Knot Your Fated M.U.S.E. (The Parazodiac Nexus #1)

24. A Place To Call Home

24

A PLACE TO CALL HOME

~NYX~

T he wooden house rises before me like something conjured from childhood fairy tales – all rough-hewn logs and wide windows catching afternoon light.

A wraparound porch offers countless spots for quiet contemplation while climbing vines soften the structure's imposing presence with delicate purple blooms.

Nature embraces the building completely, ancient trees standing sentinel around its borders like guardians frozen in eternal watch. Their branches weave together overhead, creating dappled patterns that dance across weathered wood with hypnotic grace.

The shadows stir with quiet appreciation, their usual warnings transformed into whispered admiration of this sanctuary carved from the wilderness. They recognize something here that resonates with their own nature – a perfect balance between civilization and untamed beauty.

My fingers trace the intricate iron gate we passed through earlier, memory fresh of multiple security checkpoints and careful verification procedures. What appeared at first glance as a simple forest road revealed layers of protection that would rival military installations.

"Everything here serves a dual purpose," Echo's words from the drive replay in my mind. The beta woman's quiet confidence as she navigated unmarked roads carried the weight of long experience. "Beauty masks security. Nature conceals surveillance. Even the flowers have a purpose beyond decoration."

The memory of her explanation about Parazodiac Nexus Ops flows unbidden...

"We operate in four subdivisions," Atlas explained from the back seat beside me, his presence steady as the vehicle wound through mountains. "Each specializes in different aspects of omega protection and facility infiltration."

Echo's hands remained steady on the wheel as she added details, her beta status allowing objective insight into alpha operations. "Subdivision A handles intelligence gathering and surveillance. B focuses on medical support and recovery. C maintains safe houses and witness protection. D..." she paused, glancing in the rearview mirror, "D does what needs doing when diplomatic options fail. Those are the normal implications that the outside world knows and follows. The details are rather different when you review the subdivisions’ true purpose, but that’s all boring and no one has time for all that information overload.”

"We're A," Atlas's quiet confirmation carried the weight of countless missions. "When negotiations break down or when facilities cross lines that can't be uncrossed, we ensure justice finds those responsible."

"Justice," the word tasted strange on my tongue. "Is that what happened at Ravenscroft?"

"Justice takes many forms," Echo's tone held careful neutrality. "Sometimes it requires extensive planning and careful infiltration. Other times..." her eyes met mine briefly in the mirror, "it arrives in gas clouds of magenta and teal."

I wonder what she means by that, but then I can only question whether she was present or aware of what happened a week ago at Ravenscroft. Those bullets ignited gas clouds of teal green and magenta.

Atlas's hand found mine as understanding dawned.

"We've been watching Ravenscroft for years, gathering intelligence on their operations. Your existence ended up being brought to our attention, and the attempt to retrieve you and the discovery of three other Omegas accelerated our timeline, but the facility was already marked for intervention."

"They hurt too many," Echo's knuckles whitened slightly on the steering wheel. "Crossed too many lines. Broke too many laws. The Nexus couldn't allow it to continue, but everything in the world demands order and process. It’s not a simple punishment and leaves the remains behind. It’s more so a give or take. That’s how the Nexus operates basically.”

"The Nexus?"

"They deem themselves the governing council. They have other names they go by, but Nexus is easier to grasp who we’re talking about and the implications of importance when assigned certain tasks." Atlas explained. "They coordinate between subdivisions, authorize major operations, and maintain the balance between different pack territories. Think of them as selfish peacekeepers who work with the government and the underground. They’re basically the middle ground that will lean to whatever side will give them the profitable outcome, regardless of violence and burned bridges. They’re not afraid to bare teeth when peace fails."

The shadows stirred with interest at this glimpse into a world I never knew existed.

A world where alphas fought to protect omegas rather than exploit them. Where justice wore many faces but always served a greater purpose.

"Why?" The question escaped before I could stop it. "Why risk everything to save omegas you don't know?"

Echo's soft laugh carried no mockery.

"Because someone has to. Every omega saved is a future protected. Sometimes the only way to fight darkness is to become the shadows that hunt other shadows."

