7. Emmeline
7
Emmeline
“ W
e’re going to the doctor’s,” Evander demands, glowering down at me. “This isn’t normal behaviour, Emmeline.”
But we can’t say that for sure. A scent match isn’t just an attraction—it’s a rare, innate bond that stabilises their entire beings. Without that connection this close to my heat, everything is off-kilter.
It’s got to be normal. It’s got to make sense.
“It could be because I’m not with my scent matches, Evander,” I say as softly as I can. It’s hard, though, when my throat is raw and dry from dehydration and sickness. My scent glands throb, aching for… things I won’t allow myself to want.
I give him a tense smile, trying my best to make it look real. “I’m okay, just in a little bit of pain.”
If my bones feeling like they’re struggling to hold me up, counts as a ‘little bit’.
“You shouldn’t be in any pain!” He slams his hands on the table, shaking the plates and my nerves in one sudden move.
I flinch, my scent curdles in the air—sharp, acidic and laced with my distress. It clings to my skin, my glands burning as I shrink in on myself. I fight the instincts to release more, to perfume the air with a plea for reassurance.
My desire to make myself small, and unthreatening is exactly what I need to keep myself safe. To hide from the angry alpha.
“Shit, Em, I’m sorry,” he says, rounding the table and dropping into the seat next to me. He holds his hand out, but I don’t take it, and he sighs. “I’m so fucking sorry. I’m just worried about you.”
“I know, Ev, I know.” I cross my legs on the chair, lowering them from where I had my arms wrapped around them. “But I’m okay. I got a little light-headed, but I also haven’t eaten for days. It’s not unexpected.”
My brother frowns. “And you really want to suffer through your heat alone ? You think that the thought of you unwell should reassure me?”
“I don’t feel comfortable going to the Omega Centre. We’ve already had this argument.” I pull the plate of toast towards me, ignoring the cramping in my stomach, and start to butter the slice.
I’m slow and methodical, ignoring the way my brother’s eyes burn into the side of my face.
If he wants to say something, he needs to find the confidence to say it. I’m not going to poke and prod when I already know it’s going to be some rehashed version of the only conversation we’ve had since my little light-headed episode.
“What if I ask Isaac?—”
“Don’t you dare,” I snap, thrusting my hand out with the knife pointed towards him. “Isaac is lovely, but his scent makes me want to throw up on a good day, never mind when I’m in fucking heat . You can’t ask the poor man to do that.”
“I pay him.” My brother pouts at me, and I roll my eyes, not backing down.
“You can’t force him to witness my heat. That violates at least three labour laws, and he’d probably be able to hit you with a workplace misconduct charge.”
Evander crosses his arms in front of his chest. “He would never. You know he cares for you, too.”
I groan. “Ev, that is not the point. I don’t feel safe or comfortable having Isaac there. And don’t dare suggest yourself again—not only will it be mortifying to go through that with you around, but it’s too close to incest for my liking. I’ll be fine.”
“But if you just went to the Omega Centre, you’d have staff on hand?—”
“I said no.” I shake my head, putting the knife down on the table. “I love you, I truly do, but I need to do this alone, okay? I’ll be smart about it and fill my nest with bottles of water.”
“And who will remind you to drink them, little star?” he asks softly. “Who will be there to ensure you eat? You tend to go into heat for eight days—that’s a long time to not drink anything, and you know it.”
I rub my eyes, exhaustion overtaking me, because all he’s doing now is adding to the worries that I already have. I’m terrified for all the same reasons.
As an omega, my heat isn’t just a mood—it’s a full-blown, biological, emergent state where I’m completely and utterly vulnerable. I need an alpha— multiple, really —to keep me grounded and safe, to keep me healthy.
Without that—without them— the physical pain and isolation can be… well, I have no idea. I’ve never endured one alone in my entire life.
Before I was comfortable with being sexually active, I took heat suppressants and was carefully monitored to ensure I remained healthy.
