear.

I break the kiss just enough to whisper against her lips, “Let me make you feel good, sweetheart.” My thumb brushes the apple of her cheek, tracing the curve of her jaw. “Let me chase away every shadow until all that’s left is just you, just this, just light.”

She whimpers, the sound tearing a path to my soul. “Yes. Please, Phoenix. Make me feel good.”

Then her mouth crashes back into mine, desperate and hungry, her tongue sliding against my bottom lip before diving deep. The kiss turns fevered, her hands fisting in my hair, and fuck, her scent.

That sweet, intoxicating blend of honeysuckle ignites, thickening in the air between us until it’s all I can taste, all I can breathe. It’s arousal, hot and slick and perfect, but underneath it, something deeper. Trust.

My control frays.

A growl rumbles in my chest as I drag her closer, one hand sliding down to grip her thigh, hiking her leg around my hip. She gasps into my mouth as her body arches into mine like she’s trying to fuse us together.

“Phoenix… Please.” My name is a whimper, a prayer, a demand.

I don’t need to be told twice.

My lips leave hers to trail down her throat, nipping at the sensitive skin where her pulse flutters. “That’s it, Tough Girl. Let me remind you how perfect you are.” I murmur against her racing heartbeat. “Can I take this off?” My fingers toy with the hem of her top, brushing the warm skin of her waist.

She nods, a frantic little up and down of her head as she lifts her arms to help me. “Yes, please, Alpha.”

The fabric slips free, revealing her bare breasts, and for a moment, I just stare.

She’s perfect.

Full and soft, crowned with dusky pink nipples already pebbled tight for me. The faintest sprinkle of freckles dust across her pale skin, leading my gaze like a trail of stars. That’s new. The sunshine has done her good. I could spend forever mapping them with my tongue.

“Can I taste you?” My voice is rough, strained with want, but my hands stay gentle, tracing the outer curves with aching slowness.

She squirms, her chest flushing deeper, but her answer is breathless and wanting. “Yeesss.”

I brush my lips over the slope of her breast first, savoring the way her heartbeat thrums beneath my mouth. Then I take her nipple between my lips, sucking as my tongue swirls in slow circles.

“Phoenix!” Her fingers tangle in my hair, holding me closer as her back arches, pressing deeper into my mouth. A needy whimper escapes her when I graze my teeth over the peak, just enough to tease, before soothing it with another lap of my tongue.

I palm her other breast, kneading the supple flesh, thumb flicking over her neglected nipple until it’s as hard as the one in my mouth. My other hand grips her hip. Tremors race through her as I lavish attention on her, gentle and relentless.

She shakes, her breath coming in ragged little gasps, her scent saturating the air. Every sound she makes, every twitch of her body, is a gift.

“So perfect,” I murmur against her skin, switching sides, my tongue tracing the same devoted patterns. “Every inch of you. Mine to cherish. Mine to adore.”

Her choked sob is answer enough.

“Phoenix, please.”

I love the way she begs. It means no darkness is keeping her small. Drowning her in the lies with which monsters filled her head.

“Tell me what you need.” My voice is a dark caress as I pull back just enough to watch her. Flushed, panting, her nipples glistening from my attention.

Emma whines at the loss of contact. “Phoenix…”

I click my tongue, gripping her chin to hold her gaze. “Words, Tough Girl.” My thumb traces her swollen bottom lip. “Beg properly.”

Her breath hitches, her pupils swallowing every bit of blue. Then…

“Put your mouth on me.”

Sweet gods in heaven.

The demand cracks through me sharp as a whip but there’s no denial on my tongue. She’s leaking slick, the honeyed evidence of her need soaking through her yoga pants, darkening the fabric between her thighs.

“I think you’ve ruined these, sweetheart.” I drag a fingertip along the damp seam. She shudders, her hips jerking toward my touch as a fresh wave of her scent hits me—ripe honey turned thick with want.

“You ruined me. In all the best ways,” she gasps.

Heat licks through my veins, molten and insistent at those whispered words.

“Gotta take these off if I’m going to obey your every command.” My fingers hook into her waistband. She lifts her hips, arching to help me peel the soaked fabric down her legs until she’s finally bare and glowing. Her skin is flushed pink, her thighs covered with slick. Her pussy is swollen, petals parted and glistening, her clit a perfect, throbbing pearl begging for attention.

“Watch what I do to you.” I curl my fingers around her knees and angle her body so that her legs are off the chair. My arms hook under her legs, forcing them wide, my biceps flexing to hold her open before leaning down to drag my tongue through her folds in one long, delicious lick. I groan at the taste of sweet salt and omega perfection. Her thighs tighten around my head and a whimper tears from her throat.

“Phoenix!” Her fingers tangle in my hair as I suck her clit into my mouth. My tongue flicks over the sensitive bundle of nerves in ruthless circles. She squirms, her breath coming in desperate gasps, her heels digging into the small of my back.

“That’s it,” I growl against her. “Let me ruin you more.”

And when two of my fingers sink into her dripping heat, curling against that sweet spot inside her, her back arches as her orgasm rips through her with a scream. But I don’t stop. Not even close.

I fuck her through the orgasm, my fingers driving deeper, my tongue circling her throbbing clit in tight, relentless strokes, refusing to let the sensations fade. She sobs, her hands shoving weakly at my shoulders, her body convulsing with oversensitivity.

“P-Phoenix… too much!” she gasps, her voice breaking.

I pull back just enough to smirk up at her, my mouth glistening with her slick, my fingers still working inside her.

“No such thing, Tough Girl. Gonna drive all the bad memories out of you until you know beyond a doubt how perfect you are.” I seal my lips around her clit again and suck hard.

Her hips jerk, her hands flying back to my hair, yanking in silent torment as another climax crashes into her, tearing another broken cry from her throat.

She’s trembling now, her thighs quaking around me, her pussy clenching around my fingers like it’s trying to pull me deeper. The scent of her thickens the air, and it takes everything in me not to turn her over, settle her on the chair and take her right there.

But this?

Her falling apart on my tongue, again and again?

This is the real ruination of the doubts those motherfuckers made her believe about herself. She needs to know how fucking untrue they are. She needs to stop listening to those voices and only hear her mates and her own conviction. I curl my fingers to build her into another orgasm.

“Please, Phoenix, I can't... I can't take anymore.”

Her voice is a shattered whisper, raw and trembling, her body limp against the chair. Her thighs twitch, slick gleaming on her skin, her swollen pussy clenching around my finger embedded inside her as she throbs from the aftershocks.

I lean back, removing my fingers from her pussy to trace slow circles on her inner thigh. “Do you still doubt yourself, Omega?”

She whimpers, her fingers tightening in my hair, not to push me away, just to hold on.

Then, so quiet I almost miss it…

“Take me to my nest.”

A request. A plea. Her walls crumbling.

My chest swells with something so fierce, so elated, it steals my breath. This request, her trusting me with the most sacred space an omega has, is more than just submission.

It's surrender.

It's faith.

I rise in one smooth motion, my arms sliding under her trembling body, lifting her against my chest. She curls into me on instinct, her face burying against my neck, her breath hot and ragged. Her scent wraps around us as I carry her, step by deliberate step, to the nest she’s been too scared to go into alone.

The mattress is bare apart from the protector. She should be surrounded by blankets, pillows and all things soft that an omega needs to feel comforted, but even being here is a big step for her. I lay her down, covering her with my body so she doesn’t notice the bareness, and I tilt her head until our gazes meet.

“Mine,” I whisper, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“Yes. Yours.” She tangles our fingers together. “I want you to claim me, Phoenix. Please don’t make me wait.”

Joy ignites my veins, bright and blinding, my knot already swelling in anticipation, my cock throbbing with the need to seal us together. For one wild, breathless moment, all I want is to flip her onto her hands and knees, sink my teeth into her bonding gland, and fuck her until we’re both screaming.

But…

I stop.

Because beneath the storm of need, beneath the alpha roaring inside me, there’s something deeper. Love. Overwhelming, terrifying, perfect love.

I cup her face, my thumb tracing her jaw, my voice rough with restraint. “Emma,” I murmur, holding her gaze like it’s the only thing tethering me to earth. “Tell me you’re sure.”

I already know she is. Her scent is thick with honeyed certainty, but I need to hear her say it without prompting, without pressure.

Her fingers tighten around mine, her other hand sliding up to press over my racing heart. “There’s no doubt. You’re my alpha. My mate. Please Phoenix. Bite me. Claim me.”

I've never moved faster in my life.

I tear my shirt over my head and shove my jeans past my hips. I kick my boots aside with no care for where they land. Every second not touching her is agony. When I'm finally bare, my cock juts heavily between us, flushed and leaking, my knot already swollen in anticipation.

She gasps when I cover her, a sharp, shuddering inhale as our bodies align. Every curve and hollow fits together like a divine design. I brace my forearm beside her head, muscles trembling with restraint and wrap my other hand around my aching length. The first drag through her folds is obscene in its perfection. Her slick coats me in glistening streaks.

“Fuck, Emma,” I grit out, my voice ragged.

Her arousal paints my cock in liquid heat. Her folds are flushed a deep, tempting pink. Her clit is a hardened pearl under my touch, pebbled and desperate, and when I circle the head of my cock over it just to watch her squirm, a broken cry spilling from her lips.

“Phoenix!”

Her thighs tremble, her heels digging into the mattress as she tries to grind against me, seeking more, but I hold her still, my grip firm on her hip, my cock sliding through her slick again and again, teasing us both.

Every pass is torture. Her scent is thick in the air, honeysuckle and vanilla and something deeper now. Primal, claiming, mine, and when my tip catches at her entrance, barely inside before pulling back, her nails rake down my chest, her hips bucking in helpless need.

“Please, Alpha,” she sobs, her voice raw. “I need—I need—”

I know.

Gods, I know.

Because I need it too.

The first thrust is a revelation.

I sink into her in one slow, inexorable push, my cock stretching her gloriously tight walls as she gasps into my mouth. She's molten heat and velvet silk, her body welcoming me with pulsing contractions. When I'm fully seated, our hips flush, I break the kiss just to watch her. Eyes screwed shut, lips parted on a silent cry, holding onto me like I'm her only anchor.

I move with deliberate, rolling thrusts, each one dragging a broken sound from her throat. Her legs wrap tighter around my waist, her heels digging into my lower back as if she can pull me deeper. I could die like this… her warmth surrounding me, her scent flooding my lungs, her whimpers vibrating against my tongue when I reclaim her lips.

Her cries grow more desperate, her hips meeting mine with increasing urgency. “More,” she pants against my mouth. “Phoenix, please.”

I grip her hips, flipping us in one fluid motion until she's straddling me, her knees sinking into the nest on either side of my thighs. Her surprised gasp melts into a moan as she grinds down, taking me deeper than before, her inner walls fluttering around me like frantic little kisses.

“That's it, Tough Girl. You're on top and in control. Take what you need. All of it.” I stroke her thighs with my thumb.

Her fingers clutch at my shoulders as she begins to ride me, her movements growing wilder, less controlled. Pleasure contorts her beautiful face. Her eyebrows draw together, and a sheen of sweat glistens on her collarbones. When her rhythm starts to falter, her breath coming in ragged little sobs, I know she's close. Tightening my grip on her hips, I hold her in place as I thrust up, chasing that perfect angle. My knot catches.

Her back arches as it pops past her entrance, locking us together.

“Phoenix!” Her scream is raw, shattered, her pussy clamping down on me in pulses as her climax rips through her. The sensation is unbearably good. Her tightness squeezes my swollen knot. Her slick gushes around me. I groan, my fingers digging into her flesh as my own release surges.

She leans down, her mouth over my scent gland.

Her teeth sink into my shoulder, piercing my skin.

Pain. Bliss. Home.

Holy fuck. My mate has claimed me first.

My fierce, beautiful omega chooses me.

The shock sends my pleasure skyrocketing. Her essence floods through the fresh mark, golden and effervescent. Champagne bursting in my veins. The bond between us ignites, brighter than before, her joy and devotion pouring into me in a dizzying rush.

I roar as a second orgasm rips through me, my cock pulsing as her essence intertwines with mine, fusing us on every level—body, soul, breath.

When she finally releases my shoulder, her lips are stained with my blood, her eyes wide with wonder.

“Mine.” She tilts her head back to bare the delicate column of her throat to me. And in the same breath says, “Claim me.”

My nose traces the delicate curve where her neck meets shoulder, inhaling deeply as her unique fragrance blooms under my attention. My lips brush the heated skin there, feeling her pulse jump against my mouth as she whimpers.

I want my bonding bite to be as perfect as she is.

I drag the flat of my tongue over the swollen gland, tasting her—salt and sweetness and something indescribably omega that makes my cock twitch inside her. Her fingers clutch on my shoulders as she arches into the touch. When my canines prick just enough to tease, her entire body tenses, a breathless “Please,” spilling from her lips.

My teeth pierce deep. The moment my venom floods her veins, her scream shattering the air between us. Her thighs clamp around my hips, her pussy pulsing around my knot in erratic contractions as the claiming takes hold.

Her essence is golden fire and liquid sunlight, pouring through me in a scalding rush. Her pleasure, her soul, races into my chest, burning through every vein, searing across every nerve, before settling behind my ribs like a second heartbeat.

She’s everywhere.

In the hitch of my breath her emotions crash into me—love, fear, joy, devotion.

In the thunder of my pulse, now syncing with hers.

In the very marrow of my bones, where her presence hums, permanent and perfect.

I groan against her neck, my hips jerking as her essence fuses with mine, the bond between us solidifying into something perfectly unbreakable.

Mine.

Ours.

Forever.

Chapter Forty-Three

Emma

Istep out of the steamy bathroom, towel wrapped around me, skin still flushed and tingling after my night with Phoenix. Every bond inside me burns bright and steady, warming my chest from the inside out. Asher, Soren, Phoenix—each connection sings with certainty, their love anchoring me so deeply there isn’t any space for fear or doubt anymore. I am cherished. Claimed. Seen in a way I know is right, down to the marrow of my bones.

I catch sight of myself in the bathroom mirror and I have to stare. My hair falls in light blonde tangles over shoulders that are softer now. I no longer look sallow, or pale like a cadaver. My cheeks are pink, my lips bitten. I look alive, even luminous. There’s a glow to my skin that wasn’t there before.

I run my fingertips over the silvery marks on my neck where my alphas gave me their claiming bites. The marks shimmer, soft and beautiful. Bond scars that signal to anyone, to everyone, exactly who I belong to and who belongs to me.

I look closer, my heart stuttering, to the mess of scars left by Pack Carmichael. The old bite marks—the mangled, angry wounds they left behind—look different. The scars aren’t raised or red the way they used to be. They’re flatter, paler, as if the rage has burned out of them.

Shock stirs through me. Real, shivering disbelief. They’re healing. The wounds those monsters left are fading. The hissing, hateful chorus that messed with my mind is simply gone. There’s nothing left. Not even a distant echo. There is only peace, only the certainty of my alphas’ bonds woven deep inside me.

The last remnant of Pack Carmichael will disappear after the gala. Once we catch them, once everyone knows what they’ve done, there will be nothing hanging over my head.

Two days.

In two days’ time, I’ll truly be free.

There will be no more hiding. No more darkness. No more doubts.

There will only be living.

I dress in soft, comfortable clothes, my body still singing with contentment. The bonds inside me are warm and bright, urging me out of my room and into the heart of the house. I pad barefoot down the hallway, excitement rising with every step to find my alphas. My mates. My pack.

As I reach the kitchen, I slow, breath catching in my throat. The sight of them together, their scents swirling through the air, mixing with coffee and morning sun, stops me cold.

They’re heartbreakingly handsome. Solid, sure.

Completely mine.

“Moonbeam!” Asher crosses the room and slides his arms around my waist, tilting my face up for a deep, slow kiss that makes my heart race.

When Asher has finished kissing me, Soren presses a kiss to my forehead and then my mouth, his hand lingering at the back of my neck before Phoenix grins and swoops me up, kissing me all hot and lingering, leaving me dizzy and flushed and needing my…nest.

An undeniable urge tugs at me to comb through the whole house and gather every soft thing, every pillow and blanket, and make the nest perfect. My fingers twitch with a restless spark of longing unfurling through me.

Heat prickles under my skin, lighting up my nerves in a quick, hungry wave. Pressure builds in my lower belly, a deep, tightening cramp that has me curling my toes and pressing a hand against my side. My scent thickens in the kitchen, honeysuckle, vanilla, something richer beneath the surface. Asher’s nostrils flare. He straightens, eyes darkening as he studies me.

“Are you all right, Emma?” he asks.

I pause, trying to read my own body. The cramp fades, just a ghost when I try to find it. The blaze beneath my skin cools, leaving me almost embarrassed for the false alarm. My heart thuds unevenly. If I went into heat before the gala, right before Leah’s rescue, it would be a disaster. I'd need all three of my alphas to tend me through it, and we’d lose our chance to get Leah back.

Just a couple more days and then biology can take over. Then I will look forward to this heat.

I shake my head lightly and wave him off when he approaches. “I’m fine,” I say, giving him a quick smile. I force my hands to steady as I reach for my coffee, pretending not to notice the concern etched on their faces.

