8. Emmeline
8
Emmeline
E ight days ago, I was supposed to be in heat—trapped in a haze of sex and pleasure, too blissed out to think.
But less than four days ago, that biological imperative unravelled. I collapsed due to dehydration and found out that not only would I not be going into heat for at least a year, but that I was pregnant… with my boss’ baby.
Yesterday… well, yesterday I was finally discharged from hospital with a bag full of prescriptions, a body still too weak to function, and a stack of pregnancy leaflets that read more like a warning than actual advice.
Today has been spent lying in my nest fighting to sleep. My body aches for rest, but my mind refuses to settle.
Every time I close my eyes, nausea churns in my stomach, and the phantom weight of my nest feels wrong.
Then— fuck. Another buzz of my phone. For the fourth time in the last ten minutes.
I groan, pressing my face deeper into the pillows as the second vibration rattles my entire skull.
I know it’s my brother. I know he’s worried.
I know he’s only checking in so much because he cares.
But, fuck me, I consider suffocating myself with my pillow just to spite him for being so overbearingly over the top.
I grab my phone from under my pillow, not surprised at all to see multiple messages from my brother in the space of literally thirty seconds.
Evander
Are you alive?
If you don’t answer within five minutes, I’m going to send Isaac around to check.
I stare at my phone, my thumb hovering over my phone’s keyboard. I hate that I’m putting him through this.
Evander
You agreed to this—so stop cursing me.
I roll my eyes at how well he knows me and key out the response that I know he will not appreciate, but makes me smile.
I love my brother. I love how much he cares.
I just hate that he’s right to be worried… because deep down, I know that I’m not okay.
I’m weak, fragile… and so fucking worried.
Emmeline
The number you’ve tried to reach is no longer receiving messages from their overbearing, barely-older, twin brother.
Evander
Haha. You’re hilarious.
Excuse me for being scared.
Emmeline
Excuse me for wanting more than five minutes for each nap.
Evander
Fair point.
What are your plans for this afternoon? If you let me know, I’ll do my best to back off a little.
I groan, wanting nothing more than to go into heat, to surrender to the haze where my body and instincts take over—anything to escape my own thoughts.
Then again, I’m not sure any alpha could find me attractive enough to maintain his knot when I’m lying in a pool of my own vomit.
So you know, maybe I need another plan for avoiding my brother whilst I figure my shit out.
Evander
I’m just worried, little star.
It’s killing me to not be there for you today.
Emmeline
I know.
I need to go food shopping, since I’ve got very little in.
I don’t want to blame you and Isaac for eating me out of house and home but…
I wasn’t expecting to be here this week, so the few things I did have in have been consumed by my brother and his assistant over the last week. They say omegas eat their feelings—well, society has clearly never seen my brother worked up.
I don’t have a single sweet treat left. Not that I can eat right now but still extremely maddening when I have to listen to his complaints.
Evander
Do you think that’s safe?
What if you order in? I can pick it up after this meeting and put it all away for you.
Emmeline
Nope. It’s pretty dangerous.
I’ll probably die in the chocolate aisle.
Worth it.
At least then my afterlife will be spent haunting the best place.
Evander
Okay, I can feel your sarcasm from here.
I’ll send Isaac to come pick you up so he can carry the bags into the house for you.
Emmeline
Don’t you dare.
I can drive myself.
Evander
It’s Isaac or I cancel my meetings and come myself.
“It’s Isaac or I cancel my meetings and come myself,” I mutter, using a poorly imitated tone for my brother and his current rudeness.
Emmeline
I hope your business fails.
Evander
Me, too, then I have all day long to look after my sister and cater to her every need.
In fact, I might just quit now so I can do that for the rest of my life.
Thanks, sis, you’ve just given me the best idea.
Emmeline
Isaac it is.
We both know if you tried to spend that much time with me, I’d be in jail for murder.
Evander
You’d cry if I got blood on you.
I’m not concerned for my death, little star.
Emmeline
Dick.
Evander
Isaac’s leaving now to come and get you.
I can’t help my grin and the warmth that floods through me. Even when not here, my brother has managed to make me smile. He’s amazing and sweet, and… well, he’s my only friend in this world, so I’m also pretty lucky.
Emmeline
Love you, bro.