I took them until I was nineteen, and from then, I’ve had at least one alpha to see me through my heat every single time. So, of course, I am terrified to be doing this alone for the first time in my life.
I’m scared I’ll end up ill. That I’ll spend the entire time in agony, crying and begging for the men that complete my soul… but I can’t have.
It doesn’t matter, though, because there’s nothing I can do about it. Every instinct revolts at the idea of leaving our home, and going to the Omega Centre.
A little part of me shrivels up inside when I think about anyone being witness to my heat. Besides, I’m sure that even out of my mind, I won’t let myself die .
I’ll be fine. It’ll all be fine.
“I think I need another nap,” I murmur as the tension in the room grows.
“Em, don’t be like this.”
“What? Hormonal? Unreasonable? Dramatic?” I scoff, shaking my head. “I’m an omega, Ev. That’s what we’re known for. Trust me, I’ll be fine. You can hang out here today since my heat hasn’t hit yet, but if you… if…”
“If anything changes, I’ll probably vomit in your toilet and then leave,” he says, trying to laugh, but I can feel his bristling tension wrapped around him like a cloak. “Where do you want me to sit? Living room? Kitchen?”
“You can walk around freely,” I say, rolling my eyes. I pretend that he’s being silly, but I’m filled with genuine warmth at the fact that my brother is being so thoughtful, so careful, when I’m struggling.
He’s so considerate of my needs, desperate to support and not upset me, and I know for a fact I don’t deserve him.
That I don’t deserve this kind of treatment.
“You’ve not eaten much,” he says, looking at the spread of food that Isaac brought for us. “Want to have your toast before you go through?”
I shake my head. “Maybe later.”
I slowly get up from the table, keeping hold of the chair just in case, but there’s no weird black spots in my vision, no trembling limbs.
I brush a kiss against his cheek and promise to eat soon before stepping away from the table with measured caution. As I follow the dimly lit corridor towards my office—a space that has always been my safe haven—I notice something is off.
Everything in here is off. My nest walls are poorly constructed, and they’re not good enough for them.
My heart begins to race as I pause before the door.
For them?
“Who the fuck is them?” I snap, but, of course, my omega doesn’t answer me.
Bitch .
But no matter how hard I try, I can’t shake the urge to rebuild this nest. To fix it, to improve it, to make it right .
I shake my head, pressing my fingers against my temple. This is ridiculous.
The nest is fine. It should be fine. So why is something clawing inside of me, desperate to fix things?
It’s just me—my hormones, my stupid omega instincts messing with my head, punishing myself for not being good enough.
I trudge over, crouching down at the entrance, trying to will myself to go in. But it doesn’t matter how much I want to, my body won’t cooperate.
For once in my life, my instincts rebel against themselves.
I can’t go in. I can’t relax.
My nest is broken.
The blankets are wrong. The pillows are in the wrong places.
Everything is… wrong.
There’s no alpha scent soaked into the fabric, no claim wrapped around me, no familiar heat pressing into my side. That’s the problem isn’t it?
The nest smells empty.
Stale.
Abandoned.
I whine, the sound raw and desperate, as though I can will them into existence through sheer need. I wait a beat, another whimper leaving my throat… and nothing.
For fuck’s sake.
I edge forward, crawling over the blankets. They itch against my skin, and I know that I— that she— made the right call.
The pillows are scattered and uncomfortable—too stiff in some places, too soft in others. I start rearranging them, but no matter what I try and how I do it, it still isn’t right.
My nest should be my haven, yet, right now, it feels like a prison of my own making. A violent ache crushes my chest while my skin tightens, leaving me gasping for air.
A soft pleading sound curls from my throat without permission. Instinctively, my scent thickens, perfuming in the air in useless desperation.
It’s as if I’m trapped inside my own body, suffocating, drowning.
I press my trembling hands against my stomach, desperately willing the pain to subside.