“Are you sure, Butterfly?’ Soren asks.

“There is something I want to run by you all,” I say.

All three of my mates give me their undivided attention and I will any heat that bubbles up to go the hells away.

I clear my throat softly, meeting their eyes as my pulse quickens. “There's something Mira and I talked about. We both agreed it’s important for us to be at the gala when you bring Leah out.”

Taking a steadying breath as tension tenses their bodies, I continue before they can speak the protest I see building on their lips, willing them to understand. “After everything she’s been through, Leah won't trust any alpha who approaches her, no matter how gentle or careful you are. The only way she'll trust anyone enough to let herself be rescued is if Mira and I are both there, too.”

“Tough Girl…” Phoenix starts, shaking his head.

“Please, hear me out. You’ll have your hands full with the commissioner and Pack Carmichael, and gods knows how many officers trying to stop you. They’re going to put up a fight. You can’t look after Leah and stop someone like the commissioner at the same time. Mira and I will hide with Leah. You tell us where and how and we’ll get her out.” I watch their faces carefully, bracing for argument but refusing to let my determination slip. “We won’t get in the way. But we need to be there for her. For all of us.”

Soren stares at me, jaw working. Tension bunches his shoulders and creases his brow, but he doesn’t shoot down my idea; he just stands there quietly, considering, his thumb rubbing circles over the edge of the counter.

Phoenix leans back against the fridge, arms crossed over his chest. He glances at Soren, then at me, searching my face.

“I don’t like it,” he admits, voice rough with worry, but there’s no heat behind the words. “But you’ve got a point we hadn’t thought of before. You’re right. Leah’s been in hell. She needs faces she trusts when shit hits the fan, and a calm omega will be a hell of a lot easier to handle given the shit that’s going to go down. I won’t pretend I want you anywhere near that mess but if you really think it’ll help, I won’t shut the damn idea down.”

Asher draws in a deep breath, his hands braced on either side of the sink. His pulse ticks visibly at his throat, clearly from the strain of trying to balance protecting me with respecting my choices. He searches my eyes for any crack in my resolve.

Then, with a heavy exhale, he nods. “I don’t like the risk either, but if Leah sees you and Mira first, it might make all the difference. She’ll trust us because you’re there.” He cups my face, brushing his thumb along my cheek. His touch is gentle but his grip firm, grounding. “Promise me, if anything does go sideways, you get out with Soren and you run no matter who's with you. You’re the most important person to us no matter what we’re trying to do. Understood?”

Soren’s soft gaze roams my face despite his worry. “We’ll set up every exit route, keep you in eyeshot the whole time.”

Phoenix shoves his hands in his pockets and lets a reluctant smile tug at the corner of his mouth. “I guess this means we're shopping for an evening gown for our omega.”

Their acceptance, no protest, just fierce concern and careful planning, settles something deep in my chest. These men always surprise me. Their trust and faith make me feel less like a risk and more like a partner. More like a pack.

“And a disguise. We can’t disguise her designation, but we can make her unrecognizable,” Asher says. “I don’t want Pack Carmichael to have the slightest hint you’re you.”

I nod, because he’s right. I don’t want the Carmichaels to recognize me either. I don’t want to cause any trouble at all. All I want is freedom for my pack, and Leah.

***

I slip into the gown I found in the expansive wardrobe adjoined to my room.. Mira’s alphas really did think of everything—matching shoes, jewelry, even delicate underthings I never would have chosen for myself but somehow, they fit perfectly. I hope the house, if Mira truly wants me to have it, comes with all of this.

Of course, her offer to give me the house is too generous, too big. It’s something I haven’t let myself think about for more than a flicker. I wonder how her alphas feel about the idea, about Mira giving away a house they bought for her. When things settle, I’ll ask Asher to find out for me. I need the particulars before I can really let myself accept something so monumental.

The dress, though… I have to look like I fit in at a gala, even if worms squirm in my stomach.

The dress glides perfectly over my frame, like it was made for me. Sky blue and soft as seafoam, accentuating whatever curves I have. I lean over the bathroom countertop and do my makeup as best I can, fumbling with palettes and brushes, uncertain with each stroke. No need for makeup locked in any basement, but I’m happy with the results. My eyes look bigger, my mouth a pouty pink.

I tug on the wig, adjusting it until the dark, loose curls spill over my shoulders and down my back, transforming me into someone unrecognizable. A stranger stares back from the mirror—soft-cheeked and delicate, eyes bright and luminous, lips flushed and full. I don’t look like the girl who stared back at me from the mirror in the hospital bathroom, skin stretched tight over bones, hair lifeless and dull. I don’t look like a ghost of an omega, hunted and hollow-eyed.

Tonight, I’m someone from a regular fairytale.

Someone who could belong at a gala.

Someone not afraid of what the night might bring.

I run my hand over the fabric of the gown, feeling my ribcage beneath. My hips are still too narrow, my bones sharp beneath the silk. My body’s filled out a little—my alphas have insisted on feeding me, on making every meal a mission to rebuild what was starved away—but I’m still a waif. Still too fragile, but tonight, wrapped in color and new softness, I look more omega than ever.

More like I could belong somewhere, even for just one shimmering night.

The beach has done me good. There’s a golden wash to my skin now, warm and healthy, nothing like that ghost-pale shade I wore for years. I look alive. Real. Not a shadow sneaking through someone else’s world. For a moment, my reflection makes me smile.

I promise myself that once this is all over, I’ll make time for exercise. Walks and runs right here on my own sand, letting the salt and the sun finish what my alphas started. I want to grow strong, to fill out every inch of this body.

But those days are for tomorrow.

For now, I have a sister to rescue.

Chapter Forty-Four

Emma

Iwalk out to the living room where I know my alphas are waiting. As I round the corner, their heads snap up. Their silence hangs heavy and charged. The air thickens with their scent, seeping through my skin and making my insides twist. Their arousal isn’t subtle and they don’t bother hiding it.

“Tough Girl, I’m gonna have to come up with another name for you. Beauty, perhaps, but no. That’s not enough.” Phoenix’s hungry gaze lingers at the base of my throat before sweeping down the curve of my waist and the length of my legs. He doesn’t even try to hide the way he looks at me, like he would peel away every silky thing I wear with his teeth if we had the time. Later.

“Goddess is the word you’re looking for, brother.” Soren’s gaze is slower, more intense. He watches every move I make, tracking my hands, the slight tremor of my fingertips, the lift of my chest as I breathe. His gaze lingers longest on my mouth, his own lips parting. His jaw tenses and a flush climbs his neck. I know he’s struggling to keep his hands at his sides and not on my body.

Asher watches me as though he needs to memorize every inch of me for the rest of his life. His liquid-black gaze drags over the hollow of my throat to his silvery-scarred mating bite. Unlike Phoenix and Soren, our prime closes the distance between us. Close enough for his body heat to lap across my skin. Whiskey edges with dark leather and masculine power make my omega mouth water.

“Our everything,” Asher breathes before he bends to kiss me delicately to avoid smudging the lipstick I curse I’m wearing. Even at the graze, heat sears a path through me. My nipples tighten like arousal is an Olympic sport and a heavy ball of need settles in my abdomen.

I know I’m breathing only because my breath hitches when Asher’s hand finds my cheek and his talented tongue delves into my mouth. I press against his hard planes and stifle the omega whine that wants to spill out of me.

Asher ends our devastating kiss, the echo of his lips burning against mine. Before I can gather myself, Phoenix drops to one knee in front of me, blue eyes gleaming. He holds the supple leather of a thigh holster, black and sleek, straps buttery soft and lined with pale blue silk in his large hands.

“Extra insurance. Any asshole comes at you, you pull this out and end them without thinking twice about it.” The mood grows serious as Phoenix lifts my skirt, fingers brushing warm and steady against my thigh as he draws the holster up my leg. He leans in close—so close his nose skims the inside of my knee and his breath huffs over goosebumps as he pulls a sleek gun from somewhere unknown on his body and slots it into the holster.

His eyes flutter closed for a moment as he inhales deeply, savoring my scent as though he could live off it alone. “You smell good enough to lick. If I had my way, I’d drag this dress off and eat you right here.”

Asher’s frown is immediate, concern overtaking desire. “That’s going to be a problem. Pack Carmichael will know you on scent alone—even with a wig they’ll pick you out in a crowd a mile away.”

He pulls a small, unmarked spray bottle from his pocket. “Sorry, Moonbeam.” He meets my gaze, apologetic. “This will be the last time I’ll cover up your delectable scent.” Then he begins misting my skin and dress, making sure not a patch is left untouched.

“That’s okay. Anything so this comes as a complete surprise to them.” I’m unsurprised to find my alphas found illegal de-scenter here. This is Pack Blackwood’s house after all—Adrian’s, Cole’s, and Zane’s territory. If I haven’t checked every cupboard yet, it’s only because I know I’d find every survival tool ever conceived. Dishwasher tablets? Check. Omega scent suppressant? Of course. Probably three brands made by their own company, just in case. When Phoenix has finished spritzing me, he hands me the bottle and tells me to put it in my clutch to use in case I need it at the gala.

“Here. This is for you too, Butterfly.” Soren clasps a bracelet around my wrist. The chain is delicate and lays cool and smooth against my skin. Small, intricate pendants dangle from the chain: a tiny sapphire-studded shield, a miniature brass book with real turning pages, and a crescent moon carved from luminous mother-of-pearl. He turns my wrist, drawing my attention to the shield. “This one holds a tracker. I embedded the chip in the base. Nobody will see it; nobody could remove it without ruining the charm. It’s coded into our phone, so we’ll know where you are at any time.”

I stare at the bracelet, awed by the thoughtfulness and skill that went into it, by the depth of Soren’s care. Between the disguise, the holstered weapon at my thigh, the blessing of de-scenter, and the sparkling bracelet encircling my wrist, a sense of safety settles into my bones.

I run my gaze over my alphas and wonder how many weapons they’ve packed under the tailored lines of their tuxedos. But I get stuck on the way their biceps pull at their sleeves and the way their thick thighs threaten to tear through the luxury wool. There’s not enough crotch room to hide the way they’re affected by me.

My mates are absolutely gorgeous.

Gods, strip me naked and fuck me senseless into tomorrow.

“You okay there, Moonbeam?” Asher cocks a brow as he looks down at me. The corner of his lip twitches.

I freeze. Did I…”...say that out loud?”

“Say what out loud?” Soren says.

My shoulders slump in relief. Thank the gods. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

“Come on. The faster we get going, the faster we can come back and fuck our omega into tomorrow,” Phoenix says.

“I think the term was ‘senseless into tomorrow’, brother,” Soren says, sucking his stupid-full lower lip between even white teeth as his gaze roams my face with enough heat to sear.

“Any way she wants us, she can have us,” Phoenix growls.

Please let the ground swallow me now. “You heard.”

“Thank the gods we can’t scent you after a statement like that, because we’d be forced to abort the mission,” Soren says.

I punch his bicep that might as well be made from carved and polished marble. “You wouldn’t.”

“We would never give up on a mission.” Asher sends Soren and Phoenix a chastising look and then tips my head with a gentle knuckle under my chin. “But we never back down from a challenge, either.”

***

We slip out through the side door and into the garage, the overhead lights flickering on to reveal a black, top-of-the-line sedan. Sleek, elegant, exuding quiet power just like everything else in this house.

Asher takes the wheel, jaw set and eyes flinty, posture radiating calm control that doesn’t quite hide his tension. I climb into the back, my dress slightly hitching around my thighs, and settle between Soren and Phoenix, who take up their positions on either side with silent, watchful certainty. Soren’s hand finds mine and squeezes once, his palm steady and warm. Phoenix’s thigh presses solid against mine, reminding me I’m not alone.

Doors close softly, the interior lit by the faint blue glow of the dashboard. Leather seats cradle us, but my nerves are taut, strung like wire. The gun holster under my dress digs against my thigh, a constant but not-unwelcome pressure. A dangerous comfort in the storm that lies ahead.

The tires crunch over gravel as Asher pulls out of the garage, headlights swiveling to illuminate the empty driveway and then the quiet street. As soon as the house falls away behind us, every breath in the car sharpens. The city looms ahead, impossibly bright. I press in close to my alphas.

Asher’s phone buzzes, screen lighting up with Adrian’s name. He answers instantly. “Adrian. What’s the situation?”

Adrian’s voice comes through, a shade rougher than usual as we listen through the speaker. “Mira’s gone into heat. She’s a walking signal flare right now. No way she can set foot near the gala without drawing the attention of every alpha in a city block radius.”

I stifle my gasp as Asher lets out a tense breath, jawline rigid as he looks at me in the rearview mirror. “That’s rough, Adrian. You staying back with her?”

“Zane’s got her covered. He’ll take care of her. Cole and I are still coming, but we’ll be one alpha down. As soon as this is over, we’ll head back. No waiting around.” There’s a deep note of promise in his voice. “I’ve briefed Ronan on the update.”

Phoenix blows out a breath. “We get it, Adrian. I’d rather Mira be safe than risk our omega’s safety.”

I feel the impact in my chest—a strange pang of relief and loss twisted together. There’s no way Mira can be out in public. Not only isn’t she physically able to, but her alphas are right. Her scent would be a drawcard for every unmated alpha at that gala. “Tell her not to worry. Mira needs to take care of herself. I’ll handle things with Leah. She’ll have me.”

“Thank you, Emma. You know you mean the world to her. We’ll see you in ten minutes,” Adrian says, and ends the call.

I let the words sink in, my mind racing. It would be far too dangerous for Mira to be surrounded by strangers and predatory alphas in a heat that raw. I couldn’t bear it if she put herself at risk for us, no matter how much she wanted to be there for Leah. It’s not just a question of safety. Her body is calling her home, demanding safety and tenderness from those who love her. She deserves that shelter, but there’s loss tangled in the relief. An ache for the comfort of my friend, for the strength she gives just by being at my side. For tonight, it’ll be just me for Leah, and for all of us. I hope I’m up to the task.

Phoenix leans in, voice edged with concern. “You all right?”

I nod, forcing a steadiness I don’t quite feel. “Yeah. I’m going to be okay.” I press that conviction down until it fills every shaky part.

Pride softens Soren’s face. He brushes his knuckles over mine. “You know how proud I am of you, right? You’re stronger than you think, Emma. Way stronger.”

Inside I’m a mess, nerves crackling just beneath the surface. My heart is a wild, fast thing, but I manage a smile and squeeze his hand. That pride in his gaze does something soft and anchoring to me.

Phoenix grins. “Hell, I’d be worried if you weren’t nervous. Only the truly unhinged aren’t scared of a night like this.”

Asher’s steady voice grounds us all. “We play this out as best we can. Emma is our top priority no matter what else happens.”

We turn a corner, and the city is suddenly brighter, alive with energy. Asher guides us past where the Aegis Gala is being held. The building is old and huge, but quaint, and includes eight floors restored to their former glory. Spotlights sweep the facade, the colorful lights picking out decorated cornerstones and finished window frames.

People flow up the front steps. Women are dressed in shimmering, expensive gowns, alphas resplendent in tuxedos, laughter and anticipation riding high on the night air as they walk through the glittering entrance. The front doors glow with promise and privilege, but our business tonight is anything but glamorous.

Asher eases the car past the front, turning at the next intersection and ducking down a quieter side street. He pulls up beside a discreet entrance where Cole and Adrian wait, sharp and focused in tailored suits. Three more men stand with them, tall and broad-shouldered, their faces unfamiliar but their posture all business. Even in the dim light, anyone can see they’re alphas. The confidence in their stance and the controlled alertness marks them as men who solve problems.

The minute Asher shifts the car into park and the engine hum quiets, my nerves spike fresh and sharp. My stomach cramps, a tight knot twisting, but I force myself to breathe slow and steady. The scent suppressant is holding strong. I don’t give off a whiff of fear; nothing to betray just how tightly wound I am on the inside. Thank the gods for that. At least that’s one thing I won’t have to manage on top of everything else.

Soren gets out of the car and offers me his hand. As I step out, the cool night air hits my face and sends a tremor through me. My calves wobble a little in the delicate heels, but Phoenix’s hand slides around my waist, steady as bedrock. Soren falls in at my other side while Asher flanks behind.

The soft click of my heels on the pavement echoes a hundred times louder than it should as we cross the sidewalk toward the small cluster of alphas. I recognize Adrian from the hospital, and Cole from the literal thousands of photos Mira sent me. The three others—tall, broad, exuding power in restraint—watch us with keen, appraising eyes.

I tuck just that little bit closer between my mates, shoulders square but fingers curled tight, determined not to show a flicker of doubt. My alphas bracket every step and the confidence in their movements make me feel as much a part of this operation as I ever could.

Ready or not, the mission has started.

And there’s no turning back now.

Chapter Forty-Five

Emma

Adrian greets my alphas with quick handshakes and murmured reassurances, his tone all business before his gaze settles on me. His posture shifts, a conscious effort to soften the impressive line of his shoulders and tilt his chin low, trying to make himself appear less threatening. It almost works—almost. Nothing could ever make Adrian anything but imposing.