Evander
I love you, too, little star.
Text me when you’re nearly done, and I’ll make sure Isaac is back to pick you up.
Do not over-extend yourself.
Do not get too much.
Do not carry anything heavy.
I toss my phone across my nest as he continues sending threats and rules for my shopping trip, and I don’t care in the slightest as it bounces off the pillow and onto the hardwood floor of my office.
If I’m lucky, my phone will be shattered beyond repair.
I’m exhausted, and the last few days in hospital have not been kind, and it was only out of sheer desperation that they let me out.
I’m mostly able to keep fluids down, but I haven’t yet managed to stomach food, and I’ve got an overbearing Evander on my case.
My brother doesn’t want me to have this baby alone . He’s made it clear he’d love to be an uncle, and what a great mum I’d be, and all of the sentimental shit people say when you have a baby.
But he’s also spent every minute he can trying to remind me of our mum, of the dangers, of how small the chances of both me and my baby surviving are.
My brother might not mean it, but all he’s done for the last twenty-four hours or so is remind me that I’m stupid. How I’m not good enough.
How I might kill my baby because I was foolish enough to let my boss fuck me.
He’s trying to support… but I think he’s just killing my spirit instead.
“ E
xcuse me, can you help me, please?” I hear a male voice ask, and there’s something about it that pulls me from the pens I was examining. I straighten up slowly, fighting a wave of dizziness that has become my constant companion.
Isaac dropped me off at the shops about a half hour ago, and I know that his begs to stay were because of my brother. Not a chance. He only left since I threw up in the parking lot from being trapped in his sweet caramel and butterscotch scent.
Inside, the store is too bright—too loud, too sterile.
The hum of the harsh fluorescent lights claw at my skull, and every step sends a dull ache rippling through my joints.
It’s been hard to be here, away from home—away from the comfort of my nest.
The overpowering smell of artificial lemon bleach battles with the bakery’s warm, flaky aroma, and it churns my stomach. My scent glands pulse in protest, desperate for something familiar, but my body is too weak to respond.
At least here, in the stationary aisle, I can be in my happy place.
“Which of these looks better?”
I look over at the top end of the aisle, and it’s clear who drew my attention. There’s a tall, slim man with a long brown coat on and Italian leather loafers talking to a red-haired shop assistant.
He’s very out of place in the local supermarket, and I’m not sure what about him has captivated me so much. I can’t see his face, and with how perfectly poised he is, I can’t imagine we’d have much in common.
“I don’t know, sir.” The shop worker he’s talking to seems bored and turns back away from him to continue stacking shelves.
“You might know more if you paid attention to what I was showing you,” the intriguing man mutters, striding back over to the wall of… planners.
Oh, well, this is something I have knowledge on.
And, for whatever reason, my omega is interested in the scent-less man. Like me, he’s clearly coated himself in scent-neutralising spray—it has a different way of coating you, compared to the soap. A more unnatural kind of blankness to you versus one that seems woven in with your usual scent.
“Do you need help?” I call, unable to ignore the push of confidence from my omega.
The man whirls around, and I immediately freeze, recognising him easily as soon as I see his face. With sharp, angular features and piercing grey eyes, I’d know this man anywhere.
Oscar Remington.
CFO of Opus Media, and… well, embarrassingly to admit, the star of one too many dirty fantasies of mine.
You know— before I fucked his packmate and realised a second one was a scent match of mine, too. Now, he’s off limits, completely and utterly.
Oscar’s always been someone I’ve admired from afar. He’s competent, sexy as fuck in both looks and intellect, and well… he’s got such long, nimble fingers that I just…
Emmeline, don’t do this.
“I need to figure out—,” Oscar starts but immediately cuts himself off, frowning at me. “Where do I know you from?”
I bite the inside of my cheek to stop my smile growing too widely, quite amused by his abruptness. There’s no tact when it comes to Oscar, but, honestly, that’s one of the things I like about him.
It makes for some interesting meetings.
“I work at Opus Media. We’ve crossed paths a few times.” I rest my hand against the shelf, hoping the movement is discreet enough that he won’t be curious.
I cannot explain this now—not to him. Absolutely not.
The fluorescent shop lights seem too bright, the thudding in my head getting louder and more painful.