It’s wrong. It’s wrong. It’s all fucking wrong.
But I don’t even know what’s missing. I don’t why I feel this way.
What the fuck is missing?
I dig my fingers into the blankets, my breath shallow, my pulse thunderous in my ears.
Fix it. Fix it. Fix it.
Fucking fix it, Emme.
But as the question echoes in my mind… I realise the problem—it isn’t me. It’s not even my failing omega instincts.
It’s the crushing weight of loneliness, of rejection, of facing all of this alone.
My body knows it, and so does my soul.
Because they’re not here… they can’t be here for me.
And I can’t?—
I swallow hard, forcing the lump in my throat back down. I won’t cry.
I won’t.
Because if I let myself break now…
There’ll be no one here to put me back together.
T he past four days have been hell.
I haven’t slept longer than an hour or two at a time. I haven’t eaten. I haven’t done anything except vomit into the toilet and tear apart my nests, only to rebuild them again and again.
My body is failing me.
I should be in heat by now. I should be drowning in my scent, lost to my instincts, begging and pleading for a knot that I can’t have.
But, instead, all I feel is wrong.
Four days. Four restless nights.
So much pain.
So many moments spent with my omega crying and pleading.
Of true, genuine illness.
“My body is failing,” I repeat, holding my stomach as I whimper.
I’m pacing my office, and I’m an absolute mess. Evander’s been by this morning to check-in on me, and I practically had to shove him out of the house just in case my heat finally decides to make an appearance.
But we both knew it wouldn’t.
I sigh, forcing myself to sit down. Maybe if I just stay still, my body will stop acting up, and I can get some sleep.
But the second I do, a wave of nausea slams into me.
My stomach twists, violent and unforgiving. My body rejects this scent.
I slap a hand over my mouth, gagging, my vision blurring.
The scent is everywhere. Thick. Suffocating. Wrong.
My stomach lurches again. I stumble to my feet, trying to make my way through to the bathroom.
The walls are closing in. The floor tilts beneath me.
What is that smell?
My knees give way, and the world fades to black.
I can’t breathe.
My body slumps to the floor, and my heartbeat fades into silence.
T here’s an annoying beeping sound, and it’s killing my pounding head. Every time it alerts, my brain whacks against my skull, contracting so painfully.
“That’s getting faster,” my brother’s panicked voice shouts. “Nurse, nurse! Come here.”
I smile to myself, grateful he’s here. His dark chocolate and coffee scent is weirdly soothing right now, and I try to tug the blankets up to keep myself warm.
“Ow,” I cry out, pain shooting up my arm, and my eyes fly open. The brightness is disorientating at first, but, as I blink, the room comes into focus, and I realise where I am.
Plain white walls, soft furnishings, bright rooms—I’m at the fucking Omega Centre. I’m in one of their recovery rooms by the looks of things, and, clearly, my heat hasn’t gone well.
My hand is hurting because I have a cannula in, and it got caught in the blankets from my own stupidity.
How long have I been here? How long?—
Fuck . Memories flood in, my head pounding that much worse, as I remember exactly how I’m here. There was no heat. I’m ill—dying, maybe?
Dramatic girl that I be.
“Stay still, little star,” Evander soothes, striding over to my side. “The nurse is on her way, okay?”
“What happened?” I croak the words out, my throat burning and raw.
“You passed out,” he says carefully. “You’re extremely dehydrated.”
My eyes are fighting to stay open, despite my exhaustion. “Dehydrated?”
I’ve never been dehydrated after a heat. I’ve always had alphas to see to my needs and to keep me content. Is this why I’m in so much pain? Why my head is throbbing?
Why I feel so weak?
“How’s your throat feeling, dear?” a soft-spoken beta female asks. She’s wearing scent-neutralising spray so I can’t pick up her natural scent as she walks towards me.
