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

27. The Courage To Move On

27

THE COURAGE TO MOVE ON

~VALE~

" M y office is in the basement," I explain as I guide Nyx through our home. "All the equipment requires its own space, plus it's cooler down there which helps prevent overheating."

She follows beside me, her presence radiating curiosity about every detail of our living space. The past fo days have shown her incredible adaptability – from flinching at sudden movements to comfortable exploration of pack territory.

"I need to grab my medicine for three and come back up," I add, watching her expression shift to immediate concern.

"Would you like me to get it?" she offers, eyeing the wheelchair I'm currently confined to. "It must be difficult navigating with..."

I can't help but smile at her consideration.

"The wheelchair's just following doctor's orders. I still have function in my legs, especially with the new treatment regimen." Pride creeps into my voice as I continue, "It's been working surprisingly well. I don't want to risk compromising progress by pushing too hard too fast."

Her hand brushes my shoulder in gentle understanding. The casual touch speaks volumes about how far she's come – from omega conditioned to fear contact to one who offers comfort freely.

"The chair's a pain in the ass," I admit with a wry grin, "but it serves its purpose. Besides, we have an elevator."

Her eyebrows rise in surprise.

"Really?"

"Dante helped with the installation," I explain, feeling that familiar warmth of pack pride. "He's got hidden talents beyond the tactical stuff."

"I'm impressed," she says softly before her expression shifts to something more uncertain. "I feel bad that I haven't spent more time with each of you individually. Especially with..." She trails off, but I understand the weight of an unspoken deadline hovering in her thoughts.

"No," I shake my head firmly. "Don't feel bad about that. We actually agreed to take this approach." At her questioning look, I continue, "Rather than all of us rushing to be the first to claim your attention, we wanted to give you space."

"Why?" The question carries hints of disappointment and uncertainty that make my chest ache.

"Because you're not an object," I state with quiet intensity. "We don't want you feeling like your only value is the pleasure you can bring us. That's not what having an omega means to this pack."

"But..." she hesitates, confusion clear in her features. "People make it seem like you're harmful, feral, or unmateable because..."

"Because we won't pounce on every omega we see?" I complete her thought with a bitter laugh. "Yeah, we're horny fuckers with needs, I won't deny that. But we're past that stage of just fucking for the hell of it."

My hands grip the wheelchair's arms as memories surface of younger days, of meaningless connections that left hollow emptiness in their wake.

"No connection, just strangers opening channels that potentially lead to knotting and being stuck with an omega that only wants us for whatever financial benefit they can gain? No thanks."

I shake my head, dispersing darker thoughts.

"We're over that shit."

The conviction in my voice draws her closer, curiosity bright in her extraordinary eyes.

"Tell me more?" The request comes gentle, genuinely interested rather than demanding. It’s nice to have an Omega that actually wants to listen to your past.

To get a glimpse of what shaped you…

"Society has weird expectations," I begin, choosing words carefully. "Alphas are supposed to be these mindless rutting machines, claiming any compatible omega without thought or discretion. If we show restraint or actually want connection beyond physical, suddenly we're 'feral' or 'damaged.'"

Her hand finds mine, fingers intertwining with a natural ease that still catches me off guard.

The simple gesture encourages me to continue.

"The pack saw too much during missions. Too many omegas treated like property, too many bonds formed for political or financial advantage rather than genuine connection." My thumb traces absent patterns across her knuckles. "Made us realize we wanted something different."

"Different how?" Her question carries no judgment, just a sincere desire to understand.

"We want an omega who sees us as people, not just designations or bank accounts. Someone who builds genuine connections rather than calculating potential profit." My gaze meets hers directly. "Someone who might actually care if we don't come back…you know."

Understanding blooms in her expression as pieces click into place.

"That's why you've been so careful with me. Why you don't push for more despite obvious attraction."

"Partly," I admit. "You've been through hell, little one. The last thing you needed was four alphas fighting over who got to claim you first." A slight smile tugs at my lips. "Though Atlas kind of jumped the queue there."