I remember how Mira once confessed she was terrified of him at first, back before his softer side seemed possible. Now, she looks at him like he hangs the moon. The proof is in the gentle way he offers me a nod, eyes flickering with real warmth.

“Emma,” he says, voice gentler than anyone his size should manage. “I’d like to introduce you to Hawthorne Pack. They’re Mira’s security detail, and they’re here to help us bring Leah home.”

He gestures first to the alpha at his left. “This is Ronan.”

Ronan towers over everyone, at least six foot five, all broad shoulders and corded muscle under a perfectly tailored suit. His tanned skin is marked with the shadow of tattoos that snake up his neck and tease the edge of his jaw, just beneath the crisp line of his shirt collar. Stubble darkens his chin, and his brown eyes are steady, unwavering and watchful. He gives me a nod, the barest lift of his chin, a silent promise that he’s exactly as capable as he looks.

Adrian shifts attention to the next alpha. “Gabriel.”

Gabriel has short, styled auburn hair and a neatly groomed beard that frames a sharp, handsome face. His skin is lightly freckled, adding a touch of youth to his otherwise keen, serious expression. His hazel eyes are as bright and cutting as a hawk’s, tracking every movement. Though tall and fit, he carries himself as if he’s reading the room for threats, even in the calm. There’s a smirk of humor just at the corner of his lips, but his gaze never loses focus.

“And this is Jax,” Adrian finishes.

Jax is enormous. He’s dark-skinned, tall and thickly muscled, with a short beard that softens his otherwise severe features. His eyes are an intelligent, brown-black. Every inch of him is alert, his stance blocking the space behind Adrian as if protecting the entire team with his body alone.

All three of them radiate power and professionalism, the kind that promises violence only if it's absolutely necessary. Pack Hawthorne looks impossibly capable, as though nothing could get past them if they didn’t want it to. I finally understand why Adrian trusts them to protect Mira.

For a moment, nerves skitter up my spine, but I lift my chin and meet their eyes, grateful for their help and the force they bring with them. Tonight, Leah has an army behind her, and so do I.

Asher turns to me, his expression fierce but soft. This look I’ve come to know as his way of holding me close even when he has to let me go. It’s time for my mates to split off, to blend into the crowd, as we’ve planned a dozen times over. I hate this part, the moment when I must trust our strategy more than the comfort of their nearness because my face isn’t plastered across wanted bulletins like theirs.

I’m safest in the open even though we plan to stick to the edge of the crowd. Omegas draw eyes anyway, but with Ronan at my side, I’ll be just another pretty thing on an alpha’s arm. My alphas, though, are too well known to risk walking beside me.

Even though I know this is what we have to do, my heart clings to them, not wanting the warmth of their presence to fade. Asher plants a steadying kiss on my forehead, hands lingering an extra moment on my arms. “Be strong, Moonbeam. Do what you need to and let Ronan keep you safe. We’ll be in constant contact with him. I swear we’ll never be far.”

Phoenix clasps the back of my neck, bending to murmur, “You got this, Tough Girl. Don’t let anyone lay a finger on you. Knew from the start you’d be the bravest one of us.” He flicks a wry grin at Ronan as if daring him to do his job well.

Soren’s goodbye is quieter, slipping a note of calm straight into my bones as he squeezes my hand. “We’re so proud of you. We’re always there, even when you can’t see us.”

Turning to Ronan, Asher’s eyes narrow, less threat and more fierce pack demand. “Do whatever it takes to protect her.”

Ronan dips his chin. “I’ll look after her with my life.” His voice is gravel-dark and unyielding. A shiver ripples down my spine. Not from fear, but from the certainty in his words. He means every syllable.

My mates slip away with Adrian and Cole, their tailored forms swallowed up by the night, moving into the world of darkness, silk, champagne, and secrets. I watch them go, a hole forming in my chest even as my courage flares.

Ronan steps into the circle their presence leaves, offering his elbow with old-world formality and a hint of comfort in that big, solid frame. “Ready, Omega? We’ll take the side entrance. You’re here, but let’s make sure no one notices you too much.”

His dark scent hits me in the back of my throat with his promise. Relief flickers in me. I’m happy to disappear. I slip my hand around his arm, drawing strength from his steadiness. Together, we step out, moving around the grand front doors and instead ducking into a quiet side hallway still thick with velvet shadows. The gala can swirl on in all its spectacle; for now, I am just a ghost in its midst, floating silent and unseen, exactly where I need to be.

Ronan steers me through a maze of quiet corridors with an ease that belies his massive frame. His pace is brisk but never rushed, his confidence unwavering. He shields me, tucking me behind a wall of careful intent. Something about the way he knows exactly where to turn and pause has me glancing up at him, curiosity slipping past my nerves.

“You’ve been here before?” I ask, keeping my voice low.

He offers a small, rumbling chuckle as he glances at me. “Nope. First time. But we all studied the floor plans inside and out. We went over every layout, every exit and stairwell. I know this building like the back of my hand.”

Relief bites through my anxiety. Of course they’d do that. Ronan leads us out onto a landing overlooking the grand ballroom three stories below. The echo of music and dozens—no, hundreds—of voices float up on a glittering current, rising through ornate railings and gilded archways.

The crowd is a living sea, the lights from crystal chandeliers washing over shimmering gowns, sleek tuxedos, and jewels that wink at every turn. Alphas and betas shoulder against each other, everyone striving to be seen. The air is charged: excitement, hunger, ambition moving in ripples across the crowd. It’s a world away from the quiet shadows up here.

On the third level, the pace is slower. Just a scattering of older alphas and betas, men in dark suits with lines of silver at their temples, talking quietly in small circles or staring down at the spectacle. There’s a sense of a preference to watch rather than mingle with the crowd below. I realize, with a grateful breath, that I would never survive in that mass. The energy is suffocating from here. I don’t think I could even draw breath if I were pressed between them.

My eyes search, heart clenching, but I spot none of my alphas in that jostling throng. Just strangers, secrets, and flashing teeth beneath velvet lights. I try to tell myself that’s a good thing. Blending in was always the plan.

A waiter drifts by with a tray balanced high, crystal flutes shimmering with pale bubbles. Ronan snags two, handing one to me with a murmured, “Hold this. It’ll help us look like we belong.”

I swallow, turning the glass in my fingers. “I don’t want to drink it.”

He leans close, voice pitched for my ears only. “You just have to hold it. Watch.” He lifts his own glass and mimics a sip, the movement smooth and natural. But this close, I see the trick—his lips never actually touch the champagne, and not a drop leaves the rim.

It’s a small deception, but it settles me. Ronan has more control over this night than I imagined.

There’s a subtle shift in the current below. A ripple in the music of voices, laughter thinned to hush. I peer down to see Axel Turns stride through the grand front doors, the crowd parting for him like oil from water. He’s flanked by his pack—two enormous alphas in formal wear so dark and sharp they look like hired executioners. Their bulk dwarfs the fragile omega between them: Aubrey, small and heartbreakingly delicate, sandwiched tight between their bodies.

The commissioner radiates authority, head high, prowling forward with the impatience of a man used to getting everything he wants. Aubrey, so much smaller, willow-thin in a pale suit, doesn’t even look up. His gaze is fixed on the polished floor, shoulders rounded in on himself. Even from far above I see how he shakes, his body trembling.

Aubrey walks with his pack, locked in by his bonded alphas on either side, moving in perfect step as though this is all choreographed, yet his spirit is utterly alone within that group.

Rage flares in my chest, hot and white, coiling behind my ribs until I’m shaking. The commissioner, swaggering like a king, is the architect of this living hell—the one who built the prison Aubrey can’t escape, the one who shatters omegas like Leah, myself and so many others. The urge to drive my nails into the handrail is so strong my fists ache with it.

How dare he? How dare he walk in here adored and untouchable, with that beautiful, terrified omega caged by his side? The urge to scream, to tear him down in front of everybody, burns through my veins like acid. If there were ever a doubt about what we had to do tonight, there isn’t anymore. He’s hurt my alphas, my sisters, every omega who’s ever looked out of a cage. I want him ruined. Exposed. I want to see him shake the way Aubrey does, stripped of all his power, knowing what it means to be afraid.

I grit my teeth and blink away the sting in my eyes, grounding myself in the quiet rage and the knowledge that tonight, finally, he will not be untouchable. Not anymore.

Body heat warms my back as Ronan adjusts his stance behind me. Close, but not close enough to touch, his presence is a solid warmth. For a heartbeat, I think he’s drifting nearer for the view, but then I realize he’s shielding me. Making himself a silent wall between me and the spiral of malevolence below.

His voice is a low, rumbling promise in my ear. “This is the last night the commissioner walks free. His omega won’t be caged like that again. None of them will. I swear it.”

His certainty, so quietly spoken, so absolute, so full of righteous fury, lodges under my breastbone, pushing back the tightness and letting me breathe just a little deeper. I nod, unable to trust my voice, letting the comfort and protection of his promise sink into wire-drawn nerves.

The room is packed, and everywhere I look there’s security. Uniformed officers line the walls and doors, earpieces glinting. They’re shoulder to shoulder, the perimeter too tight for comfort. My instincts tighten, every cell in my body prickling with the reminder that this must be the commissioner’s doing because of what he’s here to do.

Trade omegas as though they’re property.

“We have to move and look like we’re blending in,” Ronan says quietly.

He leads us in an unhurried stroll down the hallways. We don’t loiter anywhere, drifting slowly but with seeming purpose along the wall, never letting ourselves stand out. Just a couple among many, gliding from one vantage point to another, but scoping out as much as we can. Faces blur and lights flicker, and I feel the press of eyes. Not just the security, but partygoers, alphas, betas, even the predatory glances from some omegas’ packs who notice a stranger among them. I might be in disguise, but there’s only so much I can do to hide my omega designation.

A sharp, twisting cramp clenches through my belly, so sudden I pause, hand tightening on the railing as I ride it through. Ronan’s dark eyes sweep over me, concern flickering in his gaze. “Are you all right?”

I force a small, brave smile, willing my frame to straighten. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine. It’s just stress.” My voice is steady, even if my heart is not.

Twice I’ve cramped tonight. Or is it three? With the stress of everything I haven’t been keeping track. Gods, please don’t let this be a heat spike. I just have to hold off for another hour or two. Just until we can save Leah. I can fall apart later.

His silent companionship keeps me moving when all I want to do is double over and hide. I draw on his strength, holding myself together for one more breath, one more moment, knowing the real collapse has to wait until Leah is free.

The air curdles and something sick and cold winds through my gut when I spot Pack Carmichael stride through the entrance. Bile creeps up my throat, and Ronan has my back again, taking my elbow when I stumble.

“You can do this, Omega,” he says.

I lock my knees and send him a sharp nod, willing my stomach to settle as they enter as though they own the place, dressed in sharp suits, expensive watches, and shoes glossed to a mirror shine. I see that their smiles are practiced and blinding, their laughter too loud, pulling attention to them like moths who have no idea their wings will get singed when they fly too close to the flame.

News cameras flash. Gala regulars want to be seen with them. Their popularity sickens me; every smiling face is just another person blind to the monsters hiding behind expensive clothing. On the surface, the four of them are the picture of wealthy, successful alphas. Only I know how rotten they are on the inside.

I will die before I let them take Leah.

The Commissioner of Police makes a show of welcoming them with open arms, embracing them like long-lost brothers. No one would guess that the whole gala is a front for their sick empire.

My skin crawls. I fight to keep my steps slow, my grip gentle on the champagne glass. I want nothing more than to spit at their feet, to scream the truth until the room goes silent and everyone can see the blood on their hands.

Aubrey is nothing but negative space beside them. Not one alpha bothers to acknowledge him. He hovers between them, eyes on the floor, still beneath his pressed jacket. There, but absent.

The minutes crawl by, each one burning a new line into my memory. I loop slow, careful circles around the third floor, Ronan remaining at my side, forcing myself not to show a hint of what I’m feeling. Rage. Disgust. Raw, desperate hate.

It’s almost an hour before the commissioner finally peels away from the bustle, his pack and Pack Carmichael in tow. They move together, slapping backs, clinking glasses, giving every impression of deep, easy friendship. I know better. Pack Carmichael lines the commissioner’s pockets, keeps his secrets, protects his interests and in return he gives them everything they want, no matter who it hurts.

Ronan and I hang back, slipping quietly along the hallway, careful to keep just enough distance not to be noticed but close enough not to lose them. I follow his cues, matching his pace, keeping my head down just enough to avoid eye contact. They disappear into an elevator, and we hover until the numbers above the door pause.

Ronan speaks into the discreet microphone in his sleeve as we head to the stairs at the end of the hallway and begin to meander up. “We’re trailing the targets. Commissioner Turns and Pack Carmichael have moved to level six, northwest corridor.” His calm is an anchor, but my nerves are raw and sparking, each step a battle not to trip over my own feet.

This part of the building is quiet as we step onto the empty sixth floor landing, having passed the last guests on the floor below. We reach a corner, the hush deeper here, as we catch the alphas disappearing through a polished door off the large, spacious hallway.

My pulse thunders in my ears. Sweat pricks the back of my neck. A whiff of honeysuckle blooms around me and I almost stumble. There’s only one reason it has the strength to burn through the de-scenter. I’m not experiencing a heat spike.

Holy fuck, I’m going into full heat.

At the worst possible moment.

We’re so close to Leah. I flatten my back against the wall behind Ronan, forcing the panic down. We can’t afford to lose them. Not now, with everything on the cusp. Bad things go on behind closed doors. We’ll never find them again. I spare a frantic look at Ronan. “We have to follow them. We can’t lose sight of them.”

And whatever it is, it must be caught on the body cams they’re all wearing. We need proof more than I need to stay hidden.

He looks down at me, frustration tightening his features. I know he’s thinking the same thing. “Stay close to my six, Emma. Keep your hand on my belt at all times. You leave my side for nothing, you understand?” His eyes flicker. Sharp, not unkind, but deadly serious.

We pad down the corridor. Ronan turns the handle and peeks around the door into the room. A frown forms on his forehead as we both peer into the shadows and, oh fuck, we really have lost them.

“Come on.”

I follow Ronan into the room but as soon as the door snicks shut behind us, I know something’s wrong. Ronan shifts in front of me, broad and bristling, but three large alphas emerge from the shadows. The looks on their faces curdles my stomach—hungry, smug, vicious.

The cruelest alpha’s thin lips twist into a greasy smile as he tips his head back and drags my scent into his lungs. “Hello, Omega. Welcome back to your rightful pack,” Matthew says.

Chapter Forty-Six

Emma

Ronan grabs my arm and pushes me back toward the door we came through with the brutal, practiced force of a man who’s faced ambushes before. “Emma—out! Now!” His voice is a bark of pure command, his body already bracing for the chaos that explodes around us, but Pack Carmichael moves as one, blocking my retreat.

Matthew lunges at us before I have time to think. James and Derek cut Ronan off before he can open the door again, their grins too wide, too hungry, pure malice in every line.

Ronan meets them head-on, his fists flashing, every movement efficient and brutal. He lands a punch in James’s gut with enough force to fold him, then hammers an elbow into Derek’s jaw, the crack echoing off the walls. Derek staggers but doesn’t fall; Ronan ducks another blow, blood already leaking from a split over his brow. They’re vicious, fighting dirty, swinging for his face, kicking at his knees, trying to drag him to the floor where their numbers can break his strength.

Ronan is a wall, blocking and countering, grabbing Derek’s arm and twisting until bone threatens to snap but he leaves room for Matthew to grab my shoulders in a brutal grip.

His sharp, cold scent floods my nose, all rot and rage and old nightmares come for me in the flesh. He snarls in my ear, breath hot and sickening. “You thought you could hide, Omega? We’d know you anywhere. That scent, that fear. So delicious. You’re always ours.”

He yanks my wig off in a single, savage rip, the pins snapping, hair tumbling loose. His nose drags along my neck and I jerk back as far as I can in his unrelenting grip, bile rising, terror clawing through me until it’s all I can do to keep breathing.

Ronan’s boots scrape on the floor, the savage impact of flesh on flesh as he battles to reach me, but Derek and James are on him, pinning him back, raining blows on his ribs and head. He releases a roar of pure fury as he tries to claw toward me.

Matthew locks his arm around my waist, dragging me backward, my heels scraping, a scream tearing raw from my throat as he opens the door. Ronan breaks away for a heartbeat, eyes meeting mine, but before he can get to me, James’s fist slams into his temple, driving him down.

Matthew jerks me into the corridor, his fingers cruelly tight on my arm. Every inch of my body twists with revulsion, but survival snaps me into desperation. I drive my elbow back into his ribs, kick at his shins, claw at his hands. I let my rage and terror loose; let him see that I am not helpless anymore.

I have everything to live for and he won’t take that away from me.

Surprise twists his features as I gouge his cheek with clawed fingernails, drawing lines of blood. “You little bitch!”

He drops me in his shock, and for a heartbeat I’m free, stumbling, mind screaming to run, but Matthew lunges.

I collapse under his full body weight. He clenches my hair as he slams me to the ground. My ears ring as he flips me to my back underneath him.