Oscar doesn’t just look at me—he studies me. His fingers tap rhythmically against the planner in his hand like he’s processing something, his eyes scanning my face like I’m an equation he can’t quite solve.
A tiny crease forms between his brows, his grey eyes lighting up.
It’s quite cute.
He’s quite cute.
“What department? You’re pretty, but far too short to be a model.”
He thinks I’m pretty?
Fuck me, my omega needs to get a hold of herself. This behaviour is embarrassing, especially considering he’s far, far out of my league.
And completely off limits.
Oscar’s an alpha, and the least personable person I’ve ever met. I find it sweet, personally, and it’s quite cute how the rest of his pack try to make up for it when it comes to board meetings and client reviews.
His obsession is numbers, and the man is a true whizz. I’ve seen him adjust figures within seconds, not even pausing to write it down, as he recounts the new adjustments.
But when it comes to talking to people that can’t match his intellect? He’s… I don’t want to say rude but abrupt isn’t strong enough.
“I’ve recently been promoted to the Creative Operations?—”
He snaps his fingers, nodding, quite pleased to have placed me.
“￡70k a year, not bad for someone at your skill level, but you could’ve gone higher in your negotiations. The department budget had room for at least ￡78k,” he recounts, his tone matter-of-fact like he’s reading from a spreadsheet that only he can see.
Now it’s me who frowns at him. “You know my salary off the top of your head?”
He shrugs as if memorising every employee’s compensation package is perfectly normal. “I’m the CFO. It’s my job to know the numbers.”
Oh, yes, sure. Because knowing that kind of information at the drop of a hat is clearly a prerequisite for the job.
His grey eyes narrow slightly. “The scent neutraliser confused me. I usually catalogue people by combining the relevant data with their scent profile. Helps me know who to avoid.”
I bite my lip, trying to hide my smile.
“Do you shop here?” he asks, abruptly changing the subject. His gaze skims over my shopping cart as if analysing its contents.
“Clearly.” I gesture towards my trolley, and he shakes his head as if the entire idea is foreign to him. “But, luckily for you, I’m practically an expert in planners and could help if you needed it.”
He raises a dark blonde brow. “How can you be an expert in planners?”
“I’m still a fan of working with paper versus digital, and I’ve trialled enough of them that I’m a decent judge of what’s worthwhile or not.”
“Well, I can’t exactly verify those credentials,” he says before shrugging. “I’ll take any help I can get. My sis—friend is about to… I need a planner.”
I can’t help the giggle that leaves my throat, and I curse my omega for how breathless and girly it sounds. Did she miss the memo of how bad it would be to get involved with this man?
Of how fucked we already are without adding to our mess?
“You don’t need to tell me anything you don’t feel comfortable sharing, but to help gauge what type of planner would work best, you might want to tell me a little bit about your sister,” I say, trying to sound as soft as I can.
I don’t even realise I’ve stepped closer to him, until he moves too—just a fraction, but it’s enough for me to freeze in place.
He’s an alpha. He’s so close, so… near . My hands fall to my stomach, as my muscles tense. My scent glands prickle, goosebumps coating my skin, but he’s not doing anything.
I meet his eyes, and his nostrils flare, as he inhales.
Should I acknowledge it?
Do I step away?
Something inside me stirs, a draw to him I don’t understand. Surely it’s just… biology, right?
Could I?—
“Scent-neutralising spray,” Oscar says, and if I’m not mistaken, he sounds disappointed. “The Cleanex brand?”
I look up at him in shock. “Um, yes. How did you guess the brand?”
He smirks. “Your expertise might be in planners—mine is in scents. Now, for my sister, she’s… important to me. I want to get her a welcome home present, and this is all she’s asked for.”
“That’s sweet. Is she an alpha like you?” I ask, titling my head. My fingers trail over the various textures—smooth leather, embossed cardboard, the cool metal of spiral bindings.
I might not be in my nest, but this is still a pretty good place to be.
“No. An omega like you .” His voice is different up close, deeper than it sounds in meetings, with a slight rasp that makes my skin prickle in the best way.
“Okay, first off, get her the planner, but get her something else, too,” I say firmly.
He gestures to the wall of planners. “But she only asked for one of these.”