Her blush proves adorable, but she maintains eye contact.

"He did. But it felt... natural. Not forced or clinical like..."

"Like Ravenscroft," I finish when she trails off. "Exactly. That's what we want – natural progression based on genuine connection. Not forced compliance or calculated submission."

"But society labels you feral for wanting actual relationships?" The confusion in her tone mirrors my own feelings on the matter.

"Society's fucked up," I state bluntly. "They've commodified designation dynamics until meaning gets lost beneath market value and political advantage. Alphas who want more than physical gratification get labeled defective because we're harder to control through biological imperatives."

Her fingers tighten around mine as the implications sink deeper.

"You're not defective," she states with surprising fierceness. "None of you are."

"No?" I can't help testing, curious about her certainty. "Even with my failing legs? Dante's hearing loss? Atlas's eyes? Kieran's emotional scars, though I guess thanks to a certain Omega, that’s faded into the abyss of the past."

"Especially because of those things," she declares without hesitation, though she smiles slightly at the reminder of Kieran’s newfound restart. "They prove you're real. Human. Not just walking stereotypes of alpha designation."

Pride swells in my chest at her understanding.

"That's exactly it, little one. We want an omega who sees past surface damage to who we really are. Who might actually care about the men beneath military precision and tactical gear."

"I do care," she whispers, the admission carrying the weight of profound truth. "Even before knowing details of your conditions or histories. You each played a role in my survival and escape…even if that freedom is threatened now, I feel beyond grateful to experience any of this.”

"You deserve to exist and be free, Nyx" I interrupt gently. "Not just as an omega, but as a person who survived incredible trauma without losing the capacity for genuine connection."

Her free hand rises to cup my cheek, the gesture carrying such tenderness it steals my breath.

"Thank you for explaining. For helping me understand why you approach things differently."

"Thank you for listening," I return quietly. "For seeing us as more than just alpha stereotypes or damaged goods."

"Never damaged," she declares with surprising intensity. "Just real. Human. Worth knowing beyond designation or military precision."

Her understanding strikes deep, awakening parts of me I thought permanently dormant after years of careful control.

This would be a good time… wouldn’t it?

I pause in front of a heavy metal door, gesturing toward the handle.

"Would you mind opening it?"

"Not at all," Nyx responds immediately, reaching for the handle. The door swings open to reveal what appears to be a storage room, though the reinforced walls and climate control system suggest it's designed for more than simple storage.

I roll inside, Nyx following close behind as I navigate toward a specific shelf.

"We don't come in here much," I explain, "but anything particularly valuable gets stored here. The room's fireproof, temperature controlled, basically a vault without looking too obvious about it."

My wheelchair stops at a precise spot, hands reaching for a drawer built into the wall. The mechanism slides smoothly and silently, revealing a box wrapped with green and pink ribbon. I lift it carefully into my lap, fingers running over the fabric with an almost reverent touch.

"Is that the time capsule you mentioned earlier?" Nyx asks, curiosity clear in her tone.

A slight smirk tugs at my lips as memories surface.

"No, this belonged to my grandma." The words come easier than expected, weighted with emotion but not the usual pain. "She made the most incredible cupcakes…the kind that actually reminds me of your scent, all sweetness and complexity layered together."

Nyx moves closer, drawn by the warmth in my voice as I continue.

"Her specialty was split flavors – chocolate on one side, vanilla on the other. People would line up around the block for them, selling out within hours of opening."

My fingers trace the ribbon as I lose myself in the memory.

"One night, I got the last one. Bit into it and discovered it was special. Filled with this golden cream that seemed to glow. I've wondered since if she planned it that way, but at that moment..."

I pause, gathering the courage to share the deeper truth.

"At that moment, it made me feel like the most important person in the world. Like I mattered in ways I couldn't quite grasp but desperately needed to believe."

I think of all the magical moments from back then. How I believed, despite the chaos and mean things kids and adults alike would do, I could see the happiness and pure beauty in a world filled with magic potential.