Atlas's grip tightened fractionally. "To simply put it, it's the right thing to do, even with the heavy circumstances, implications, and potential consequences,” he pauses while squeezing his hand. “You’re proof that it’s worth it.”

The memory fades as present reality reasserts itself.

This house – this sanctuary hidden deep in the protected forest – represents everything the Nexus fights to preserve. Safety. Security. The chance for broken things to heal far from those who shattered them.

"The entire perimeter is monitored," Atlas speaks quietly beside me, his presence as steady as the ancient trees surrounding us. "Motion sensors, heat detection, automated response systems. Nothing gets within five miles without us knowing."

The shadows hum appreciation of such thorough protection, their song carrying notes of approval rather than their usual caution. They recognize the layers of security for what they truly offer – not mere safety, but the chance to truly rest without fear of discovery.

"What happens now?" I ask softly, gaze fixed on the solid wooden door that leads to whatever future awaits. "With Ravenscroft?"

Atlas's hand finds mine, his gentle squeeze grounding me in present reality rather than memories of sterile halls.

"Investigation continues. Evidence gathering. Building cases against those responsible. It won’t shut them down. In fact, they might be jumping right back to where they left off, acting like nothing happened. None of us are sure." His thumb traces careful patterns across my knuckles. "But that's not your concern right now. You're safe here."

"And me?" The question barely rises above a whisper. "What happens with me?"

His slight hesitation draws my attention fully to his face. Even with the silk wrap hiding his eyes, I've learned to read volumes in the set of his jaw, the subtle shifts of expression that betray deeper thoughts.

"We have two weeks," he states finally, each word carefully chosen. "Two weeks to... make a decision."

"What decision?"

The shadows stir restlessly, their song carrying notes of understanding I'm not quite ready to grasp. They recognize the significance of this moment, in the weight Atlas gives each word.

"Whether you become our omega," his voice drops lower, intimate despite our outdoor setting. "Or return to Ravenscroft."

Ice floods my veins at the second option, memories of endless torment threatening to overwhelm the careful healing of the past week. As much as I want to act like a helpless Omega and vow to never return to those threatening metal walls with no chance of escaping a second time, I also know staying away could put these Alphas in danger.

Without them, more Omegas will lose their lives in these massive corporations and organizations that hide in plain sight, taking advantage of the system that doesn’t benefit us Omegas.

Only makes us worthy prey to experiment on and enjoy agonizing.

"I'll return." The words emerge strangled but determined. "I won't risk your pack's safety. Won't endanger?—"

Atlas's hand tightens, cutting off my protest as he shakes his head.

"No." Simple denial carries absolute authority. "That's not a real option. I only mention it because full disclosure matters." His free hand rises to cup my cheek, the touch infinitely gentle despite the steel in his tone. "You’ll never return there. Not while I draw breath."

The shadows sing approval of his declaration, their harmony carrying notes of satisfaction rather than their usual warnings. They recognize something in his words that transcends mere alpha protectiveness – a promise written in steel and backed by absolute conviction.

"But—"

"No." His thumb traces my cheekbone with impossible tenderness that contrasts with the unmovable certainty in his voice. "The choice is whether you join our pack or we help you find another. But you never return to that place. Never face their torments again. That path is permanently closed."

I don’t need to go back?

Won’t their be consequences?

What if they come for me and endanger them?

Tears burn behind my eyes at the finality in his tone, at the way he states impossible things as simple facts.

"You can't know that. Can't guarantee?—"

"I can. I do." His forehead presses against mine, grounding me in present reality rather than future fears. "The pack that claims you…whether ours or another…will ensure your safety. No matter which path you choose, me and my pack will tear apart anyone who dares threaten you. We will make absolutely certain you never know captivity again."

The shadows weave through his words, their song carrying recognition of truth in every syllable. They understand what I struggle to accept – that this alpha offers not just protection, but complete dedication to ensuring my freedom.

"Why?" The question slips out small and uncertain. "Why offer such certainty to an omega you barely know?"

His slight smile carries warmth I feel even without seeing his eyes.

"Because you're worth protecting. Worth cherishing and proving we have every ounce of dedication required to keep you safe."

"I don't know how to..." my voice trails off as emotions tangle in my throat. "This kindness, this protection…it's foreign. I'm not sure how to show proper gratitude."