“You think you can leave us? You think you’re not ours?” He raises his hand and slaps me hard, the impact enough to taste blood on my tongue.

Trapping me beneath of the weight of his body, he shoves my dress up to my waist, his knees between my thighs. The sick bulge of his erection digs into me through his pants. He rises, hand working his buckle.

He’s going to rape me.

Right here on the floor of the corridor where anyone could see.

He’s too crazed to care, but even if someone did see us, the law would be on his side. He still owns me and can do whatever he pleases.

My fear trembles on the edge of panic, fury burning underneath.

I’m not going to let him take from me again.

I’m not powerless.

I’m not the same omega he imprisoned for years.

That omega had nothing to live for.

This omega does and she’s willing to fight for it.

I reach to my thigh, where my dress is already hiked up, searching for the gun Phoenix gave me. Matthew’s hands are greedy and rough. Too busy seizing, tearing, branding my skin with his madness.

My fingers close around the holster. I snap open the latch and wrench the gun free, my hands shaking.

“Get off me!” I choke out, the words raw and savage as I jam the gun up against his ribs, safety already flicked off. His eyes widen with a flicker of fear, the first and only time I’ve ever seen that emotion in him.

“You’re not touching me ever again,” I hiss.

Matthew throws back his head and cackles, the sound ricocheting off the marble and crystal of the hallway. His laughter is twisted, wild. Mocking me, belittling every atom of courage I’ve scraped together.

“Look at you,” he sneers, letting his hands drift up in a parody of surrender. “A little cunt like you waving a gun like she actually means it. You don't have it in you. You’ll always belong to us. Stupid. Weak. Begging for our cocks and knots even when you fucking hate us.” He leans in, his voice dropping to a poisonous whisper. “Go on. Pull it. I dare you. Or should I bark to remind you who’s in charge?”

His gaze gleams with toxic superiority. For years, that flash of teeth, that hint that he could break me with one command, always meant the end. If he barked right now, maybe I would freeze. Maybe I’d fall back beneath his control. But he hasn’t. Not yet. For all his arrogance, he’s still underestimating me.

My fear burns away, leaving nothing but rage and crystal clarity. “You want to know who’s weak?” I lock eyes with his. “It’s not me. It’s you, and Derek, and James. You’re cowards. Predators who get off on controlling others. You’re the real monsters.”

Shock flickers over his face, warping instantly into rage. His hand reaches toward his trousers zipper, “You’ll learn your place, you little bitch—”

I squeeze the trigger.

The report deafens me and the force slams into his side. He topples off me, mouth falling open, shock etched deep, just as my alphas burst around the corner. Asher leads, Soren and Phoenix right behind, panic and fury etched into every line of their faces. Matthew falls to the floor next to me, his stiff cock obscenely framed by his open zipper.

Derek and James burst from the room, with Ronan hard on their heels. He staggers after them, blood trailing from a split brow, his jaw clenched in a furious snarl.

They spot Matthew sprawled on the floor, a crimson stain blooming under him. Derek’s eyes flare, feral and unhinged, and he lets out a guttural snarl. James, teeth bared, launches straight for me, blind hatred in every line of his body.

But my alphas are faster.

Asher slams into James, all fury and muscle, pinning him to the wall so hard the plaster cracks. Phoenix barrels into Derek, both crashing to the floor in a chaotic tangle of limbs. Soren rushes to my side, placing himself between me and the fight, weapon drawn and voice cold as steel. “They won’t touch you again, Emma.”

James fights with a wild, animal panic, twisting and scrabbling against Asher’s grip. Desperation beams in his eyes. He won’t go quietly, not now that he sees the ruin of his pack and the certainty of his fate. His hand darts to his waistband, slick with sweat, fumbling as he rips free a small, black pistol.

The glint of a barrel catches the corridor lights. His gaze locks on Asher, pupils blown wide, teeth bared in a snarl. This isn’t surrender. This is murder, plain and simple.

“Asher!” For a single suspended second, the coppery taste of terror singes my tongue.

Phoenix swings his own gun up in one smooth, desperate arc, his eyes hard, mouth set, and pulls the trigger. The flash of light blinds me and the scent of burnt metal and cordite follows the boom of the gun.

James spasms. His finger convulses on the trigger, but his pistol never fires. Instead, he drops to the floor, the gun spinning out of reach. Blood pools beneath him, bright and spreading on the carpet. His chest heaves once, twice, then goes still.

Phoenix stiffens, shoulders trembling, breath choppy as he lowers his weapon. Soren stays alert to any other potential threat. Derek’s eyes flick from James’s lifeless body to Phoenix’s smoking gun and over to Asher and Ronan—both of them bloodied, bloody-minded, and closing in. His breaths come in ragged pants, the last of his bravado stripping away, face ashen. He knows—any fool can see it—there will be no deals, no sweet talk, no way out except through cold, hard justice.

But Derek’s pride is carved too deep for surrender.

He makes his choice in the blink of an eye. He sprints to the large window at the end of the hallway that overlooks the sparkling city beyond and hurls himself through the glass.

“Fuck.” Phoenix sprints forward, shoving broken glass aside to peer down. His voice is low and grim. “He’s dead.”

There’s a moment of shocked silence. The corridor is a wreck of broken glass, blood, and the dead monsters who ruined so many lives.

Asher’s hands find me, strong and shaking, framing my face as he pulls me from Soren’s hold and looks me over, frantic and thorough. His eyes are wild, dark with terror and raw relief, searching for blood, bruises, or any sign I’ve been hurt.

“Love. Emma, look at me.” His thumbs brush the streak of tears from my cheeks. “Are you hurt? Did he…” His voice breaks, fear too sharp, and he forces a steadier breath. “Tell me you’re all right.”

His hands skim down my arms, fingertips cataloguing every inch, every shiver. I shake my head, breathless, trying to manage a weak smile. “I’m okay. He didn’t get a chance. I’m not hurt, Ash. I’m not. I swear.”

Phoenix slides in behind me, anchoring me to reality when my world wants to spin off its axis. “They’re gone. Finally gone out of your life.”

“They’ll never touch you again, Emma.” Soren shudders as he pulls me into his arms, tucking my head beneath his chin, enveloping me in the strong, clean line of his scent. His body trembles, the aftershocks of violence and relief vibrating through him.

For a heartbeat, I let myself collapse into him, gathering the warmth of all three—the fierce, desperate relief. The monsters are gone. And I am not alone.

Ronan stands back, his big frame battered but watchful, a silent sentinel against anything that might still threaten, but his presence brings me back to reality.

Asher leans in, his hands still shaking on my skin, and inhales sharply. His eyes widen and nostrils flare. His entire focus narrows to the scent pouring off me. My wild honeysuckle and vanilla is tangled thick with fear and adrenaline alongside the deeper, honeyed edge of my heat.

“Omega…” His voice is hoarse, warning and worry layered together, jaw tight as his eyes search mine. “Your scent. You’re going into heat. Love, it’s strong. Too strong. It isn’t safe for you here. Not now. Not with so many alphas and so much blood in the air. We need to get you out.”

My heart stutters. The heat is gathering inside me, the hunger and ache growing, but I shake my head. “It’s a little way off. We still have time.” I scan each of their faces, pleading. “Please, we have to find Leah. She’s so close. We can’t leave her. Not after all this. Please.”

Ronan, swiping blood from his jaw, nods grimly. “There’s another door leading out from that room. The commissioner must’ve slipped out through the back. That’s why we lost him. The longer we wait, the less chance we have of reclaiming her.”

Asher’s scent turns sharp, smoky and protective. He bares his teeth as he growls, “If you’re in danger, Emma, this mission is finished. I’m not losing you. Not for anything. Not even for Leah.”

I meet his furious gaze unflinching, desperate. “Please don’t let them win. You need to clear your name and the only way to do that is catching him in the act. I want you to be free. I don’t want to live in the shadows because we’ve done nothing wrong. Stop them before they can do to someone else what they did to me.”

Asher curses under his breath, rage and devotion colliding behind his eyes. Phoenix’s hand squeezes my shoulder, and Soren presses a kiss to my temple. “That’s our girl.”

After a heartbeat, Asher speaks into the microphone clipped to his sleeve, voice clipped and urgent: “Adrian, Cole—get to our position. Bring Gabriel and Jax, now. We need backup as fast as you can get here. The situation is urgent.”

It feels like hours pass in those long, tense moments, but it can’t be more than a few minutes before Jax and Gabriel come rushing into the corridor. They’re a wall of calm power wreathed in formalwear. Jax’s eyes sweep over me and then the corridor, lips set in a merciless line. Gabriel glances at the bodies, the carnage, then raises an eyebrow and says quietly, “Looks like we missed the fireworks.”

Ronan jerks his chin toward the empty room the commissioner and his pack went into and disappeared from. “No one’s celebrating yet. The commissioner is ahead of us, with Leah somewhere close.”

Jax positions himself to my right, solid and reassuring, while Gabriel trades a glance with Phoenix—a silent exchange full of trust and determination. Jax lowers his head a little to meet my eyes. “You okay, sugar?” His voice is warm but undercut with an edge of ferocity. “You holding on?”

I nod, breath shaky but sure. “We’re not leaving without Leah.”

The muscles in his jaw flex, something like approval flickering there. “That’s right. Not a damn soul’s getting past us.”

The thrum of approaching boots pulls my attention to the far end. Adrian and Cole appear, faces drawn and intent, eyes landing on me with a mix of relief and horror at the mess strewn across the marble.

Adrian takes one look at the blood, the shattered glass, then at the tension in Asher’s tightly held frame. “Gods almighty. When you said you’d take them out, I didn’t think literally, but at least there’s less garbage in the world.”

Cole’s gaze softens when he takes in my state, the streaks of blood and torn gown. “You up for this, Emma?”

“I’m holding up. Let’s finish this.” I’m so glad my voice doesn’t shake.

Asher nods, his shoulders set in a rigid line. “Jax, Gabriel, Ronan—you’re on point. The rest of us form a wedge around Emma. If any alpha so much as looks at her wrong, drop him.”

Phoenix’s hand squeezes my arm, voice fierce in my ear: “We’re your wall.”

Ronan signals after he checks the safety of the corridor, then the whole world narrows down to the sound of my own heartbeat and the circle of alphas around me. They’re a living fortress as we slip from the ruined hallway and back into the room we were ambushed, the stink of blood fading in the wake of our hope. As we step through the hidden door left ajar in search of Leah, my pack protects every move I take.

Chapter Forty-Seven

Emma

We stumble out of the room and into a lengthy stretch of tastefully paneled hallway with a velvet runner underfoot and expensive sconces casting soft light along the walls. Doors line one side, each one closed and giving nothing away. How will we ever find Leah? The only windows are narrow slits set high near the ceiling, blacked out so no hint of the outside world can reach us. The air smells antiseptic and stale, as if the space was built for secrets, not comfort.

Ronan, Gabriel and Jax check each door, every slam of boot and shoulder a demand that the walls finally give up their secrets. Room after room yields horror. Cots with leather straps. Bowls on the floor. Dirty, scrunched linens and the distant stink of fear. My breath is loud in my ears, matched by the harsh pants of my alphas. One door refuses to budge and it takes all the prime alphas to shoulder it open.

A single massive crash splinters the wood, the room beyond revealing a nightmare that will be etched into my mind forever.

The commissioner stands at the far wall, composed and smug despite the sudden invasion. His eyes flick dismissively to me, then linger on my alphas. On either side of him are his pack alphas, Logan and Mick, both broad men in dark suits, hands steady on the guns they’ve trained on the kneeling figures in front of them.

To his right stands Senator Evelyn Hardwick, a pearl necklace tight around her neck, her thin mouth twisted with contempt. If only this was the face she showed the public on news casts and social media posts. This was the face she showed during her visits at Haven. Behind her, her pack alphas, Kylie and Sean, loom, unaffected by the suffering at their feet.

They’ve clearly been waiting for this moment—for us.

“Leah,” I breathe. My vision blurs at the sight of Leah kneeling next to two other omegas, one of them Aubrey.

Leah is almost unrecognizable. Her hair is a tangled mess, embedded with blood, grime, grease and gods only know what else. Her dress is torn at the shoulder and is no more than rags. She presses her hands to her knees, head bent and so, so still.

Beside Leah, Aubrey’s frail form is hunched, a dog lead clipped back on his neck. Aubrey doesn’t look up. He shudders with every small motion anyone makes. A third omega kneels on Aubrey’s other side. A tiny, unfamiliar woman, so thin she looks as if a strong wind would shatter her. A bruise blooms over her temple, and she sways unsteadily. Only Hardwick’s cruel grip on her arm keeps her from falling.

The omegas’ scents are tainted by pain and illness, made weak through agony and defeat. They don’t stand a chance against the alphas who form a gun-ring around them, a wall of muscle, arrogance, and violence.

A sharp breath gushes from Adrian, “Gods. Skylar…what the fuck have your alphas done to you?”

Hardwick rolls her eyes. “Oh please. Spare me the sanctimonious alpha shit, Adrian. It makes me want to yak.”

“How can you think treating omegas like this is anything but wrong?” Asher’s growl vibrates from deep within his chest.

“You’re such a do-good alpha, doing his best to beat the system. You always were predictable, Asher, and taking care of broken little things is going to be your downfall,” the commissioner says.

My fingers curl with the urge to claw his eyes out. How dare they make fun of alphas who know the true worth of their omegas. Who understand not to take by force things people smaller than them don’t want to give. I can’t stop the tiny growl that unfurls in my chest.

The commissioner’s gaze lands on me, and he smiles, contemptuous. “Move a muscle and they die, Omega. Gods, I can’t wait to give you to alphas who will truly make you understand your place. Pack Carmichael were far too soft on you.”

Rage howls in my chest and Phoenix whispers in my ear, “Don’t move, Tough Girl. We’ll end this. Don’t give them what they want.”

Asher’s voice is cold and hard as a blade. “We’re getting this on camera, Commissioner. Let the omegas go. Or you’ll never walk out of here again.”

The commissioner’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. He shrugs off Asher’s threat with a careless lift of his shoulders, as if Asher is an irritating child tugging at his sleeve. “Whatever you think you have doesn’t matter. I’ll just say that any footage you have is all faked, doctored nonsense. Who do you think the world’s going to believe?” He sweeps his cold gaze over us. “Me? Or some fallen cops playing hero? The golden detective who burnt his badge to the ground for magic omega pussy.”

Senator Hardwick cocks her hip. “Here’s your choice, detectives, and Pinnacle pains in my ass. Drop your weapons and get on your knees. We’ll be gracious and let the little fuck toys”—She jerks her chin at the omegas huddled together in front of her—”live. That’s not to say we won’t paint you as villains. We need scapegoats, after all. Alphas who are so righteous about omega rights on the outside but have hidden their rotten cores in private. The world will be up in arms about all these unfortunate events concerning poor omegas sold at horrible auctions run by the very alphas who pretend to protect them.”

The commissioner glances down at the shuddering omegas at his feet. “You’ve provided us with the perfect opportunity to get rid of the heat dogging our heels. It’s the perfect headline. Just what the world needs to tighten the leash on omega rights. And who else can ensure the rules around omegas are strict enough to keep them safe but the people in power who took down the nasty, mean alphas? Isn’t that right, mongrel?”

Aubrey shakes so hard the chain rattles. His breath whistles from between his teeth. His lips move and I realize he’s speaking, the words no more than impressions on his breath. “One, four, six, five. One, oh, three, seven—”

“Shut the fuck up!” The commissioner pulls the chain on Aubrey’s lead, the collar digging into the black and purple bruises around his neck. The senator sniggers as Aubrey is yanked so hard he tumbles to his back.

“Get up, you worthless piece of shit and fucking present,” Logan barks.

Mick kicks Aubrey as he struggles back to his knees, unable to overcome his alpha’s bark. Aubrey plants his palms on the ground and lowers his head, ass in the air. The omega Adrian called Skylar begins to tremble but Leah…Leah doesn’t react at all.

“Look at that. Begging for it, the slut.” Mick licks his lips as he stares down at the broken omega at his feet.

The commissioner and Hardwick are more than sick. They’re completely insane.

And unstoppable because they’re not wrong. They do have power on their side and enough money to pay off people to look the other way and accept their lies.

Asher’s growl is low and threatening. “You think we’ll just lay down and let you do that?”

For the first time, the commissioner smiles in genuine delight. “You misunderstand, Detective. Surrender, and they live. Refuse and I make sure you’re the last thing these little creatures ever see. Give me my story. Be my monsters.”

“Let’s help them decide, shall we?” The commissioner moves his gun to point it at Leah. “You have five seconds before I put a hole in her skull.”

For a moment, I can’t move, can’t breathe.

“You kill that omega, and it will be the nail in your coffin,” Asher growls. “See these body cams? The feed is being live streamed to the head of the department’s Legal Affairs Division as we speak. Everything you’re doing and saying is being witnessed by at least fifty federal agents who, I’m assuming, will be on site soon if they aren’t already here. There will be no doctoring of videos. No fake news. No scapegoats. You’ve been made, Axel. There’s nowhere to turn. Nowhere to run. You know I’m right. We’re the golden boys of the department. You said so yourself.”