She’s wearing a pair of navy slacks and a matching half-sleeved tunic with the Omega Centre’s logo on. Her trainers are the whitest I’ve ever seen, and they look pretty comfortable.
Her dark hair is cut into a beautiful bob that frames her face, and the warm smile she gives me makes me feel like I’m in good hands.
“Sore.” I rest my head back on the pillow, grateful I’m not laying completely flat. My body aches as if I’ve been hit by a truck.
“I’m not surprised. Have you been vomiting often?” she asks, picking up the chart at the end of my bed. Her eyes scour over the information there as my nerves continue to build.
“Pretty much all day every day since Monday.” What day is it? Is it still Friday?
She nods, and I wish the lack of concern on her face reassured me. “That’s normal at this stage, especially when away from your mate and pack.”
“Mate? Pack?” My voice catches, my throat dry.
I shoot Evander a glare. Did he tell them? Did he tell someone?
But my brother immediately shakes his head, his face unreadable. I’m hit with a pang of relief, but it’s quickly overtaken by confusion.
I look back at the nurse and correct her, “I don’t have either of those.”
“You don’t?” she asks, flipping my chart over angrily. “Who did you conceive your baby with, then?”
The warmth is gone. Her voice is too sharp, too cold, like I’m some reckless omega who just let anyone knot me.
The room shrinks around me. My pulse pounds in my ears.
My stomach drops.
My omega purrs. A deep satisfied hum that vibrates through my chest, the sound so foreign and utterly unexpected, that it feels like a punch to the gut.
Baby?
The room tilts.
My heart stutters.
Baby.
I glance at Evander, searching for some kind of explanation, some kind of reassurance.
But my brother looks just as frozen as I feel.
Baby.
Where I’m staggering under the weight of this revelation, my omega… she’s ecstatic.
It all makes sense, now. Fuck .
There’s no heat because I’m pregnant.
I’m vomiting because I’m pregnant.
My nest is all wrong because there’s not enough room for me, Uri, Sterling, and our baby.
Our baby.
My stomach flips violently, and I don’t know if it’s nausea or something else, something worse.
My breath catches, an invisible fist squeezing my ribs as I press a trembling hand to my stomach. There's no real change yet, nothing noticeable, but the knowledge alone is enough to leave me dizzy.
I should be more panicked, right? The realisation should have more of that gut-clenching anxiety that’s been plaguing me for days now… right?
But all I feel is… well, I don’t know. Weightless. Confused. Relieved I’m not dying?
The nurse sees my reaction, and her lips purse in something almost like disappointment.
“I can see that’s a shock.” Her tone has gotten even colder, and I drop my eyes to my hands. My skin is so much paler than usual, and I’ve already got a few bruises at my inner elbows.
They’ve clearly struggled to find a usable vein.
My hand is aching, but I know it’s just because I can now see the cannula and not because it actually hurts.
“Okay, I’m going to get the doctor to come in here and speak with you,” she says, and my omega whines in distress. This woman is acting like we’re dirty—like we’re broken.
But I don’t care about her reaction, not when she’s revealed what I’ve been too scared to admit. Uri and I… we… I’m pregnant. My hands fall to my stomach, and I swear I feel something flutter inside.
I know it’s not possible, that the baby will be far too small… that my baby can’t do that.
I feel like the world’s shifted, but I’ve not caught up yet. Like my brain is one step behind—hell, an entire mile.
“And whilst you’re at it, don’t come back in,” my brother snaps to her retreating back. He moves to sit on the bottom of my bed, giving me a soft look. “Why didn’t you tell me how you were feeling this morning?”
It is still Friday. Thank fuck.
Something easy to focus on. Something concrete.
“I didn’t realise how bad it was.” I blink back the tears, my body beginning to tremble. “How did you…”
Evander doesn’t speak right away, his chocolate scent darkening, burning, even, as he recalls the events of today.
He grips my hands so tightly I almost wince.