Atlas's gentle smile carries understanding without pity.

"You're reacting perfectly fine, little Goddess. Just be yourself. Be comfortable. That's all we ask."

He gestures toward the door, hand extending to offer a small keypad.

"Care to do the honors? Code is 495813."

The significance of those first three numbers doesn't escape me – my patient designation transformed into key to freedom rather than mark of captivity.

The shadows hum appreciation of such subtle reclamation, their song carrying notes of approval for this small act of defiance against Ravenscroft's careful categorization.

"Thank you," I whisper, fingers steady as I input the code. The lock disengages with a soft click that sounds like possibility.

The interior steals my breath completely.

Where the outside promised rustic charm, the inside delivers perfect harmony between comfort and elegance. Exposed wooden beams stretch overhead, their rich color highlighted by carefully placed lighting that creates pools of warm illumination throughout the open space.

"Take your time exploring," Atlas encourages, moving toward what appears to be a modern control panel. "I'll adjust the temperature and settings. Make yourself at home."

Home.

The word echoes in my mind as I step further into this space that defies every expectation. A massive stone fireplace dominates one wall, its hearth lined with cushions that beg for quiet evenings spent in peaceful contemplation.

The furniture arranged around it speaks of careful consideration – deep cushions promising comfort while maintaining clean lines that please aesthetic sensibilities.

The kitchen flows seamlessly into the living area, all gleaming countertops and state-of-the-art appliances that somehow don't detract from the overall warmth of the space.

Everything serves both function and beauty, creating an environment that embraces rather than intimidates.

My fingers trail along smooth wooden surfaces as memories surface unbidden.

Ravenscroft's endless "training" included studying magazines filled with perfect interiors – supposed targets for future infiltration missions. They dangled such images like carrots before starving rabbits, promising freedom from experiments if we proved worthy of their trust.

False hope wrapped in glossy pages.

Empty promises bound in perfect photography.

Lies disguised as potential salvation.

But this space holds nothing of that artificial perfection.

Each room radiates genuine life rather than staged elegance. Signs of actual habitation mark corners and surfaces – a book left open on a side table, a jacket draped over a chair back, a half-empty coffee mug revealing morning routine.

New scents catch my attention as I move deeper into the house. Beyond the overall warmth of wood and leather, distinct aromas begin to separate themselves. My enhanced senses catalog each one with growing fascination:

Atlas's pine needles and mountain air.

Vale's rain-washed granite and wild mint.

Kieran's sandalwood and berries.

Dante's cinnamon and fresh-baked comfort.

The combination draws me forward like a beacon until I find myself before a partially open door. The scents pour strongest from this room, marking it as shared pack space rather than individual territory.

Stepping inside feels like entering a museum of lives well-lived. Medals catch afternoon light from their careful mounting – racing victories, athletic achievements, military honors all displayed with quiet pride. Framed certificates line another wall, speaking of academic excellence across multiple fields of study.

But it's the central photograph that captures my complete attention. Four young men in pristine military uniforms stand shoulder to shoulder, their postures parade-ground perfect while their expressions hold barely contained joy. The image must be at least a decade old, yet I recognize each face instantly:

Atlas stands tallest, his eyes visible and bright with unguarded optimism. The silk wrap that now shields damaged vision hasn't yet become necessary, allowing full view of extraordinary amber irises that seem to glow with inner fire.

Vale leans slightly against him, both legs strong and steady beneath his weight. No sign yet of the disease that would later betray his body, his smile carries pure confidence in future possibilities.

Kieran's face shows none of the shadows that now often darken his expression. Whatever experiences carved those lines of caution haven't yet touched the young soldier grinning at the camera with unrestrained enthusiasm.

Dante completes the quartet, his usual swagger already present but tempered by genuine pride in uniform and position. His arm drapes casually across Kieran's shoulders, speaking of brotherhood forged in training and strengthened through shared purpose.

The contrast between then and now catches in my throat.

These young men radiate certainty in their path, their eyes bright with dreams of service and honor. They couldn't know what missions lay ahead, what sacrifices would be demanded, what scars would be carved into flesh and psyche alike.