The commissioner’s face turns a deep red as he stares at Asher. My alpha doesn’t give an inch. He stands still, gaze locked on the man I hate more than anything. Sweat pops out on the commissioner’s brow as he draws his lips into a tight grimace to reveal clenched teeth. “If I’m going out, then no one in this room gets to live.”

Molasses coats the wheels of time as he points his gun toward Leah. I draw in a breath and scream, “No! Leah!”

Leah startles, lifting her head. Her eyes are slow to focus and when they find me, they flare wide, as if in disbelief, as though she never expected to see me again, let alone with an army of alphas behind me. Her lips part, working soundlessly before she forces out a trembling whisper, “Emma?”

I nod, my body shuddering, tears cutting warm tracks down my cheeks. I want to run to her, to gather her in my arms and promise her this nightmare is almost over, but all I can do is meet her gaze and pray she sees everything I want to say. You’re not alone. I swore I’d find you. And here I am.

Leah’s scent flares, cutting through the stifling air. Sickly and thin, but unmistakable: musky rose struggling up through rain-soaked earth, threaded with bitter medicine and the copper tang of open wounds. Despair weaves through her, but beneath it, something deeper stirs, raw omega courage, fragile and aching for freedom.

Jax inhales, eyes darkening, Gabriel’s jaw tightens, and Ronan goes rigid as her scent hits him. The word rips from his chest, primal and fierce: “Mate.”

Pack Hawthorne moves almost too fast to track. Jax barrels into Mick, and the gun clatters harmlessly to the floor. Gabriel knocks Kylie flat with one explosive punch that sends her rolling. Ronan is on the commissioner, a thunderous growl tearing from his throat, eyes black with feral rage. Ronan seizes the commissioner by the throat, lifting him off the ground.

“You dare harm my omega?” Ronan twists. Bone and sinew snap in his hands and the commissioner’s head lolls. His body crumples, his eyes wide and empty. Ronan lets the large alpha crumple to the floor.

The senator screams. “Guards! Get in here now!”

Another door leading into the room bursts open as hard-faced alphas dressed in police uniforms stream into the room.

Asher plants himself directly in front of me, legs wide, chest heaving, his body a shield. “Stay behind us, Emma!”

An officer barrels toward us, teeth bared, but Asher meets him with a brutal uppercut then turns, grabs the next with both fists, and slams the man’s head into the wall so hard the plaster cracks. His body drops to the floor.

Phoenix ducks a wild punch, twists low, and sweeps the attacker’s legs out from under him in one swift, dirty kick. The alpha hits the floor, and Phoenix drives his elbow down hard onto his throat. The alpha wheezes, clutching his broken windpipe and gasping for breath.

An officer swings a baton at my head, but Phoenix intercepts the strike, taking the blow with his forearm. A hiss escapes his clenched teeth before he smashes his fist into the alpha’s gut. He snatches the baton and swings it at his opponent’s temple. The wet thud echoes off the walls. The alpha spins and goes down hard.

Another cop rushes toward us, arm swinging. Soren snatches the man’s wrist mid-air, twists until there’s the sharp pop of bone dislocating, then shoves the man away. The man cries out, tucking his arm to his chest. Asher rams his elbow into the man’s temple, knocking him out.

Another tries to charge, and Soren drops to one knee, grabbing ankles and yanking the cop flat to the floor. The back of his head clunks with an explosion of blood.

In the next breath, Phoenix has his knee in another’s back, pinning him down before driving his fist into the man’s temple. The alpha goes limp, but Phoenix is up and colliding with the alpha Asher is trying to bring down.

Adrian and Cole advance on the senator’s pack. Kylie and Sean close ranks around Evelyn. Kylie moves first, tall and rawboned, swinging a metal baton in a low, wicked arc meant for Cole’s knees. He avoids the swipe by a fraction, pivoting and grabbing the senator by the arm, only for Sean to slam his fist into Cole’s ribs, knocking the air from his lungs.

Kylie rounds on Adrian, twisting around and swinging high with a roundhouse kick. Adrian flinches but keeps his arms up, grabbing her leg and backing her into the wall. Kylie rakes her nails across his cheek, drawing blood, then stomps on his instep. Adrian jabs his elbow into Kylie's wrist. Her baton drops to the floor. With her weapon gone, Kylie swings her fist hard, but Adrian ducks under, grabs her wrist, and twists until the crack of bone is unmistakable. She drops, clutching her arm, and he lands a finishing elbow to her jaw that leaves her dazed on the floor.

Sean pulls a switchblade and swings it at Cole. “That all you got?” Sean feints left before slashing right. Cole grabs Sean’s forearm, twists the knife from his grasp, and knees the alpha hard in the groin. Sean goes down, gasping. Cole follows it up with a brutal punch to the man’s temple, sending him sprawling, then kicks the switchblade away.

Hardwick yanks a gun from Kylie’s holster, grabs Leah by the hair, and hauls the omega up hard against her chest.

“Leah!” I scream. My alphas bring down the last officer and start toward Hardwick.

She presses the barrel against Leah’s head and drags her toward the service door through which the officers arrived. “Stay back! Stay where you are or I’ll blow her brains out! Don’t think for a second I won’t!”

I reach toward Leah, my arms outstretched, fingers clawing at nothing, desperate to close the yawning distance between us. A brutal cramp coils through my abdomen, wrenching a gasp from my lungs. My knees buckle and I hit the cold floor hard, my breath gone. All I see is Leah’s face, her eyes wide, pleading, her lips parted, and then nothing but the dying spark of hope as Hardwick drags her through the door, gun still pressed to her skull.

“No!” The word tears out of me, raw and useless, lost in the chaos.

Ronan’s roar is so deep and furious that ceiling dust shakes loose. Gabriel and Jax whirl to the now-empty doorway. The remaining officers, those not already unconscious or broken, surge at them from all directions. Ronan plows through, throwing men aside like ragdolls, every motion powered by a terrifying strength. Gabriel picks up a fallen baton and swings in a clean arc, sweeping legs from under an officer, sending him sprawling. Jax lifts one by the belt and shoulder, hurling him hard enough that the man cracks the opposite wall and doesn’t rise again, joining the other bodies strewn over the floor.

“Go for her, Ronan. We’ll lock everything down here. Go and get your mate!” Adrian yells, but Pack Hawthorne are already bolting after Leah.

I can only hope they’re fast enough to catch up with Hardwick. If they do, Hardwick won’t stand a chance.

I sob, rage and heartbreak tearing through me as I press my forehead to my knees.

Hardwick has Leah.

I’ve lost her to the jaws of a monster.

Chapter Forty-Eight

Emma

More masked, uniformed officers thunder into the ruined room, boots pounding and weapons raised. Panic flares sharp as lightning. I can’t tell if these are more of the commissioner’s men, or simply fresh monsters. Asher scoops me up, strong arms cradling me tight against his chest, shielding my body with his own before I have a chance to scream. I cling to his collar, my tears soaking the lapel of his suit.

Soren and Phoenix step over to join us, battle-bruised and streaked in blood, but still making themselves a wall of muscle between me and more danger. Phoenix plants himself at my right, chin lifted, gaze glittering with the threat of violence. Soren takes my left, breathing hard, hands clenched into ready fists.

One of the officers rips off his mask. His face is lined, hair silver at the temples, blue eyes sharp and clear as they cut across the chaos. Something in the set of his jaw makes Asher exhale. Soren’s whole stance shifts from taut to guarded trust, and Phoenix's fists loosen just a fraction.

“Dawson,” Asher breathes, relief and exhaustion in the word. He barely spares a heartbeat before turning, strong even while he stands, still holding me as though I weigh nothing.

“I assume you saw everything?” Soren asks.

Dawson gives him a sharp nod and his gaze flicks to the commissioner’s broken body. “I didn’t want to believe it, but the proof is indisputable.”

Phoenix jerks his chin toward the door Hardwick vanished through. “Hardwick took Leah. She’s armed and desperate, and she went through there. Your people need to move.”

“You heard the man!” Asher barks. “Go get her!” Several officers bolt over prone bodies and through the door without a backward glance.

Dawson arches a brow at Asher. “As far as the city’s concerned, you can’t officially order any of us around, Detective.”

Asher bares his teeth in a humorless smile, voice rumbling with defiance. “Then I’m reinstating myself.” His arms tighten around me, his glare daring anyone to challenge him. “This is the beginning of the end.”

Dawson rubs at his brow, but he doesn’t argue. His gaze sweeps the devastation, landing briefly on Skylar, her frail, battered form barely upright. But when he sees Aubrey his eyes don’t leave. The omega kneels with his head low, body curled in on itself. Shadows crater his cheeks, eyes sunken and rimmed with purple, lips split and bloodied. There’s a look to him. Hollowed out, vacant, far beyond fear into a kind of numb emptiness. He blinks at nothing, gaze somewhere far away, adrift in his own pain.

Broken. So broken.

A muscle in Dawson’s jaw jumps. When he speaks, his voice is rough but achingly gentle. “Glad you put an end to it. No alpha should treat an omega—anyone—like this.” His eyes flick to the commissioner’s crumpled body with an expression bordering on disgust. “And if you hadn’t done what you did, there’d still be a line of alphas behind him ready to pick up where he left off.”

Asher sets his jaw and shakes his head. “It’s not me you ought to thank. Pack Hawthorne are the ones who stopped him. Leah’s their scent-matched mate. Nothing will stand in their way.”

Dawson’s eyes flare wide at that news. He breathes, barely more than a whisper. “So, it is possible…”

His attention slides inexorably back to Aubrey, and when he sees the leash tight around the omega’s bruised neck, something in him gives way. A wounded sound escapes him, too soft for anyone but those close to hear. Dawson strides past the officers handcuffing the downed alphas, drops straight to his knees in front of Aubrey. There’s no authority in the gesture, just a quiet, desperate gentleness.

Aubrey flinches, shoulders hunching, when Dawson’s hands lift toward the collar. Dawson’s touch pauses, voice dropping to a broken whisper. “It’s all right, sweetheart. You’re safe. No one’s going to hurt you. Not ever again.”

Aubrey doesn’t move a muscle, but he lets Dawson take the collar from around his neck. When the leash finally comes away, Dawson tosses it across the room. Aubrey’s gaze locks on Dawson as he slowly raises a shaking hand to the extensive bruising on his neck.

“We’ll take them both to Pinnacle,” Adrian says, looking between Aubrey and Skylar. “They’ll be safe in the Healing Center. Sophie will be ready to take them in.”

Mira told me all about the center she runs with Zane’s sister, and I know it will be the best place for them. They’ll get everything they need there. Medically and psychologically.

Dawson nods, relief deepening the lines of exhaustion on his face. “Thank you.”

Adrian steps away to make the call, his voice low but certain, relaying urgent details. “Sophie, it’s Adrian. We have two more omegas. As gentle as you can. Both are severely traumatized. We need you here to take them. Cole and I need to leave to tend to Mira.” He ends the call, catching Dawson’s eye. “Sophie and her team will be here soon.”

“We’ll get it sorted for her and make sure they stay safe.” Dawson nods before turning again to Aubrey. His hand hovers, clenching only inches above Aubrey’s shoulder before he pulls it back. Aubrey draws away, breath quickening. Dawson’s jaw flexes, but he keeps his voice gentle, almost hopeful. “I—I hope you’ll let me visit you when you’re better, Aubrey. Only if you want.”

“We will need to speak with Aubrey and Skylar in the near future,” Asher says, not just for the room but for the record, his tone measured and thoughtful. “Being the omegas of both Axel Turns and Evelyn Hardwick, they’re at the center of this whole operation. They’ll have information that can help us unravel the network hiding beneath their feet. But”—he glances at Aubrey, flinching in shadow, and Skylar, too frail and raw to even meet his gaze—”perhaps speaking to another omega will be best. Someone who knows what it’s like.”

Asher’s words are gentle, almost apologetic, as if he’s disappointed in every alpha who’s ever failed them. Then his attention finds me. Full, direct, smoldering with something fierce and protective. “But for now, our omega needs us.” His voice is velvet and iron; care and command. I feel the absolute truth of it. I am not a secondary thought. I am the center of his world.

A wave of heat crashes over me, so sudden and fierce I groan with the impact. My thoughts go blurry at the edges with shimmery gold. Every nerve in my body catches fire. Clothes are too heavy and scratchy on my skin. My heart races in my chest as the low ache in my belly flares into ravenous life, and the electric current of need curls through me.

A fresh, desperate cramp seizes my hips and my scent pours out in thick waves: wild honeysuckle, rain-slicked grass, lush and dizzying, changed now with the unmistakable honey-sweetness of an omega in heat. My perfume swirls around us, clinging to my alphas’ skin, their eyes darkening, their jawlines tightening as instinct and desire sharpen the air.

I clutch at Asher’s jacket, overwhelmed by the sheer pulse of want, my body shaking as my thighs press together. “Alpha,” I gasp, fear and excitement tangled on my tongue.

Asher’s eyes burn with urgency and tenderness. “Moonbeam, you’re burning up. We need to take you home.”

Yesss. Home. Nest. Alphas. Knots. Cocks.

Burning need sears my blood but worry gnaws at me, even as my hips begin to rock. “Leah—”

Asher cups my jaw. “Pack Hawthorne won’t stop until they bring her home, Emma. You have my word. Adrian and Dawson are giving them every resource that money and the law can provide. Right now, you need us more than anything else.”

Dawson nods tightly in agreement. “They’ll track her, Omega. We’ll handle everything on this end.”

Phoenix leans into my ear, voice dark and smoky. “Let us help you now, Tough Girl.”

Soren’s words are softer, a sensual murmur ghosting over my overheated skin, “You need all of us now. Let us give you the heat you’ve always deserved.”

A shiver races through me, anticipation and exhilaration rippling up my spine. This isn’t anything like my heats with Pack Carmichael, where fear soured every rush of need. This is something wild and beautiful and mine. My hunger. My claim. My alphas are here, their bodies and hearts a shelter. A flush of excitement surges in my blood; for the first time, my heat is like a promise.

Not a punishment.

I burn with it, trembling and eager, surrounded by the ones who will worship, protect, and heal every part of me. And I let myself want—recklessly, joyously—because I know, finally, I will be tended the way I should have been all along. Not the heats stolen from me by The Haven Institute, by Pack Carmichael, or by any alpha who wants to exploit me for my biology.

The wild roar inside me is golden, glorious, not a single thread of fear tainting it. Asher’s eyes burn with promise, Phoenix’s mouth is set with determination and longing, Soren’s hands tremble with restraint and tenderness. They hold me close, still bruised and bloody, but their bodies form an unbreakable, gentle wall around me.

Everything in me quivers. My skin is fever-hot, my thighs clench and slick soaks my ruined dress. My heart is certain. This need will not be my undoing, but my healing.

I let my gaze linger on each of my mates. “Please… take me home. To my nest.” My lips part on a gasp as another wave of heat ripples through me, raw and infinite. “I need all of you. Right now. Please.”

Soren brushes the tangled hair from my forehead, voice wrecked with longing. “As many times as you need us, Butterfly. We’re yours.”

And for the first time in my life, I fully surrender.

Asher shifts me in his arms, his grip gentle but iron-strong, one palm spanning the small of my back as the fever of my heat builds to an inferno. The world tilts, sounds, colors, scents blurring into a half-remembered dream. My senses narrow to the nearness of my alphas, the anchoring sensation of Asher’s hand and the steady, rumbling promise of his voice in my ear.

“Hold on, Emma,” he growls, the sound low and possessive, thick with the edge of his own need. “Just a little farther. I’ve got you. We’ve all got you.”

Phoenix ghosts a hand over my hip, steering us through the labyrinthine staff hallway lined with crates and utility doors. Soren, silent and deadly on my other side, scans every shadow. They keep me cocooned, growling at anyone who so much as glances my way. Asher doesn’t slow, his stride predatory and sure as he carries me down flights of stairs hidden from the gala’s velvet chaos, the air dense with the scent of alphas and my own sickly-sweet perfume.

The voices and footsteps trailing us fade into a distant, meaningless buzz. Soren’s hand tangles with mine, thumb stroking over my pulse, grounding me, and Phoenix lets out a string of curses under his breath whenever someone’s path crosses ours, his body tensed like a live wire as I start to writhe in my alpha’s grip.

There’s a rush of night air, headlights in the alley, and then Asher is gently setting me on my feet long enough to bundle me into the back seat of the car. Soren slides in on my right, Phoenix on my left, the solid heat of their bodies caging me into the soft leather of the back seat. Asher takes the wheel, his hands white-knuckled, focus burning in the rearview as he guns the engine, its growly purr vibrating through me.

Streetlights flash by in shuddering golden streaks, the city sliding past in a blur. Every second I spend without them is too long. A molten ache twists through me. My thighs press together, seeking relief, but it’s not enough. Soren’s hand slides up the inside of my arm, slow but purposeful, his eyes warm and dark and hungry as they trace my face. Phoenix’s palm comes to rest at the inside of my knee, thumb drawing lazy circles that do nothing to soothe, only to inflame.