“Trust me. She’s an omega—she wants to be spoiled and gifted pretty things. She’ll love the planner because she’s asked for it, but she’ll secretly want more. Especially if she doesn’t have a pack.”
“She doesn’t.” He cocks a brow at me. “What kind of present?”
“Let’s sort out her planner first,” I say with a grin, pressing my arm against my stomach as a small cramp snaps through me.
Today’s the first time since Sunday that I’ve felt so light, so free… so… content.
Selfishly, I want to soak it up for as long as possible.
To truly relax and to help.
Even if my body is determined to remind me why I’m here in the first place.
As Oscar talks about his sister, I learn they’re twins like Evander and I, and that she, too, is the younger one. I have to pause occasionally, pretending to examine products for Odelia, when, really, I’m just waiting for waves of nausea to pass. Oscar’s adoration is clear, and despite not saying so, it’s obvious that she’s been unwell—or that she’s still unwell.
I don’t know with what, but the way he worries and frets… well, it’s familiar. Evander and Oscar would get on well under different circumstances.
I feel a connection to this omega without even meeting her, and I have no guilt about disregarding my own shopping to help with Oscar’s. I’ve got nothing better to do with my time, anyway.
“ T
hank you so much, Emmeline,” Oscar says with a grin. He holds up the bright pink gift bag. “I think she’ll be pretty happy with all of this.”
“Me, too.” I wrap my arms around my midriff, trying not to blush at the intensity in his eyes. “I suppose I’ll see you at work sometime.”
“Sure. I’ll be at the quarterly budget review tomorrow morning.”
Am I surprised he was extremely literal about that? No.
Am I kind of disappointed he wasn’t more… something ? No.
Actually, yes.
Absolutely yes.
Damn it. Is my omega really this blind to the issues we have? Is she really pining after some random man?
Well, okay, maybe I’ve pined after him, too.
“I’m still off work next week,” I say with a shrug. “See you later.”
I grab my trolley and turn up the milk aisle, the wheels squeaking slightly against the floor. The refrigerated section hits me with a blast of cold air that raises goosebumps on my arms. I don’t bother grabbing a carton, though, since I hadn’t finished my cupboard shopping yet.
There’s a correct order to grocery shopping, and dairy is one of the last steps. It keeps things fresh and ordered properly. Even if the supermarket tries to confuse that by having the fridges right at the entrance.
The constant hum of the refrigeration units mingles with distant beeps from the checkout counters, and I’m glad the smells are less harsh here.
I try to stay focused, try not to care that I’m alone again. Who even?—
“Why not?” Oscar asks, falling into step with me. I give him a weird look, my heart racing, as he reaches over to take my trolley from me.
He hooks his sister’s gift bag onto the front of the trolley and doesn’t hesitate in walking up the aisle with me.
“What are you doing?” Did I really have to sound so breathless? So… needy?
Oscar’s brows raise. “Talking to you, clearly.”
I stop in the middle of the aisles and gesture to my trolley. “I mean with that.”
“Oh.” He frowns down at his hands as if confused. He gives me a strange look and shakes his head as if confused himself. “I’m an alpha. I should… push the trolley.”
He hesitates as if truly perplexed by his actions, and I don’t know how to react. This all feels so strange, so weird.
And yet, the weirdest part of it all is how normal this all actually feels.
“Oh,” I say, nodding slowly. “Um…”
“Where to first?” he asks, recovering faster than I do. “I feel since you’ve helped me, I should help you.”
“No, that’s just—no. You really don’t need to,” I protest, shaking my head. Immediately, I regret the quick movement as fatigue makes my vision swim. My omega snarls at me, and I have no doubt she’d actually fight me if she could.
Oscar’s grip seems to tighten on the trolley, and it’s clear he’s not willing to back down either. That maybe… maybe he doesn’t want to leave me.
“Where to, Emmeline?” he asks, and without an ounce of the intelligence I usually possess, I direct him to the bakery aisle.
Well, I guess we’re doing this.
He sticks close to me, his steps in time with mine—slowing when exhaustion makes me lag behind—and every question, every conversation topic… I don’t realise I’m relaxing until I already have.
I let myself pretend he cares.
I shouldn’t feel safe. I shouldn’t feel good around him.
But for the first time in days, the crushing weight of loneliness lifts. Just a little.
And I let myself have hope for the future.