The shadows stir with understanding, their song carrying recognition of how experience reshapes innocence. They see in these younger faces the price of knowledge – how awareness of true darkness transforms those who fight it.

These alphas still carry that core of dedication visible in the photograph, but time has tempered youthful enthusiasm with hard-earned wisdom. Their eyes now hold weight of countless missions, of battles fought in shadow, of victories paid for in blood and pain.

Somehow that burden hasn't broken them.

Instead, it forged something stronger – a pack bound not just by military precision but by shared purpose and absolute loyalty. The proof surrounds me in this room full of accomplishments and memories, in this home built to shelter both body and spirit.

A movement in the corner catches my attention – what appears to be a carefully constructed nest tucked into a cozy alcove. Various items create an inviting hollow that draws me closer with magnetic pull.

Stuffed animals and colorful plush toys arrange themselves with seemingly random precision, each adorned with different pieces of clothing that trigger immediate recognition. A black dress shirt identical to the one Atlas gave me during escape drapes over a particularly soft-looking rabbit. The fabric still carries traces of pine needles and leather, speaking of careful preservation rather than casual placement.

A navy blue running shirt that must belong to Kieran wraps around a small lion, his scent of sandalwood and berries woven into every fiber. A crisp polo that radiates Dante's cinnamon and comfort decorates a playful-looking fox. Finally, a white shirt that initially triggers memories of sterile spaces until Vale's rain-washed granite and wild mint overcomes clinical association.

The shadows hum with fascination as I settle into this carefully crafted space. My hands find a well-loved teddy bear that somehow carries all their scents combined – a perfect harmony of pack essence that makes something deep inside me uncoil with recognition.

Peace steals over me with unexpected swiftness as I curl deeper into the nest.

Each breath brings new notes of their combined presence, creating a symphony of safety that makes my eyelids grow heavy. The shadows' song fades to gentle whispers as exhaustion pulls with gentle insistence.

Consciousness slips away between one breath and the next, replaced by floating sensation that feels like being cradled in clouds. Some part of me fights the descent, old training demanding alertness even in supposed safety.

My eyes flutter open with effort, confusion rippling through me as I realize I'm no longer in the nest but cradled in Atlas's lap.

His presence radiates steady comfort as his fingers trail across pages of the book he holds, reading through touch what his damaged vision cannot see.

The raised dots beneath his sensitive fingertips translate stories into his mind through careful interpretation.

"Did I wake you?" His voice carries that particular gentleness reserved for quiet moments.

"No," I manage through lingering drowsiness. "I just... wanted to know if it's allowed. Sleeping so much." The question feels foolish even as it leaves my lips, yet years of conditioning make permission seem vital. "I didn't mean to fall asleep, but the room was so comfortable. So warm. And the scents…" Words fail as I try to express the profound impact of their combined essence.

Atlas's arm tightens fractionally around my waist as I relax back against his chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my ear provides perfect counterpoint to the shadows' quiet song.

"As a M.U.S.E," the words emerge as a barely audible whisper, "all anyone did was talk about how useless of an Omega I was." My fingers trace aimless patterns on his arm as buried pain surfaces. "I had no scent…couldn't smell other Alphas…it was so easy to believe what they were saying."

I take a deep breath, needing to tame all these various emotions while I confess how all of this makes me feel.

It’s the first time having the privilege of someone listening. Not to write such confessions on a board that deems you insane and having mental decline, but show true compassion, care, and validation.

"Everything feels overwhelming," I continue, words spilling forth like water breaking through a dam. "All these sensations, these scents, these…feelings."

My fingers twist together in my lap as I try to organize thoughts that scatter like autumn leaves.

"I know there's no rush. No ticking clock demanding immediate adaptation. But six years of living on borrowed time makes peace feel like a dream I might wake from at any moment."

Atlas's thumb traces gentle circles against my arm, offering silent encouragement to continue.

"In Ravenscroft, Alphas were just numbers. Designations. Quick assessments between trials to determine compatibility that never manifested." A bitter laugh escapes me. "We weren't meant to know them as people. Weren't supposed to recognize individual scents or develop genuine connections. Everything was clinical. Calculated. Cold."

The truth of my situation settles deeper with each word.