"She didn't know about the bullying," I admit quietly. "Didn't know how rough things were outside school and sports clubs. But somehow that cupcake, that moment of discovering something magical meant just for me…it meant everything."

Nyx's hand finds my shoulder, offering silent support as emotion threatens to overwhelm me.

"She gave me this box to open, but..." My voice catches slightly. "She passed away before midnight struck."

Her soft gasp just proves that she’s listening to the take, that my past circumstance actually matters to her.

"I never had the courage to open it," I whisper, staring at the box that's carried so many years of wondering. "Kept waiting for the right moment, but it never seemed to come..."

My gaze rises to meet hers.

"Until now."

The simple admission changes something in the air between us – this sharing of vulnerability creates a connection deeper than mere designation dynamics. Her presence beside me feels right in ways I can't quite explain as if her understanding somehow completes the circuit left open by years of careful avoidance.

Having her here makes all of this less frightening. Finally facing what I should have years ago, but not having the courage to accept my grandma wasn’t coming back.

My fingers find the ribbon's end, tugging gently at the carefully preserved bow. The fabric slides smooth against itself, releasing a knot that's held for over two decades. Each movement feels weighted with significance – not just opening a physical container but unlocking part of myself I've kept carefully guarded.

The box itself shows signs of age – corners softened by time, surface marked by years of careful handling. But the ribbon's colors remain vibrant as if protecting whatever treasure waits within from time's usual decay.

Green and pink – colors that seemed like a random choice now strike a deeper chord as I notice how perfectly they match Nyx's hair. The coincidence feels too precise to be an accident as if my grandmother somehow knew this moment would come.

Knew exactly who needed to be present when the seal finally broke.

The lid lifts to reveal two items – a carefully folded note and an ornate key decorated with a tiny silver bell at its end.

My breath catches as recognition strikes, memories flooding back of that same bell's gentle chime marking each customer's entrance to my grandmother's sanctuary.

Nyx leans closer, curiosity is evident in her expression.

"What's the key for?"

A smile spreads across my face, growing wider as understanding dawns.

"Her bakery," I whisper, emotion making my voice rough. "I never thought she'd leave it to a kid, but it was her most prized possession."

The weight of such trust strikes deeper as I explain.

"She was the only female baker in the entire city back then. Every Alpha in the business district tried diligently to force her out, but she never backed down."

"Does the bakery still exist?" Nyx asks softly, her hand finding my shoulder in gentle support.

"No," I admit, fingers tracing the key's intricate design. "But I have a strong hunch this envelope contains the land deed. Which means..." Excitement builds as implications register. "I still own it."

Her eyes widen with understanding as I continue, "The government could let some rich asshole build over it, but the moment I present these documents, my ownership claim supersedes their plans. She made sure of that."

A quiet chuckle escapes as memory surfaces.

"555 Zodiac Street."

"Angel number with such a unique street name," Nyx observes with a smile that lights up her entire face.

"We could check if the building still stands tomorrow," I suggest, heart racing at the possibility. After so many years of avoiding this moment, suddenly I can't wait to see what remains of my grandmother's legacy.

"What would you do with it?" Nyx's question carries genuine interest rather than mere politeness.

"I don't know," I admit, though possibilities begin forming in my mind. "If my legs keep improving with treatment... who knows? Maybe I'll open a bakery."

Her gasp of delight catches me off guard.

"Can I join you?" The request bursts forth with pure enthusiasm. "Would you teach me how to bake and cook? I've always wanted to learn!"

The image forms instantly – Nyx in an apron, flour on her cheek as she learns family recipes passed down through generations. My chest tightens with unexpected emotion at how perfectly she fits into this dream I hadn't even known I harbored.

I also try not to think of the “other” things we could do, especially with her in an apron…bent over…a flour mess all over the table…

"Of course, I'll teach you," I assure her, warmth spreading through my chest at her obvious joy. I have to tune back to the present or else my thoughts will spiral into wild dirty things.