Another cramp rips through me, sharp and savage and so strong I cry out, arching between them. I grab at Soren’s knee, Phoenix’s forearm, desperate, my breath coming in ragged sobs.

“Please. Alpha.” My voice is little more than a breathless whimper.

Asher’s gaze flicks up in the rearview, eyes dark and wild, possessive with command. “Brothers, our omega asks for you. Give her the release she needs,” he growls.

Soren’s arm slides around my waist, gentle but unyielding, and he leans close enough that his lips brush the shell of my ear, his own breath trembling with restraint. “Come here, Butterfly. Let me help you.”

He pulls me onto his lap, my legs falling around his hips. His sandalwood sharpens, heavy with musk as his erection presses against my clit and burning flames engulf me. Soren cradles my face in one big hand, his thumb stroking my cheek as I whimper at this first, delicious touch. “Please, Omega,” Soren says. “Let me give you what you need.”

Chapter Forty-Nine

Soren

The car flies through the night, streetlights streaking past the windows in smears of gold. Asher drives like a man possessed, his grip white-knuckled on the steering wheel, the city blurring around us as he weaves through traffic. The mission clings to us. Leah’s broken body, Hardwick’s fleeing scent, Pack Hawthorne’s furious growls as they charged after her.

None of that matters now.

Because Emma is in my lap.

Her scent saturates the car, honeysuckle and vanilla thick enough to drown in. It slams into my lungs and I shudder, my cock throbbing against the seam of my pants. She shifts, her thighs bracketing mine, her damp core pressing down against where I’m already aching for her.

Fuck.

She’s so soft in my arms, her curves pliant against my chest, her fingers gripping my shoulders like she’s afraid I’ll vanish, but her breathing is ragged, her sadness a dull throb in our bond. Unacceptable, so I tilt her chin and claim her mouth.

No hesitation.

No gentleness.

Because she doesn’t need that from me now. She needs heat and teeth and to feel how she turns me on. My tongue sweeps inside, tasting the salt of her lingering tears, swallowing her whimper as my hands slide under her dress. The fabric is flimsy and wet between her thighs, and when my fingers brush her seam over the material of her thong, she jerks against me, a gasp breaking our kiss.

“Alpha!”

I don’t answer. Just drag the material to the side and bare her to my touch.

My fingers glide through her slick, gathering the wetness before circling her clit—once, twice—just to feel her squirm. Her hips roll, seeking more friction. I give it to her, sinking two fingers deep into her clenching heat.

“Fuck,” I grit out, my forehead dropping to hers. “You’re drowning me, Omega.”

She whines, her body undulating on my hand, her pussy fluttering around my fingers as if begging for something thicker. My cock throbs in response, trapped and neglected, but I don’t free it—not yet.

Instead, I curl my fingers and rub that spot inside her until her back arches, until her nails dig into my biceps, until her scent turns ravenous.

“Come for me,” I order, my lips against her ear. “Let me feel you fall apart.”

Crying out, her thighs clamp around mine. Slick gushes over my fingers as her orgasm rips through her.

Asher growls, his knuckles tightening on the wheel. Beside us, Phoenix wraps his fingers around Emma’s throat and turns her face to his. Then his mouth is on hers, hot, demanding, relentless. There’s no finesse, just hunger, his tongue sweeping in to claim every whimper she makes as I suck her slick from my fingers.

Gods, she tastes divine.

Sweet and musky, floral honey and omega need, the salt of it bursting across my tongue as she grinds her core against my trapped cock. The friction is maddening, the fabric of my pants rough against my shaft, and for a second, I see stars behind my eyelids. Her whine is all omega arousal and need.

“Enough.” Asher’s growl cuts through the haze, his voice vibrating with alpha command. “Soren. Satisfy her.”

I don’t argue.

One hand grips her hips. The other yanks my zipper down, freeing my cock in one ruthless motion. It juts between us, flushed and leaking, the veins standing out under the passing streetlights.

“I’ve got you, Omega,” I rasp against her ear as she rips her lips off Phoenix.

I lift her, her body light in my arms despite her squirming, and guide her slick heat onto my length. The first inch is torture, her pussy clenching so tight I nearly lose it right then, but then she sinks, her body yielding, taking me deeper, deeper, until I’m buried to the hilt.

“Fuck!”

Her scream is raw as her walls flutter around me. She’s so warm, so perfect, her inner muscles pulsing like she’s already trying to milk my release.

Then she moves.

Her thighs flex, her slick easing the way as she bounces on my cock, her breathy moans pitching higher with every downward movement. The vibration of her little gasps travels straight to my cock, and when her hips roll in another frantic circle, her slick gushes around me, scalding hot and plentiful. It slicks the crease of her thighs, smears across my abdomen as she grinds down, but it’s not enough for her.

Her fingers scrabble at my shoulders and her breath comes in shallow, hitching pants against my lips. Her heat isn’t just an ache. It’s an inferno, and she needs everything.

From all of us.

“Phoenix,” I grit out, tearing my mouth from her throat just enough to lock eyes with him. His pupils are black with lust, his lips parted as he watches her ride me, his cock visibly straining against his pants. “She needs extra friction. Can you suck her breasts?”

She casts a gaze at my bond brother. “Yes, Alpha. Please suck my breasts.”

Her walls clench around me in anticipation. Phoenix doesn’t need to be told twice. He moves, his smirk a flash of wicked intent before his fingers fist in the neckline of her dress. The fabric rips without preamble, yielding under his strength as he yanks it down, down, until her breasts spill free.

They’re perfect.

Fuller and heavier than when she first came to us half-starved the soft weight of them sway with every gasping breath she takes. Her nipples are already pebbled tight, dusky pink and begging. Phoenix exhales, his hands hovering for a heartbeat, fingertips brushing the undersides before he palms them both, thumbs flicking over her nipples in slow, teasing circles.

Emma chokes on a sob, back arching, cunt fluttering around me like she’s already close to reaching her climax just from this.

“Look at her. So beautiful,” Phoenix murmurs, voice thick with awe, before he ducks his head and takes a nipple into his mouth, sucking hard.

Her half groan, half scream splinters me. Her hips stutter as pleasure short-circuits her control. My grip on her tightens, holding her steady as Phoenix switches sides, lavishing the same devastating attention to her other breast, teeth scraping lightly before soothing the sting with his tongue.

Slick drips from where we’re joined, her hips rocking erratically between the dual stimulation—my cock stretching her, Phoenix’s mouth on her breasts—until her thighs tremble and her cries fracture into mindless, pleading babble.

“Fuck, Omega,” Phoenix rasps. His tongue drags a slow stripe from the delicate underside of her breast to the stiff peak of her nipple before his lips close around her once more.

“Ah!” Emma’s cry is sharp, her fingers knotting in his hair, her hips jerking against me as pleasure jolts through her. The sound is raw, unfiltered, a broken note of ecstasy that makes my cock twitch inside her. Phoenix groans against her skin, the vibration sending another shudder through her body, and then he sucks, deep and deliberate, his teeth grazing just enough to make her whimper.

My mouth claims her other breast, my tongue swirling in slow, worshipful circles before I suck. The way she jerks, the way her cunt clenches around me, is fucking obscene. Her inner walls flutter, rippling along my length in erratic pulses, her body already teetering on the edge.

“Soren… oh Gods…”

Her legs lock around my hips and her slick gushes around my cock in hot, sticky waves. My balls draw up tight, my knot throbbing at her entrance, swollen and insistent, the thick base of it catching with every desperate rock of her hips.

So close.

Every drag of her body against mine has her gasping, her breath coming in ragged little pants against my lips. She’s dripping, her arousal coating my thighs, her scent saturating the air—honeysuckle and salt and pure, desperate omega need.

“I can’t hold on… fuck.” My voice is ragged, my grip bruising as I fight to hold on, to keep control for just a few seconds longer. “Gonna knot you, Omega,” I growl, my teeth scraping her throat. “Gonna fill you up so deep you’ll feel me for days.”

She sobs, her back arching, her fingers clawing my shoulders as she begs for it. “Yes, please Alpha. I need your knot. Please.”

I thrust up hard.

My knot pops past her entrance, locking us together as her climax rocks through her. Her raw, shattered scream tears through the car, her back bowing off the seat as her orgasm wrecks her. Her pussy milks me in ruthless pulses, her inner walls fluttering like frantic little kisses around my cock, strangling me in her tight, slick heat. The sensation is too much and with a roar, I lose all control.

My release surges into her, thick and scalding, flooding my seed into her in pulse after pulse. Her walls flutter around my knot in aftershocks as she rides out the waves. Her breath comes in ragged, sobbing gasps against my neck.

For one suspended moment, there is nothing else—no mission, no pain, no world outside this car.

Just our panting breaths mingling in the air between us.

Just tangled limbs, her sweat-slicked skin flush against mine, her weight a perfect anchor keeping me grounded.

Just her, collapsed against my chest, her heartbeat a wild, stuttering rhythm against my own, our scents twined together so thoroughly they’re inseparable.

Phoenix’s chuckle cuts through the haze, his fingers trailing a possessive line down her spine as he unzips her dress to ease the weight of it from around her body. “Fuck, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice rough with awe. “You take Soren so good.”

I don’t speak.

I just hold her tighter, my knot still locked inside her, my lips pressed to her temple, breathing her in, memorizing this moment.

Because this—this right here—is everything.

Asher finally pulls into the garage, the rolling door clanking shut behind us. The second the engine cuts, the air thickens and coils. My knot deflates, and Emma shifts off me with a breathy sigh, her body still radiating feverish heat. Asher gets out of the car and opens the door for me as I scoop her into my arms, exit the car and stumble into the kitchen.

The moment we do, Emma squirms in my hold. I set her down in the kitchen, she launches at Phoenix with a whimper.

“Whoa!” He catches her and a deep rumbling laugh shakes his chest. “Eager, are we, Tough Girl?”

She doesn’t answer with words. Her hands fist in his shirt, ripping it open with a yank that sends buttons skittering across the tiles. Then her mouth is on him, desperate, open-mouthed kisses peppered over his jaw, his throat, the defined planes of his exposed chest. Her fingers rake through the dusting of golden hair there, her teeth grazing a nipple as if wanting to hear him hiss.

Phoenix’s amusement morphs into something darker. The thick ridge of his cock is painfully evident, straining against his pants, the damp spot at the tip betraying how much he’s been holding back.

His eyes are black with hunger when his gaze meets mine over her shoulder. “Guess our omega has chosen me next.”

The promise in his voice sends a fresh pulse of lust through me.

Oh, she’s going to wreck him.

Chapter Fifty

Phoenix

Dew and sun-warmed petals mix with her wild after-rain scent, sharpening into something sweet, golden and feminine, musk that makes me want to bite her, mark her, drag her into my arms and taste every last inch.

It’s fucking intoxicating.

Soren and Asher are laser-focused on her. Their pupils are blown as much as mine probably are. Asher reaches between his thighs and clenches a fist around his cock to no doubt relieve the pressure of his shaft trying to spear through his pants.

Know the feeling. I’m so hard, mine probably has indents from my zipper that will take months to clear after feasting on her perfect breasts.

“Alpha…need…”

“What do you need, Tough Girl?” I ask.

Her eyes are nothing but black holes that devour my universe. She’s past the point of being able to talk coherently. She’s an adorable mess, half in and out of her evening gown, her hair in fly-away whisps around her face. Her cheeks are flushed a delicious pink. My cock throbs with the need to provide for her.

She shifts her balance, growing more agitated, sinking into her heat. I change my tack, taking any decision-making away from her.. I prop my knuckle under her chin and lift her gaze to mine, infusing some alpha bark into my words. “Calm, Omega.”

She inhales and a plume of her sweet scent almost makes me cum in my pants but it’s exactly what she needs. Her gaze moves past me to the sofa and a soft whine travels past her plump, rosebud lips.

“Take anything you need, and if you can’t find it, tell us and we’ll get it for you,” I rasp.

Emma moves to the blanket we’ve shared for late-night movies and lazy mornings. She buries her nose into the material and inhales deep. Her eyes flutter closed, her whole body softening in a way that makes my chest tight and hungry at the same time.

Everything in me wants to cross the room, gather her up, and lose myself in her, but I wait. She hasn’t come back to me. Not yet, and I know she would if her instinct guided her to do so.

“Do you think she’s…” Soren breathes.

“I fucking hope so,” I reply, because fuck me, this looks like nesting to me.

She begins to sort through the throw pillows. She tests each one for some invisible measure only she knows, discarding a few, gathering the rest into a stack against her hip. Then she moves straight toward me again. The blanket and pillows slip from her arms and tumble to the floor as she winds her arms around my waist and buries her face in the side of my neck, right over my scent gland. Her nose pushes against my skin, her breath warm and hungry as she inhales. My pulse hammers down my spine, every drop of blood not already there, surging straight to my cock where it’s hard, pulsing so intensely it’s painful.

I’ll take this type of pain because having her here, scenting me while smelling like that, is imprinted on the inside of my skull.

My hands find her waist as need rips through me. Every muscle in my body strains, desperate for more of that scent, that closeness, that overwhelming, hungry touch. All coherent thought vanishes except the sharp, driving urge to claim her right here, to let every person in the entire world know she belongs to me—us—forever.

She tips her face up to me. Those bright blue eyes are swallowed by dilated pupils, so dark and wide they eclipse almost all traces of color. She's radiant with something wild, trembling between need and instinct. Her breasts are firm against my chest, nipples pointed and brushing heat through the fabric of my dress shirt. Every one of my nerves lights up—my hands flexing on her waist, hungry for more.

She squirms in my hold, restless, her focus shifting to the fallen blanket and the pile of pillows at her feet. Frustration and longing war across her face. “You want those, don't you?” I ask, brushing my thumb along her jaw.

She nods, a high, needy whine spilling out of her throat as she tries to reach for them but can’t seem to break away from me, either.

Soren crouches down to gather them into his arms. “I've got them, Emma. I’ll bring them. Don’t worry.”

I hope to hell she’s going to let Soren take them to the nest, where we’ll spend our days tending to her heat.

Her hand slips into mine, warm and trembling. I glance at my bond brothers, and Asher and Soren fall in step as she leads us down the hallway, bare feet silent on the wood. There’s a new purpose in her step, her need running hotter and heavier with each pace toward her bedroom. My instincts burn with the urge to help, to make this easier for her, to offer whatever she might need. The same hunger from Asher and Soren flare through our pack bond.

Want. Need. The overwhelming urge to accept whatever she’ll give me. I’ll accept it like the greedy bastard I am. I’ll savor every last drop and thank the gods she deigned to give me anything at all.

Her small hand tightens on mine as she guides us and, as we enter her bedroom, my groan bounces off the walls.

The nest doors stand open.

Wide and inviting.

Scenting of sweet omega. Her essence is strong and pure, everything good this world has to offer.

Emma glances over her shoulder as she hesitates on the threshold of the nest. Anxiety flickers in her eyes, unsure and vulnerable. Tart bitterness coats her scent as she hesitates.

I squeeze her hand. “It’s okay, sweetheart. This is your space. You do whatever you need to do. No one here will ever hurt you for being who you are. This house, this nest, is all safe. You’re safe.”

“Safe.” The word floats on her exhale.

“Your nest is beautiful, Omega. Please finish it for us,” Asher’s deep rumble seems to be what she needs.

Soren’s breath punches out of his lungs when she takes the blanket and pillows from his arms, her scent billowing pure and sweet again. She lingers for just a moment and with a resolve that pierces through me, steps into her nest.

Asher and Soren flank me. Awe roots us to the spot as she sinks to her knees on the nest mattress.

The ceiling is lower here, making the space feel sheltered and cocooned. Soft golden lights line the perimeter, casting a gentle, steady glow that warms the walls and chases away every harsh shadow. In the center of the floor, the massive sunken mattress stretches nearly wall to wall, a cloud built for safety and comfort.

For a pack.

She must have already been working on building her nest. Blankets are already woven together around the mattress, forming a thick, protective lip. Emma’s work is intricate. Woven with patience and care, each fold and twist is deliberate. My breath stutters as I realize she’s woven pieces of our clothing into the design. I see my shirt, Soren’s sweater and Asher’s workout T-shirt.

She must have done this after I claimed her here. Giving in to her instincts so that her future included us.

Her nest is alive with us. The clothing she has chosen is rich with our scents tangled among the wool and the fleece, reinforcing her space. It’s not just fabric. It’s comfort, protection, and memory braided together. My dark coffee, Asher’s whiskey and dry leather, Soren’s woodsy smoke mix with Emma’s wild honeysuckle and the freshness of vanilla—the scents blend in the closed, soft air, turning the room into a haven none of us have ever truly known before now.

She drops to her knees, determination and longing splayed across her features, and buries her nose in the blanket before she weaves it into the design. She arranges the pillows, stacking and layering them, each placement precise, building up the borders and softening the middle. Her hands work with a gentle purpose, her whole being poured into this act of creation.

“So fucking beautiful,” I breathe.