"Six years wrapped in carefully constructed lies, and I can't even remember what came before. How I ended up there. Whether I walked in willingly or was delivered like so many others."

My voice catches as memories surface.

"There were rumors about families selling their omega children to the facility. About parents convinced by promises of 'treatment' and 'correction' for designated offspring they saw as defective. But I don't...I can't remember if that was my story. If I had family who gave me away or if I simply appeared there one day with no past to speak of."

Sadness wells up unexpectedly as other faces flash through my mind.

"Azurite, Luna, and Riot. The Omegas in the room with me before we got separated. I didn’t really know them prior to that. We were gathered and chosen based off another trial of survival and we were the only ones that escaped death,” I reveal. “Those weren't their real names. I created them, like a child wishing to play with dolls in hopes of some form of normalcy in a brewing nightmare."

My hands clench in my lap as emotion threatens to overwhelm.

"I couldn't even communicate properly at first. Felt more animal than human, reduced to basic instincts and survival responses. The fact that I can speak now, form coherent thoughts... it's probably because I finally feel safe enough to remember language."

Atlas's steady presence as he holds me offers an anchor as painful memories surface.

"They were my first friends…and last, I guess. Riot..." Pain lances through my chest at the name. "Riot didn't survive the last challenge. We had to sacrifice one. Those were the conditions, but I felt like there could be a way where we all win. I thought…truly believed I was incapable of friendship, but in that prime challenge, we shared bits of ourselves and dared laugh in one’s company. After that whole fiasco, I got separated from the other two, and it made me realize how alone I’ve been all this while. It also proved that being a defective omega meant I was deserving of isolation, because if I didn’t meet anyone, it meant no one would get hurt. No one would die…"

"But now?" Atlas's quiet question carries no judgment, just genuine interest in my realizations.

"Now I understand what Ravenscroft stole from me. What they tried to convince me was natural inability was actually careful programming." My voice drops lower as implications stack up. "It's satisfying to know they failed. That I can still form connections, still respond to proper alpha presence. But it's also…haunting."

"Haunting?" He supplies when I trail off.

"Yes." The word comes out barely above whisper. "I'm haunted by all the experiences I never had. All the normal moments of discovery that should have been mine." Heat rises to my cheeks as I force myself to continue. "I never had a real kiss. Everything was...forced. Clinical. Designed for someone else's satisfaction rather than genuine connection."

The admission hangs in the air between us as I gather courage to voice deeper truth. "I never...I mean, I didn't..." My face burns hotter as I struggle with words. "Sex wasn't...I couldn't..."

Atlas's arms tighten fractionally, offering support without pressure as I fight to explain.

"After experiencing how empty those forced kisses felt, I couldn't bear the thought of losing something so intimate in their sterile rooms. Not when everything else already felt so mechanical and wrong." The words rush out now, carried on waves of long-suppressed emotion. "I knew... I mean, I understood they wanted to prove I could function that way. That my designation should make me responsive to any alpha presence. But after those kisses..."

My voice cracks slightly as buried pain surfaces.

"Losing your virginity is supposed to be special, isn't it? Memorable for the right reasons, not because it was another checkbox on their endless experiments. That was the one thing I couldn't let them take. They already stole my memories, my sense of family, any chance at normal education or early experiences."

Tears burn behind my eyes as the full weight of loss settles deeper.

"They took away my right to make mistakes and learn from them naturally. Every error in their facility carried a potential death sentence. But this...this one precious thing...I couldn't let them steal it too."

My mind is filled with silence, the shadows retreating and I guess allowing me this moment of confession to be between me and Atlas.

"They took so much," my voice emerges thick with unshed tears. "My past, my autonomy, my ability to trust or form connections. But they couldn't take everything. Couldn't completely destroy my capacity for choice, even if that choice was simply refusing to give them one more piece of myself."

Atlas's silence carries weight of perfect understanding. His presence behind me offers steady support while his scent wraps around us both like a protective shield against darker memories. The gentle rise and fall of his chest against my back provides rhythm that helps steady my racing thoughts.

"The worst part," I continue after gathering composure, "is knowing how many normal experiences I missed. Things other omegas take for granted – first dates, awkward flirting, butterflies in your stomach when someone special pays attention. Instead of natural discovery, I got clinical assessments and forced responses."