His jaw tenses. His throat bobs with a hard swallow.
When he finally speaks, his voice is barely above a whisper.
“I have no idea how long you lay there. You were just lifeless, Emme.”
My eyes fill with tears, and I let out the most pathetic whine I ever have. I don’t know if it comes from the omega or from me, but I don’t try to smother it.
Instinctively, he moves, cuddling me into his side as he sits atop of my blankets. I melt into his warmth, unable to stop myself. The moment his deep and familiar scent wraps around me, my body just gives in. I bury my face into his shoulder and let my fear escape in the form of my sobs.
A low, grounding rumble builds in his chest, a sound meant to soothe an omega in distress.
How could I have done this? Why didn’t I think? Why didn’t I try to prevent a pregnancy?
Uri’s going to think… he’s going to think I’ve tried to trap him. Tried to do this on purpose.
Sterling will… I don’t know. I don’t know how he’ll react.
My mind races through every logical argument as my hormonal body cries and sobs, clutching onto my brother for safety.
What is going to happen to my job? To my independence?
Fuck—my life? If what happened to my mum happens to me…
“Fuck, I could live a thousand years, and that memory would still be implanted in my mind,” Evander says, pulling me from the toxic spiral of my brain, holding me tight against his chest. The vibrations of his low growls does little to soothe me. “I was so worried. Isaac’s furious with you, too, you know? You aged us a decade and a half.”
“I’m sorry.” My vision is blurred with my tears, his shirt soaked with my hysterics.
I could die.
My baby could die.
I’ve condemned us both to a death like my mum.
“Don’t apologise,” he begs, squeezing me tight. “Fuck, Em, I swear, I’m never letting you out of my sight again.”
“That’s exactly how her alpha should be treating her in this situation,” a deep male voice says.
My spine locks, a sharp, primal panic flooding through my veins. My stomach churns, and my scent glands itch.
He’s an alpha—an unmated one at that.
Foreign. Threatening.
I freeze.
I don’t recognise that voice, but my omega recognises an alpha that is not one of ours, and she panics. There’s a clawing feeling in my chest, and I have to fight to not wrap my arms around myself, to protect my baby.
Evander stiffens beside me, his arm still protectively braced around me as we both turn towards the door.
A man I’ve never seen before steps inside, dark blue eyes scanning the room. He’s young—our age, maybe a little older—but there’s something unnerving about how calm he seems.
I’m spiralling, desperately trying to stay afloat in the sea of panic, and he’s just not even affected by the tsunami. The scent-neutralising spray masks whatever he is, but my omega knows.
My fingers tighten in Evander’s shirt, but my brother stays perfectly still.
“And you are?” Evander asks, his voice cold.
The alpha lifts a brow. “Dr. Jonas Harper. I was paged the moment she woke up.” He looks at me. “Miss Whitmore?—”
“It’s Emme,” I whisper, throat still raw, but I can’t… I can’t handle him being so distant.
“Very well. Emme.” He gestures his head to the seat by my side, meeting Evander’s eyes for permission. “Do you mind?”
“He’s not my alpha. He’s my twin—” I say, shaking my head as my stomach tightens brutally. I know that, this time, the vomit that threatens to rise isn’t because of my tiny baby but because of being so disgusted.
“She’s my sister,” Ev utters at the exact same time.
The doctor nods, his lips quirking up into a smile. “I do apologise for the offence.”
Jonas leans forward slightly, scanning me with careful, measuring eyes. “I was paged to assess your condition, Emme.”
My mouth goes dry. “Condition?”
For the baby. He’s here to… to what? I don’t know. I don’t know what kind of doctor he is or what kind of things can be done at this stage.
I hate not having a plan. Not understanding what comes next. My omega whimpers, and both alphas on either side of me tense.