I can’t hold off a hard-on until the others return. "Everything my grandmother taught me, every secret recipe and special technique."

Her squeal of happiness precedes the gentle press of her lips against my forehead. The gesture carries such genuine affection it steals my breath completely.

"What was that for?" I manage to ask, though part of me already knows the answer.

"I'm proud of you," she says simply. "For facing what you feared and conquering it. For opening this piece of your past instead of letting it stay locked away forever."

Our eyes meet, the moment stretching between us filled with something that transcends mere designation dynamics. This connection we're building, layer by careful layer, feels more profound than any instant attraction or biological imperative.

The shrill beep of my alarm breaks the spell, reminding me of medication waiting downstairs.

"I'll be back," I promise, reluctant to end this moment but knowing the treatment's importance for potential future plans.

The basement's cool air wraps around me as I roll up to my desk, multiple monitors casting blue light across the space.

A quick check of the security feeds confirms what I expected – Atlas and Kieran took one of the vans, their tracking signal already miles away. Dante's signature shows up closer, the matte black car stationary at a nearby gas station.

Probably filling up after their last mission.

My hand finds the new prescription bottle with practiced ease. Just one tablet, but it represents so much possibility. The doctors seemed genuinely optimistic about this treatment regimen, suggesting it might actually reverse the degenerative effects rather than just slowing them.

Water washes the pill down as my mind drifts to the faster solution they'd mentioned – an injection similar to what I used during missions, but refined.

Instead of granting temporary mobility followed by crippling pain, it supposedly offers permanent improvement. But that requires approval from higher authorities, mountains of paperwork, and endless waiting.

Quickly checking the address of my Grandma’s bakery, I quickly survey the general space, noticing its being used for a medical corp, but it doesn’t bother or worry me. Those can easily be moved and bought when money is involved.

I secure everything with methodical precision, double-checking monitors before heading to the elevator. The gentle hum of machinery accompanies my ascent, a sound so familiar I barely notice it anymore.

But something feels off as the doors slide open to the main floor.

The world tilts suddenly, reality spiraling like a carnival ride gone wrong. My vision blurs at the edges, turning the familiar hallway into a twisted tunnel.

What the fuck?

My heart begins to race as panic builds, each beat feeling too fast, too hard against my ribs.

"No, no, no," I mutter, jamming my hand between the elevator doors before they can close. The emergency button glows red under my trembling fingers as I press it, muscle memory guiding me to activate the distress signal on my wheelchair next.

"Vale?" Nyx's voice carries from the end of the hall, confusion quickly morphing into terror as she processes my condition.

Her eyes widen with recognition of a genuine emergency, feet already moving toward me with desperate speed.

I want to stop her, to ease the panic I see spreading across her features. My body betrays me as I try to rise from the chair, legs refusing to cooperate as the world continues its sickening spin. Gravity shifts without warning, the floor rushing up to meet me with brutal force.

But the impact never comes.

Instead, I'm falling through endless space, reality fracturing around me like shattered glass. Each heartbeat thunders in my ears, too fast, too erratic, each pulse carrying fear of being the last.

Nyx's voice reaches me through growing darkness, my name torn from her throat with pure desperation.

I try to respond, to reach for her, to offer any reassurance. But my body refuses all commands, consciousness slipping away like water through grasping fingers.

The void that claims me carries absolute finality – not mere unconsciousness but something deeper, darker. My last coherent thought centers on Nyx's terrified expression, on leaving her alone to handle this crisis. The pack's too far away, and won't make it back in time.

I'm falling.

Falling.

Falling through endless night that burns with each racing heartbeat.

Until finally, mercifully , even that sensation fades into perfect darkness.

My heart gives one final desperate thunder against my ribs before silence claims complete victory.

The last echo of Nyx's voice follows me down into the void, carrying notes of fear I can no longer ease.

The darkness wraps around me like a final embrace, stealing away all sensation until nothing remains but perfect.

Absolute stillness.