This is more than beautiful. This is sacred, raw, drenched in everything she’s fought to reclaim. I’m in awe. She is, right now, everything an omega should be, and we get to witness it. Be part of it. A lump rises in my throat as I stand at the threshold, overwhelmed by the courage, beauty, and love radiating from her and the space she’s claimed as her own.

Emma rises to her feet, her hands twisting in the fabric of the last pillow. She’s agitated, skin flushed, chest rising and falling with shallow, rapid breaths. The air shimmers with her need, tension radiating from her. She whines as her gaze snaps to Asher, our bond flaring with desire before she moves to him.

She presses her nose to the side of his throat and inhales. She rubs her cheek along his jaw and down toward his collarbone, marking him with her scent. The sound that comes out of her is low, urgent. A distinctly feminine omega growl, rich with possession and ownership.

Then her hands fist in the hem of his shirt, tugging. She snarls when it doesn’t come free, the impatience and agitation spilling out of her in a frustrated whine.

“Here, Moonbeam, let me,” he starts, but she cuts him off with another omega growl. He gets the message and peels off his shirt, then stands motionless as she yanks at his waistband, demanding the rest of his clothing.

She nearly tears his pants apart in her urgency, leaving him bare. Asher shudders, his hand wrapping reflexively around his thick cock, arousal written clear in his eyes as he watches her scoop the pieces of clothing that aren’t splattered with blood and hauls the bundle back to the nest where she layers it carefully on the base, each piece becoming part of her growing haven.

Then her gaze fastens on Soren. His own desire simmers under tight control as she comes to him. She wraps herself around him, breathing in his scent, nose trailing from his neck to his chest as she devours him with that same hungry, instinct-ravaged fervor. Her hands are rough, tearing at his jacket, shirt and pants until he’s bare, too. Soren leans down, catching her mouth in a deep, hungry kiss, letting her taste him as she rips away his clothing piece by piece.

With his scent added to her prize, Emma turns back to her nest, working quickly, layering Soren’s clothes with Asher’s, building the walls stronger, higher, more complete.

Then she lifts her head, pinning me with her brilliant, black-blown gaze. The entire world narrows down to the space between us. I can’t move. My heart pounds as she steps closer, grips my shirt, and yanks it open.

Chapter Fifty-One

Phoenix

Ican’t move. Can’t fucking breathe. My heart hammers against my ribs like it wants to break free, to hand itself over to her on a silver platter. If she demands it, she’ll get it. I’ll gladly rip it out of my chest and hand it to her with a smile on my godsdamned face.

“Off,” she says. Just that. One word.

And fuck, it’s an order I’ll follow for the rest of my life and beyond.

I let her strip me bare inch by torturous inch. The cotton catches on my watch, and she growls—actually growls—tugging harder until it gives way, flinging it aside like it offended her.

“Shoes,” she demands, pointing at my feet.

I toe them off without looking, my eyes locked on hers. On the way her pupils swallow all that pretty blue, leaving only hunger.

Her hands go straight for my belt, popping the button of my pants. The snick of the zipper is obscenely loud in the quiet room and when she shoves them down my hips, my cock springs free so fast it slaps against my abdomen.

She’s all liquid grace and omega certainty until she's kneeling between my spread legs, her small hands braced on my thighs. The overhead light catches the light gold in her hair, the flush spreading down her chest, the way her throat works as she swallows hard.

So beautiful.

Every muscle in my body is locked when she wraps her delicate fingers around the base of my cock. The contrast nearly kills me, her soft skin against the throbbing veins of my hardness, her slender wrist twisting as she gives one experimental pump. The feel of her palm around my knot shoots liquid need through me.

The groan tears out of me before I can stop it. Her fingers are so small, so soft, but the way she grips me, firm and possessive, sends lightning streaking down my spine. She strokes me, slow and exploratory, her thumb swiping over the swollen head, smearing the bead of pre-cum gathered there.

When she looks up through her lashes, her pupils swallow the blue until all that's left is dark, endless want and I’m done. Gone.

“Fuck,” I choke out, my hips jerking instinctively.

“Mine,” she whispers, and the word isn't a question.

“Do whatever the hell you want to me, Tough Girl,” I rasp, my voice shredded. “I’m so totally yours. Now and for fucking ever.”

Her rosebud lips part on a shaky exhale, her breath ghosting over the head of my cock where it stands rigid against my stomach. Her breath quickens and that brilliant gaze goes dark with hunger. Her scent blooms around us with her arousal, thick, syrupy-sweet honeysuckle, and I swear to the gods, my knees almost buckle as her pink tongue darts out to wet her lips.

The first hot swipe of her tongue over the tip of my cock nearly makes me come on the spot. My hips jerk instinctively, but she holds me firm with that ruthless grip, her tongue lapping at me like I’m something precious, something hers.

“Fuck, Emma.” My fingers tangle in her hair, not pushing, just anchoring, as she takes me deeper into the wet heat of her mouth. The suction, the slick slide of her lips, the way her tongue presses along the underside, is too much. And when she hums around me, vibrations rippling through my cock, all the stars in this universe and the next sparkle behind my eyes.

Her lips glisten as she pops off my cock and her pink tongue darts along her swollen lower lip. My pre-cum glistens on her thumb before she sucks it into her mouth with a soft, satisfied hum.

I nearly lose it right there.

My fingers tighten around my knot, squeezing hard to keep from spurting untouched onto her nest. Her small hands take my discarded clothing at my feet, and she returns to the nest, smoothing them around Asher’s and Soren’s.

She bends over and I glimpse the soaked strip thong between her thighs clinging to her, dark and impossibly enticing. The scent of her arousal thickens until it’s all I can taste. All I can breathe.

She kneels in the center of her nest impossibly wrecked, her silk gown clinging to her like a half-hearted afterthought. Her hands flutter over the arranged fabrics and when she finally lifts her head, her eyes glow with omega possession, dark as midnight and twice as hungry.

She lifts her hands to us. “Alphas. Please.”

The words don’t even hit the air before we’re moving.

Gentle, always so fucking gentle, Soren slides the loose straps of her gown down her arms and her body. “Beautiful,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the exposed curve of her shoulder.

Asher rips the rest of her gown off her and throws it somewhere behind us. Her gasp is swallowed by my mouth as I claim hers, my tongue sweeping in to taste the moan that follows as I drag the ruined thong off her. She’s bare now—all of her—her body glowing in the dim light like something divine.

I drag my knuckles up her inner thigh, relishing the way she jerks, the way her hands fist in Soren’s hair as he mouths her breasts. “Look at you, Omega. Made for this. For us.”

My fingers glide through her slick, gathering the wetness before circling her clit, slow and teasing. Her head drops back with a sob. Her fingers clutch both Soren and Asher, fingers clenched in their hair as they tend to her.

I don’t tease.

Not this time.

My mouth closes over her soaking slit in one devastating lick, tongue flat and broad as I drag it from her entrance to her clit in a single, ruthless stroke.

“Phoenix!” Her thighs snap around my head as she arches off the nest. I pin her down with one forearm across her hips, my other hand working into her with two fingers, curling just enough to make her see stars.

Asher and Soren aren’t idle.

Asher’s mouth crashes onto hers, swallowing her moans as his hands claim her breasts, kneading, pinching, rolling her nipples until they’re stiff peaks. Soren frames her face, his thumb brushing her cheekbone as he murmurs praise against her temple, his free hand skating down her ribs, her stomach, every touch stoking the fire higher.

She’s writhing, caught between my mouth and their hands, her body straining for more.

“Tastes like heaven,” I growl against her clit before sucking it hard between my lips.

Her sob is broken, her fingers fisting in my hair as my fingers pump faster, my tongue flicking in rapid circles. I can feel her tightening, her walls fluttering around my digits, her heartbeat pounding where Asher’s palm presses over her sternum.

“Please… please…” She chokes on the words. “Need you…all of you…inside.”

Asher’s chuckle is dark, his teeth scraping her collarbone. “Greedy little omega.”

“Give her what she wants, brother,” Soren orders, his voice rough.

I crawl up her body, pressing her into the nest with my weight. Her thighs rise to cradle my hips, her knees bending to bracket me. Perfect, yielding, mine. The moment I settle between them, her slick coats my abdomen, her body so hot I’m sinking into living flame.

A growl rumbles in my chest as I nuzzle my claiming bite on her, my tongue flicking over the scarred mark, savoring how our scents have woven together—sandalwood and honeysuckle—now inseparable.

“Look at me, Omega,” Her hazy eyes meet mine. Trust radiates from the depths of those twin pools.

Hunger.

Surrender.

She clings to me, her hips canting in frantic little circles, desperate for friction. I don’t make her wait.

One hand fists in her hair; the other grips her hip.

I thrust inside in one swift, brutal stroke.

Her body tightens, a scream tearing from her throat as I stretch her core. I don’t make either of us wait. My hips snap forward, setting a relentless pace, each drive deeper than the last.

The sounds she makes—broken sobs, choked moans, my name like a prayer—fuel the fire in my blood. Her pussy clenches around me, her walls fluttering in erratic pulses as her climax barrels toward her.

“Alpha—Mate!”

Her cry is raw, her thighs trembling where they grip me. Her breath hitches, her fingers scramble at my back and when I grind my hips just right, her orgasm shatters her. Her pussy milks me, her slick gushing around my cock as I chase my own release, my thrusts turning jagged, desperate.

My knot swells and catches at her entrance, stretching her brutally for one searing moment before it seats inside, locking us together as I roar, my cum flooding her in thick, hot pulses.

She screams again, her body convulsing through a second peak, her inner muscles rippling around my knot as she takes every drop I offer.

“Mine,” I snarl against her throat, licking the salt from her skin.

Her answer is a whisper against my lips. “Yours.”

She slumps against me, her body spent, her breath slowing to soft, even puffs against my collarbone. My knot keeps us locked together, still pulsing inside her as the last waves of her climax tremble through her. I stroke a hand down her spine, feeling the delicate ridges of her vertebrae beneath my palm, the damp heat of her skin cooling in the aftermath.

Asher brushes a sweat-damp strand of hair from her forehead. “She’s out,” he murmurs, his whiskey-dark eyes lifting to mine.

I hum in agreement, my arms tightening around her. “For now.”

Asher whispers to Soren, his voice no more than a rumble in the dim light. “Soren. Can you bring in food, water and blankets? We’re going to need to make sure we keep plenty of supplies to look after her properly.”

Soren nods, slipping from the nest, his bare feet padding across the floor. He pauses just once, looking back at her, at us, and something in his expression softens, something that looks like awe, before he disappears into the hallway.

Her heat isn’t done but for this moment, she’s peaceful. Her lashes flutter against her cheeks, her lips slightly parted, her body trusting enough of us to rest between rounds.

It’s surreal.

Her nest. Our scents tangled in the sheets. Our omega—our mate—curled between us, allowing us to tend her.

She’s so perfect.

My chest aches with the knowledge.

I press my lips to her temple, breathing her in. The love I feel is so fierce it steals my breath. It’s not soft. Not gentle. It’s a live wire under my ribs, a hunger that never fades.

I would burn the world for her.

We all would.

Soren returns, arms laden with supplies, and sets them down carefully, his gaze lingering on her sleeping form before he meets my eyes.

“She’s going to need all of us,” he says quietly.

Asher’s hand settles on her hip, possessive even now. “And she’ll have us.”

Chapter Fifty-Two

Asher

She sleeps tangled in Phoenix’s arms, her body limp with exhaustion, her breath slow and steady. The scent of our lovemaking lingers heavy in the air but beneath it is the metallic tang of blood.

Not acceptable.

No part of those alphas deserve a place in this nest.

Not in this space.

I wet a cloth with warm water, wringing it carefully before kneeling beside her. Soren lifts her just enough for me to slide the damp fabric over her skin, wiping away the remnants of battle and pleasure. She murmurs in her sleep, her nose scrunching slightly at the sensation, but she doesn’t wake.

She’s the most breathtaking thing I’ve ever seen, wrecked like this.

Soren showers in record time and returns with fresh blankets. Phoenix follows him to scrub the scent of violence off his skin, after handing off a sleeping Emma. We clear away the worst of the mess that doesn’t belong in here, taking care not to disturb the heart of the nest.

I crouch beside her again, my fingers brushing a stray curl from her forehead. She sighs, nuzzling unconsciously into my touch, and something in my chest splinters.

I am lost to her.

We all are.

But the most astonishing thing?

She loves us back.

Not because she has to. Not because of bonds or biology.

But because she chooses to.

Her love isn’t just a feeling. It’s a resonance.

It hums through the bond as golden light, threading between our ribs, sinking into our marrow. It’s warmth after too long in the cold. Strength when the weight of every lost omega threatens to crack my spine.

With her, we aren’t just alphas.

She makes us so much more.

This is the true power of omegas. Not submission, not weakness, but the quiet, cataclysmic force that remakes alphas into mates. Into men.

And the ones who take by force?

They’ll never know this.

They’ll never feel a bond sink into their soul like sunlight, never know the euphoria of an omega’s choice. Their lives are smaller, colder, less. Locked in the petty tyranny of stolen power.

“I hope Pack Hawthorne finds Leah.” The words taste like ash in my mouth.

We lost her.

The memory is a fresh wound. Leah’s battered body crumpled in Hardwick’s unforgiving grip, the senator’s snarling face as she used our omega’s chosen sister as a human shield while we were engaged fighting her pack. The pack she lost because she left them behind.

Phoenix’s jaw tightens, his eyes reflecting the same gnawing self-loathing I feel. “Before or after they rip out Hardwick’s throat, I wonder?”

The unspoken truth coils thick between us. Pack Hawthorne is scent-matched to Leah, bonded not just by law, but by something primal, something even Hardwick’s corruption can’t sever.

Now they have the scent of their omega’s blood ingrained in their psyche, they won’t stop.

They can’t.

Justice or vengeance—it doesn’t matter. Pack Hawthorne will bring Leah home or die trying and the senator’s days are numbered. We have irrefutable evidence of both her and the commissioner’s guilt, and back-up thanks to Kevin Dawson’s faith that he knew something didn’t add up when I contacted him for his help. The only way out for Hardwick will be to be imprisoned for life or die.

I lie in our omega’s nest, content to rest and watch the way the soft light catches on her lashes, casting delicate shadows across her flushed cheeks. Her eyes flutter open and focus slowly, the dilated pupils still dark with lingering heat as they find mine. There's a moment of quiet stillness between us as consciousness returns to her.

Then, like the sun breaking through clouds, a drowsy smile spreads across her lips, sweet and sleepy and so damn intimate my chest physically aches with it.

Her delicate fingers stretch toward me in silent demand. Every nerve in my body snaps to attention, my cock already throbbing painfully against my stomach. Her warm palm meets my cheek, the contact making my pulse kick. Her skin is so soft against my stubble. The pad of her thumb brushes the line of my jaw, pressing just enough that her touch brands me.

“Alpha, please. Need you.” Those words, heavy with sleep and possessive affection, sends a possessive growl rumbling through my chest.

She crawls over me like a dream given flesh, the lean lines of her body gilded in the nest’s low light. Her thighs bracket my hips, as she settles over me. My palms skate down the exquisite curve of her spine, each vertebra a pearl beneath my fingertips, the dimples above her ass begging for my worship.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” I rasp.

And she is.

The way her lips fall apart as she strokes my cock with her heated core. The way her sweat-slicked stomach tenses as she lifts over me. The way her nipples pebble when my thumbs trace the underside of her breasts.

“Alpha. Need,” she breathes.

“Take whatever the fuck you want, Moonbeam. I’m yours.” Without beginning or end. Wholly. Completely. Forever.

She reaches between us, wrapping her fingers around my cock, guiding the swollen head to her entrance. She notches me there, her slick dripping onto my abdomen like liquid sin, but when she descends, the pleasure is blinding.

Her cunt stretches around me as she takes me inch by inch, her walls clinging like they were made to hold me. Her breath catches, her hips rocking in tiny, involuntary circles as she adjusts, her hands braced on my chest.

Her rhythm is a maddening slow, sinuous roll of her hips that drags every inch of my cock through her clenching heat before sinking back down. Her thighs flex as she tips her head back, her sweat-slicked throat working around broken moans.

“That’s it,” I growl, gripping her waist. “Take it. Take me, Omega.”

She whimpers, her pace turning more desperate. Every rise teases just the head of my cock before she plunges back down, her slick gushing around me, her breath coming in ragged little gasps.

My fingers dig into the supple flesh of her thighs, leaving dimples in her flawless skin as I help her find a brutal, perfect rhythm. Up, then down, each snap of her hips wrenching choked moans from her throat. The wet slap of our bodies fills the nest, her slick dripping down my balls as she rides me without mercy.

She's so close.

The sounds she makes border on sobs as she bounces on my thickening knot.

“Please…please…” she gasps, her fingers scrambling at my chest, her thighs quaking.

I can’t hold back.

With a snarl, I thrust up, burying myself to the hilt. My knot pops past her entrance, locking us together in one savage, blissful stretch. Her scream shatters the air. Her cunt clamps down in rippling waves. Every muscle in her body locks tight before melting against me in shuddering surrender.

Her pleasure explodes inside my chest. Golden fire and honey light up inside me. I roar as my climax tears through me, my cock pulsing inside her, my seed flooding in thick, relentless spurts.