Jonas glances at the monitor that displays my quickening heart rate, then back at me, a pitying look in his eyes. “Your body was under extreme stress when you arrived. Due to the severity of your symptoms, we weren’t sure if it was due to a pregnancy… or if you were having a rejection reaction and this was your omega harming herself.”
Rejection.
The word lodges in my throat.
They… this can happen? If Uri and Sterling… if I can’t… if I don’t…
“You thought I was rejecting a bond?” My voice is hoarse, and I clutch tighter at my brother. He doesn’t hesitate in offering a soothing rumble, trying to help ease the discomfort of my omega.
Jonas hesitates. “The symptoms were severe enough that it was a possibility.”
I let out a small, distressed whimper and shut my eyes, curling inward on instinct. There’s a strong pressure on my chest, threatening to crush me, but the fluttering feeling inside my tummy is so akin to hope.
I wasn’t rejecting a bond. I was missing one, sure, but… but that doesn’t mean I will never have one.
Evander shifts beside me, his grip tightening.
“My sister doesn’t have a bond,” he growls, glaring at the doctor. I can smell the burning tinge to his scent, and I know that my brother is at the end of his rope.
Jonas exhales, tapping his fingers against his clipboard. “We know that now. We’re fully aware of your sister’s condition, and the… predicament she’s now in.”
A weighted silence falls, and I shiver. He wasn’t being rude, not really, just stating it how it is.
I’m a pregnant omega with no pack to support me.
No alpha to keep me safe, to keep me stable, to help me be healthy. The risk of miscarrying is high, and even if my baby survives the pregnancy… there’s no guarantee that I will.
Just look at what happened to my mum.
But Jonas’s gaze lingers, the corner of his mouth twitching, almost like he’s weighing up something. I just wish I knew what.
“So, what do we do now?” I ask, my throat rasping.
“That depends on you, Emme.” He crosses his ankles, and I don’t like how nonchalant he is when I’m so tense. “It’s clear that you’re pregnant, and from what has been shared, you don’t have a mate or a pack. Now we decide what option to take next.”
“I don’t understand,” I say, looking up at Evander’s stone cold expression before meeting Jonas’ once more. “What do you mean by options?”
He taps his clipboard, sighing as he looks between Evander and me. “There are a few things we need to discuss moving forward.”
My pulse pounds in my ears, and I don’t know if I’m truly following along with this conversation.
“Your health comes first,” he says, voice even. “We need to make sure your body is recovering. You were severely dehydrated when you arrived, and I can’t imagine you’ve managed to eat much of anything over the last few days either.”
But if it’s just that simple, then why does he look like he’s holding something back?
Jonas clears his throat. “Then, we need to talk about… next steps.”
Silence.
It stretches. Too long. Too suffocating.
Something in the way he says it makes me bristle, a low whimper curling in my chest. But I don’t understand it. I don’t know what he means.
Is he on about antenatal care? About how to make sure I’m looking after myself without an alpha to do so?
Is there some law or legislation I’m not aware of?
My brother stiffens. A rolling tension that coils through his muscles as he processes what Jonas just said. I’m not surprised when he snaps.
“You have some fucking nerve,” Evander growls, his voice low. Dangerous.
He’s clearly understood something that I haven’t.
My fingers dig into the blankets. “What is going on?”
Jonas’ gaze flickers to Evander for a second before returning to me. “Emme, do you want this pregnancy?”
My breath stutters. My mind screams.
My heart clenches so painfully.
My eyes sting, my throat burns, and I shudder in my spot as I think about how I can even answer this question. My vision blurs—from exhaustion, from shock, from… everything.
How am I meant to answer him… I never even considered that I wouldn’t go through with this pregnancy. The moment the nurse told me, it just fell into place.
But now… he’s saying there’s an out? That I don’t need to do this?
Do I want this?
The answer should be obvious. It should be simple. My mother died giving birth to Evander and I.
It shouldn’t be a question. Aborting my baby, saving my life… it shouldn’t be something that hurts this much to consider.