It’s frustrating to even think about now.

“We took medication that delays Heats, so we don’t even get to experience what it’s like. I guess it’s a good thing, but it makes me worry. Will I experience Heats in time like normal Omegas? Will that make it so I can conceive in the future…if I get to that readiness to bring children into this world.”

My fingers trace absent patterns on his arm as I voice deeper fears.

"In the end, I feel like I should know how to do this. How to be an omega responding to compatible Alphas. How to navigate pack dynamics and building connections. But everything feels new and terrifying because I have no foundation for normal interaction."

"You're doing perfectly fine," Atlas murmurs, his lips brushing my temple with infinite gentleness. "There's no guidebook for recovering from what you endured. No timeline for healing or discovering yourself."

"But what if..." The question catches in my throat, weighted with years of conditioning. "What if I never learn properly? What if I'm too broken to be what a pack needs?"

"You're not broken," his response carries absolute conviction. "Changed by experience, perhaps. Shaped by survival in ways that require careful healing. But not broken."

His hand finds mine, fingers intertwining with deliberate care.

"And you're already exactly what this pack needs. Strong enough to survive impossible odds, brave enough to maintain core of self despite systematic attempts to destroy it, and resilient enough to still offer trust despite every reason not to,” he reveals. “An Omega for us would have to be one who can protect herself. We’re not necessarily bad Alphas, nor are we good. We have feral moments, especially when not having an Omega within our pack for so long. We’re nowhere near perfect, and that’s something we've accepted long ago, but the allowance and ease I’ve seen from my pack proves your presence makes them hopeful again."

"But I don't know how..." The admission comes small and uncertain. "How to be normal. How to trust these feelings that keep surfacing. How to believe this isn't another elaborate experiment designed to prove my worthlessness."

"Then we learn together," Atlas's voice carries gentle certainty. "Day by day. Moment by moment. Without pressure or expectations beyond what you're ready to offer." His thumb traces my knuckles with infinite care. "You've spent six years surviving. Now it's time to learn to live again. If it takes another six years to learn, grow, and adapt. So be it."

Something in his quiet confidence loosens the knot of anxiety in my chest.

"I never thought I'd have this chance," the words emerge weighted with wonder and lingering disbelief. "To discover myself beyond their careful programming. To learn what it means to be Omega without their clinical interference. To possibly..." My voice drops to barely audible whisper, "to possibly belong somewhere. To someone. To a pack that sees me as more than a failed experiment."

Atlas's response comes pitched low, intimate in the quiet room.

"You already belong, little Goddess. The only question is whether you choose to accept that belonging."

The shadows weave through his declaration, their song carrying notes of destiny fulfilled rather than their usual warnings. They recognize in this moment something profound – the possibility of genuine connection untainted by force or clinical necessity.

From the beginning, Atlas has stressed that I’m not forced to be with their pack. That if I decide to want another set of Alphas, he’d make it happen and ensure they watch over me for years to come to ensure those Alphas always treat me like a valuable gem.

They don’t have to offer such self-sacrifice for my happiness, but the mere intention and admission makes a big difference. It proves this isn’t a lie or alibi.

That they’re being truthful and want me to have a happy ending, even if that doesn’t involve them.

“So…we don’t need to rush?” I whisper and peer at the silk, knowing he can sense it.

“No rush, little Goddess,” he assures me. “We go at your pace. Your call. When you want to move fast, we move. You want us to slow down, we listen to your command with no resistance.” From his tone of voice I feel as though he’s made that very clear with the others.

“When…I’m ready…for that…” I struggle to ask the lingering question in my mind, but I realize I’d want him to be the one to take the lead.

That he gives me a sense of comfort that if I had my first with him…

"Yes,” he answers before I can lay it out for him embarrassingly. “You just let me know, Nyx. Our Omega is safe with sharing any of her firsts with me. Understood?”

Hearing him say my name and matching it with “our Omega” sends butterflies in the pit of my stomach. I try to ignore how easy it is to make me wet when it comes to him.

Falling hard much.

"Understood,” I whisper, feeling a sense of peace in his company. “Thank you, Alpha.”

No rush…baby steps…at least…at the pace where I’m ready.