She’s still burning. Heat rolls off her, sweat glistening at her temples, trickling down the delicate dip of her spine. Her body twitches between us, her fingers clawing at my chest, her slick dripping onto my thighs where our bodies are still locked together by my knot. A needy whine rips from her as she continues to writhe in my lap.

“Soren. She needs you,” I bark.

He’s already moving.

Kneeling behind her, his hands slide up her trembling back, his fingers spreading her damp skin as he leans in to lick a stripe up her neck. “Tell me,” he murmurs against her ear, his cock dragging through the mess of her slick where she’s stretched around me. “Is this what you want, Omega?”

She whines, high and desperate, her hips pushing back into him. “Yes…please…Alpha, now!”

His palm presses between her shoulder blades, bending her forward just enough to expose her back entrance. With his other hand he guides the thick head of his cock to notch against her, her body yielding as he eases inside her.

She throws her head back as she screams, her walls clenching around both of us, her back arching like a bowstring. Soren groans, his forehead dropping between her shoulder blades as he bottoms out, his hips flush against her ass. “Gods,” he grits out, his voice fraying.

She sobs, her fingers twisting in the sheets. “Move! Please move!”

Each slow, deep stroke drags Soren’s cock nearly all the way out before surging back in, the thick length of him stretching her rear passage in a relentless rhythm. I feel every inch of him as her inner walls stretch around us both, the way her body trembles as he angles his hips to sink deeper.

“Look at her,” Soren growls, his voice guttural with restraint. His hands grip her hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he pulls her back onto him harder, faster.

The dual sensation is unbearable, her slick heat milking my cock while Soren’s thick shaft pistons into her from behind. Every thrust sends a shockwave through her, making her clench around me in erratic pulses.

“Emma! Fuck!” My roar is ragged as my knot swells impossibly tighter inside her as another orgasm erupts. Cum floods her in thick, pulsing ropes as pleasure wrecks me.

Soren fucks her through it, his rhythm unbroken, his breath coming in harsh pants against her shoulder. His fingers slide between her thighs to circle her swollen clit. “Come for us again.”

Her scream is hoarse, a broken, breathless sound that scrapes from her throat as her body convulses between us. Her cunt squeezes my knot in rhythmic, milking pulses, her slick gushing around our joined flesh. Her nails score my chest and her thighs trembling where they bracket my hips.

Soren’s hips stutter as he buries himself inside her. A wordless cry pulls from him as he releases into her, every muscle in his body locked tight.

She’s still burning, fever-hot beneath my palms, her scent thick enough to drown in. Her hands reach blindly, desperately toward Phoenix, her voice a breathless whisper.

“Alpha, please, need…need your cock.”

Phoenix is there before the plea fully leaves her lips. He kneels before her, his golden hair mussed, his chest heaving. His cock is thick and flushed, pre-cum beading at the tip as he fists himself, guiding his length to her swollen lips.

“Open up, Tough Girl,” he rasps, his voice dark with need, his fingers tangling in her hair—not forcing, just guiding.

She obeys, her mouth closing around him. Her tongue swirls over the head, before she sucks him deep, her throat working to take every inch. Phoenix’s breath hitches, his head falling back, his abs flexing as he fights to keep his hips still.

“Fuck…Emma!”

His hips jerk, his cock pulsing as he spills down her throat. She swallows him gulp after greedy gulp, her fingers digging into his thighs hard enough to bruise, her eyes fluttering shut as she takes everything he gives.

When he finally pulls back, his expression is ruined, eyes black, lips parted on a silent groan, his chest rising and falling in ragged bursts.

A drop of cum glistens at the corner of Emma’s mouth.

Phoenix swipes it away with his thumb, then presses it back between her lips, watching with dark satisfaction as she sucks it clean.

The world narrows to heat and need. The sun rises and sets while we lose ourselves in her. Emma is the axis we orbit around, her body the center of our universe.

Right now, she’s sprawled across Soren’s chest, her back arched as he laps at her bite mark, her fingers fisted in my hair. Phoenix kneels behind her, guiding his cock between her thighs, his teeth grazing her shoulder as he sinks in.

“That’s it, Omega,” he growls. “Take us both.”

She does so perfectly, her walls fluttering as she accommodates us. Her head falls back against Soren, her breath hitching.

Mine. Ours.

The possessive roar in my blood is deafening, but beneath it, deeper than instinct, deeper than rut, is a fiercer calling.

I would die for her.

We all would.

Willingly. Happily. Time and again.

Time collapses into sensation.

She rides me in the nest, Phoenix petting her hair while Soren feeds her slices of peach. She arches, trembling, when his fingertips brush her lips when she sucks his fingers into her mouth. He smirks, sliding his thumb between her teeth. “Always so greedy, Butterfly.”

I wake to Phoenix fucking her against the head of the nest, her back pressed to his chest, his hand muffling her cries. Soren kneels before her, letting her grind against his tongue until she climaxes.

When she wakes, she crawls to me, sleep-rumpled and desperate, her lips swollen, her scent thick with our mixed spend before she presents so beautifully. “Alpha,” she breathes against my stomach. “Please.”

We never refuse.

Emma blinks awake one morning, her lashes fluttering, her gaze clear for the first time in days. Phoenix is half-sprawled over her legs, his face pressed to her calf, his breathing slow. Soren’s fingers are tangled in her hair, possessive even in sleep. My palm rests on her hip, my thumb brushing over a faded scar.

And her smile is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen—sunlight and softness and peace.

Her voice is a whisper, rough from overuse, but so sure. “I love you, Alphas.”

“You’re our everything, Omega,” I whisper back.

Soren stirs, pressing his lips to her wrist before throwing an arm around her waist. Phoenix hums against her skin where he’s tangled in her legs, his fingers tightening around her ankle. And I tighten my grip on her hip, my chest so full it hurts.

Her eyes close as she sighs, her body loose, her heartbeat steady against mine.

Asleep.

Healed.

Ours.

Chapter Fifty-Three

Emma

The heat under my feet softens as the tide creeps up to kiss my toes. Salt and sun tangle in my hair, and I tip back my head, closing my eyes for a heartbeat, soaking in the sensation of the whole world open wide around me. The water shivers over my skin, cool and alive, washing away anything sharp or stained that still lingers deep in muscle and bone.

Mira stands at my side, our hands linked, fingers laced. Her laughter, a quiet, irrepressible sound, bubbles up as a wave swirls around our ankles, ice-bright and insistent. She’s sun-warmed and barefoot, hair a wild tumble over her shoulders. She’s shining, all softness and victory.

We’re free—really free.

The familiar voices of our alphas rise above the rush of the surf. I spot Adrian, steadfast and broad, his hand gesturing as he speaks. Cole’s smile flashes and Zane’s eyes crinkle with dry amusement. A little apart, but always close, Asher’s arms are folded over his chest. Soren’s posture is gently guarded, the sea-wind ruffling his hair. Phoenix laughs at whatever Adrian is saying, his energy crackling loud as ever.

They’re at ease, but an edge of concern still underlies their every movement. Hardwick is still out there somewhere, and she has Leah, but I know our alphas won’t stop looking until she’s found.

There are changes though, and those are within me. There is no cage keeping me locked in. No darkness to stifle me. No cuff around my ankle to keep me contained. There’s sunlight, the taste of salt on my lips and the crisp, fresh breeze on my face.

This beach isn’t cold and empty or lonely, as I once thought I wanted. This beach is warm and alive with love and friendship. Mates and family is a thousand times better than I thought it could ever be.

Mira squeezes my hand and smiles while the waves dance around us, and the world is entirely ours in my little slice of paradise.

“Did you really mean it? About the house?” I glance over at her, doubt slipping through my smile. “It’s just… It’s a lot, Mira. To let me just have it. Not that I don’t appreciate it. It’s beautiful. And very generous.”

Mira meets my gaze with that steady honesty she never lost, not even when everything else was torn away. “I meant it, Emma. It’s yours. Weeks, months, for the rest of your life if you want it. You’re family, Emma. Sisters. And you know my mates think of you as a sister too. You belong here, just as much as any of us.”

Her words fill the hollow I hadn’t even realized was still aching. It’s such a generous offer. I can only shake my head, overwhelmed and grateful. Mira’s arm comes around me and she hugs me sideways. “Emma. I’d have given everything to have you back again.”

“You too.” I press my face into her shoulder, trying to laugh but choking up instead. “My alphas are happy here too,” I admit, a little shy, a little awestruck by how true it is.

Phoenix takes me out along the sand every day, sometimes teasing, sometimes silent, always holding my hand the way I crave. Asher surprises me with baskets of fruit and cheese and those little sandwiches I can never remember the name of, laying out picnic cloths on the sand so I can watch the waves and eat. Soren jogs a ridiculous distance every morning, running up the hard-packed low tide sand, and always finishes by swimming out to the buoy and back, coming home dripping and proud.

We’re all happy here. Astonishingly, quietly, truly happy in a way I never believed was meant for omegas. My favorite place is my nest, though. The world shrinks and softens inside those walls. I’ve filled the space with blankets and pillows and clothes holding the scent of everyone I love, the little touches from each of my alphas. There’s nothing to fear there, and when everything is quiet, I still hear the waves crashing in the distance.

We discussed where we would live. My mates have a bachelor pad in the city they were more than happy to renovate to accommodate me, but this is home. Not just the comfort and softness, but the certainty that no one can take this happiness away.

I watch the waves pull and recede, their rhythm oddly soothing, but a weight settles at the base of my throat. “I wish all omegas could find this peace. This safety. I want it for every single one of us.”

Mira’s smile becomes sad. “We’re working toward it. Aubrey and Skylar are at the Healing Center. I visit every day. Zane’s sister, Sophie, is a force and she’s personally looking after them. They have the best care anyone could have, given the circumstances.” She hesitates, worry etched deep in her voice. “But…they’re both so traumatized, Em. Every step forward is slow.”

“Skylar was Hardwick’s pack omega. I can’t even begin to imagine how she was treated…” But I can, too well. The senator, the cold, hard twist of her voice and her calculated cruelty, was a monster in heels and pearls. She got off on our trauma. Lived for it.

And now she has Leah.

A wave of nausea rolls through me. I clench my free hand in the skirt of my sundress, fighting it down. All I can see in my mind are Leah’s bruises, her hunched shoulders, the former light in her eyes dim and distant. An omega too battered to flinch, too resigned even to hope. She looked like she’d already made her peace with dying in that awful room.

The only thread of hope, the one thing I cling to, fiercely as a lifeline, is that Pack Hawthorne found her. She’s their scent-matched mate. If Hawthorne’s alphas are anything like mine—and I know they are; I saw it in their eyes and how they fought—they’ll cross hell itself, move heaven and earth, to bring Leah home.

Mira’s voice grows even quieter, threaded with equal parts awe and pity. “Did I tell you Aubrey is Kevin Dawson’s scent-matched mate?” She swallows, glancing over at the cluster of alphas by the rocks. “He told us he’s known for a long time—years, really—but he didn’t realize how bad things were for him. Aubrey belonged to the commissioner’s pack. Can you imagine? Learning what your mate endured all that time, and not having known enough to step in?”

I ache for both of them. “He must have been dying inside.”

“Dawson and his pack have practically camped outside the Healing Center, barely leaving Aubrey’s door, waiting for the smallest invitation to be near him,” Mira says.

I don’t really want to hear the answer, but I have to ask. “How is Aubrey? Really?”

Mira shakes her head as she looks out at the endless ocean. “He’s so traumatized, Emma. Sometimes he won’t speak at all. Sometimes he’s lost in this cycle. Mutters numbers under his breath, repeats codes like he’s not in the room anymore. But they all hope, Dawson especially, that one day they’ll get through. He and his pack have been so patient. They never push, just wait outside the door. Yesterday Sophie said Aubrey let Kevin sit in the same room for half an hour. That’s a good sign.”

She’s silent for a moment, then adds, “Those numbers Aubrey says are important. We already know Alpha 1465 was Axel Turns, and everyone’s pretty sure 1037 is Senator Hardwick. Aubrey’s muttered more numbers, too. At least a dozen different ones. Sophie and Zane are documenting everything. If he can break free of that trauma, Em, all those numbers could be the key. Maybe even a map to the rest of the network. Aubrey could be the linchpin. He could help us find every alpha who’s bought and traded omegas.”

The gravity of the situation presses down, hope and horror tangled together. I stare out at the ocean, letting the sound of Mira’s words wrap around me, and try to believe that someday soon those monsters will be dragged into the light, and there won’t be another Aubrey, or another Leah, left waiting in the dark.

Waves slip over my ankles, the cold biting through the heat rising under my skin. “Has your pack heard from Pack Hawthorne?” I ask, the question heavy with fear and hope. “Any word at all? Any sign after…after what happened?”

“Nothing. The officers who chased after Hardwick and Leah found nothing. They had just vanished. No tracks, no bodies, not a single sign.” She glances at me, worry in her eyes. “I keep telling myself that’s a good thing. That if they were dead, they would have been found.”

I nod, swallowing against the ache in my throat. I hold so tight to that silent absence. No bodies means hope, stubborn and bright as ever. We fall quiet, both of us staring at the waves, lost in our own spirals of grief and yearning.

“I never thought it would be like this,” I say.

She glances sideways at me, eyes shining. A laugh bubbles out, gentle and giddy. “ Sometimes I can’t, either. Adrian still brings me coffee in bed when the sun’s not up, Zane lets me drag him into the rooftop garden and get muddy, and Cole… well, you’ve seen how Cole looks at me. It’s like he never runs out of gentle for me.”

I smile, the sound of her happiness warming my bones. “It’s not perfect. Sometimes I wake in the night and wait for the other shoe to drop, but they’re always there, waiting to catch me when I fall.”

“We made it,” Mira whispers. “We are the living proof happy endings are possible, no matter where you start.”

“And I want that for Leah too, wherever she may be,” I say. The only dark spot is her not being happy standing with us.

A prickling stillness forms in my chest where the bonds with my mates live. At the same time, Mira stiffens, raising her head as a frown creases her brow. We both look to our alphas.

Adrian’s phone is pressed tight to his ear, the alphas surrounding him still and listening to the conversation. My heart throws itself against my ribs with such force I can hardly breathe. The sharp edge of Adrian’s voice is clear and clipped above the surf.

“Repeat that, Ronan. You have Leah?” Adrian’s eyes cut right to Mira, then to me. “You’re bringing her to Pinnacle now? An emergency!”

“Leah?” Mira breathes, stepping closer. Her hand grips mine tightly, anchoring us both as Adrian’s expression darkens.

“What happened—is Leah hurt? Ronan—?” Adrian demands into the phone.

He jerks the phone away from his ear with a harsh curse. “The call just dropped.” Adrian growls, hitting redial, frustration and fear evident in every line of his rigid frame. “It’s dead. I can’t get him back.”

A chill seeps through me, sharp tendrils of dread winding through my chest. Mira’s grip on my hand tightens, our fingers clenched and white-knuckled together. Her wide eyes meet mine, filled with shock, confusion and fear.

“What did Ronan say exactly?” Mira demands, desperation edging her voice.

Adrian shakes his head, frustration radiating in waves. “He didn’t give me specifics. Just that this was an emergency and Leah needs immediate medical attention. Then the line went dead. That’s all I got.”

Asher reaches my side in three swift strides, Phoenix’s hand steadying me, Soren’s strong shoulder supporting my back as Mira’s pack immediately closes ranks around her. The air thickens with tension, every alpha’s expression tight and wary. Protective instincts flare sharp and hot around us. We all sense the danger hidden within Ronan’s frantic, broken call.

“At least we know Leah’s alive,” Asher says.

I share one frantic glance with Mira before we all bolt toward the house. Every heartbeat drives us, panic and hope tangling as we race to Pinnacle Therapeutics and toward Leah, praying we’ll be able to help her.

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***

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Dear Reader,

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Thank you for taking this journey through Chain Me Knot, for holding space with Emma as she carves her way from hurt to hope, and for believing alongside her that even the deepest wounds can lead to the most powerful bonds. Your support and trust in these stories means more than you’ll ever know.

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As Emma finds her own kind of freedom, the BrokenVerse opens wider.

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Ruin Me Knot, book 3 in the BrokenVerse world, is ahead. This time, it’s Leah’s turn: an omega who has never known safety, never known softness, who has survived only by fighting with her claws out. What happens when the people sent to save her are the only ones strong enough to surrender to her scars—and the only ones brave enough to fight for her gentleness?

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In the next book, Leah will grapple with impossible trust, the raw ache of belonging, and the truth that some bonds aren’t forged—they’re fought for, inch by inch, against a world built to break. The BrokenVerse is moving into darker territory, where love is both shield and sharpened blade.

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If this story moved you, please consider leaving a review and sharing Emma’s world with others. Your words make these stories possible, help new readers find shelter in these pages, and they give me the courage to keep building hope out of heartbreak. Don’t forget to explore my other universes, and join my newsletter for updates, bonus content, and sneak peeks into Leah’s fight to reclaim her happy ending in Ruin Me Knot.

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With all my gratitude and love,

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Charmaine