My fingers tighten against the blanket, nails digging into fabric.
What if I end up like my mum?
What if I never get to meet my own child?
What if… what if… what if…
My fingers curl slightly against my stomach. Even knowing everything that can go wrong… I’m pregnant, and that’s all there is to say.
“How fucking dare you,” Evander snarls, glowering at the doctor. “We fucking discussed this when your team told me. My sister will not endanger herself. You know our family history.”
Evander jumps up off the bed, pacing the room angrily, but I can’t even meet his eyes. My brother has every right to be concerned, to worry about my health considering how we lost our mum.
She was in a very similar situation to me, where she fell pregnant with no pack or alphas to support her through it. She wasn’t a scent match with my dads, and they had no clue that they conceived until after she had already passed.
They met at the Omega Centre, and my mum was meant to be on birth control throughout her heat. It failed, and my brother and I were the result.
She never contacted my dads throughout her entire pregnancy, and without the support of her alphas, of any alphas , to keep her grounded, to keep her stable… she was very weak and malnourished when she went into labour.
It’s a miracle my brother and I survived.
But she didn’t. And now… history is repeating itself.
If I thought I had disappointed my dads before, this is the cherry on top.
Fuck.
They lost their scent match only days after finding her, and then my mum passed, too. They’ve spent their entire life grooming my brother whilst keeping distance between us.
This is going to confirm everything they’ve said from the start.
Omegas are weak. Omegas are useless.
Jonas watches me carefully, his hands loosely clasped on his clipboard. “Emme, you don’t have to decide anything right this second.” He gives my brother a warning look. “And it will be Emme’s choice. Nobody can decide for her.”
“I…” I shake my head. My mouth is too dry. My hands are too cold. I don’t know what to say.
I don’t know how to answer this question, not without disappointing my brother, not without considering all of the facts.
I need to… I need to create a list. I need to figure it out. To figure it all out. I’ve always had a plan, I’ve always known what to do next. I’ll be able to adjust for this, I just need time.
Time.
I let my eyes flutter shut, trying to calm down my panic, trying to reason with the screaming omega inside. We’re going to be fine. It’s all going to be fine.
Evander is the one who speaks next. His voice is measured but dangerously calm. “How long does she have?”
I tense and can’t stop my gaze darting to the doctor. My fingers press into the palm of my hand hard enough to leave crescent-shaped indentations—hard enough to draw blood.
Jonas hesitates before answering. “We have some time. A few weeks at most before your omega will be… too attached. We’re going to have to start monitoring more closely then, too. But?—”
I exhale sharply, my stomach flipping violently. Evander’s breath is too even, too controlled.
“—if she continues to struggle with nutrition and hydration, we’ll need to take extra precautions for her health in the interim.”
My heart hurts, and I’m desperate to leave. All I know is that there’s a tiny baby growing inside of me right now. A baby Uri and I created together .
He might’ve left. I might’ve made it hard for him to contact me.
But… but shouldn’t he know about this?
Shouldn’t I give him… give Sterling… a chance to weigh in? To decide?
To know I want to keep our baby?
Jonas rubs the back of his neck, his expression unreadable. “I understand that this is overwhelming.”
“You don’t.” My voice is barely above a whisper. The knot in my tummy is huge. I hope my baby still has space.
Jonas’ lips press together, but I see the slight softening in his gaze. “Maybe not in the way you’re feeling it, but I’ve had to guide many omegas through this moment, Emme.”
“Then you should know I don’t need this right now,” I snap, moving away from Ev’s hesitant touch. “I’m… this wasn’t expected.”
Jonas doesn’t move, doesn’t react to my hostility. He just meets my eyes, something steady and sure in his gaze.
“I hear you, Emme. And I know this wasn’t something you planned for.”
I swallow, my throat raw.
“You don’t have to figure this out alone.”
Don’t I, though?
Because I’ve never felt this alone in my entire life.