17. Emmeline
17
Emmeline
“ H
e left,” my words are a quiet whisper.
I stare at the doorway that Uri just walked through, my heart thudding. The silence he’s left in his wake feels heavier than anything I’ve felt before. The air is thick, suffocating, and warm.
The smell of curry burns my nose and turns my stomach.
Or, maybe, maybe it’s not the food but the fact that he left.
Again.
His fork is abandoned. His plate untouched.
Did he plan this? Was he ever going to stay?
He didn’t even look back.
Didn’t say a word to me.
Didn’t apologise.
He just left .
My lungs burn as the weight seems to press down heavier and heavier. I can’t shake it, can’t move from underneath it.
My heart cracks as I drop my gaze back down to my plate to hide the tears in my eyes.
I try to breathe through the panic and the upset, but the scent neutraliser is gone, and the scent of my lavender and chamomile fills my nostrils.
I know they can all smell it.
That they’re able to know the depths of my hurt.
The way the lavender sharpens, turning from a soft floral to something crushed and bitter. The way my chamomile curls at the edges, burning like dried herbs over an open flame.
An upset omega is an instinct an alpha can’t ignore. It’s written into their bones, into their very biology.
They feel it—this ache to soothe, to settle, to fix what’s broken.
But what can these alphas do? How are they going to fix this?
How are they going to fix me?
Uri was disgusted. Angry, full of rage, full of loathing.
But was it me? Did I push him too far? Did I ruin everything?
I’m stupid.
So, so stupid.
Being here, letting my guard down…
For thinking that this could work even a little.
The hope that has been slowly simmering burns away, and I let out the most pitiful whine. There’s no hope of containing my omega.
Of hiding her pain.
Another chair scrapes violently against the floor, and my heart lurches.
This time, it’s Evander.
His scent spikes, thunderous and furious, the chocolate burning, the coffee charring.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he hisses as I tremble in my seat.
The words slam into me, and I flinch, but I don’t raise my head.
I can’t.
My reaction will only make him angrier.
“Where the fuck has he gone?” my brother demands. “Where the fuck has that coward ran off to after leaving my sister again ?”
My throat bobs as I try to swallow the grief that is choking me. As I try to keep the uncertainty and fear at bay.
I’m breaking. Piece by piece.
Because Uri left.
And he’s not coming back.
“We clearly don’t have the answer to that,” Sterling says dryly.
“You’re an absolute tosser, you are,” my brother snarls, his scent viciously wrapping around him.
I bite my inner cheek, trying not to react, trying to silence the sobs. I squeeze my eyes shut, knowing that he’s going to fight, that his anger is growing beyond control.
Unlike the other two alphas in the room, my brother doesn’t have an omega to soothe him. He has me, his worthless sister who is only causing drama and upset.
Every tear I shed, every whimper I release, is fuel for my brother’s rage. Where my upset will calm Paxton and Oscar, and even Sterling to an extent, it will only infuriate my brother, pushing him past the point of no return.
A shudder wracks through me, and I’m terrified that I’m going to fall from the chair. I can’t handle this. Not now.
Not ever.
Uri’s rejection still sits fresh in my throat. I clutch at it, huddling in on myself.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Sterling snarls, another chair scraping across the floor. “Oscar, help her.”
I don’t even realise I’ve whined again until that moment.
I blink, my eyes blurred and stingy, as I swallow hard. My throat feels raw. My skin feels too tight. The jacket that I stole, the one soaked in Uri’s delicious scent, no longer smells right.
It no longer feels right.
This isn’t mine, and it won’t ever be.
I stole it.
I tried to pretend I was worthy. Tried to fool myself that it would be okay.
But we all know that’s it not, and I can’t hide it anymore.
The moment I exhale, my scent is fully released into the room with a wave of grief.
I hear the snarls before I see a reaction, but I can’t bring myself to care. Until Evander’s fist slams against the table.
“That fucking coward,” he growls. His voice is sharp, edged with dark fury. “He left her. Again . She’s pregnant with his fucking child, and this is what he’s going to do to her? What you’re all doing?”
“Ev.” My voice is soft as I try to reach out for him, but he moves away from my side.
He can’t calm down. He’s past that.
“We lost our fucking mother, and I’ll be damned if you fuckers think you can condemn my sister to the same fate,” Evander hisses. “She needs her scent matches, her pack, to get through this pregnancy. She’s already been hospitalised for four fucking days and is so unwell because of him leaving her last time.”
He sneers at Sterling. “Because you were too fucking stupid to recognise her. For being so highly-trained by legacy bodyguards, you’re a joke. No wonder you don’t work for your family when this is the failure you’ve amounted to.”
My eyes widen, and I huddle in on myself, hating how weak I am right now. My body aches, my vision fuzzy, and I’m so fucking pathetic that I can’t stop him.
I can’t prevent the verbal assault my brother is launching on my mates.
I can’t do anything except mope and cry and embarrass myself.
“My sister isn’t eating—she can’t keep food or water down. She’s not sleeping. She’s falling apart in front of my very eyes, and you’re all just fucking watching it happen. She’s pregnant—because of that fucker who ran like a coward. She’s sick because of his neglect. She’s only going to get worse if you don’t pull your weight.
“Do you understand what I’m saying? My sister will die if you fuckers won’t step up,” Evander snarls, slamming his fists onto the counter again. “Do you understand that? My sister’s life is in your hands. Because she’s not going to get rid of her baby. It would kill her.”
He turns slightly, meeting my eyes, and I shiver at the intensity.
“I know you’ve been too scared to tell me. Too nervous to admit the truth, Em,” he whispers so much softer, so much more gentle, now that he’s directing them towards me. “You want to keep your baby more than you’ve wanted pretty much anything else.”
Is that true? Do I want my baby more than I want to be seen as worthy?
Do I love my child more than I crave the love of my dads?
Is it possible that I’d turn my back on all of the hard work and all of the effort I’ve put in to get to where I am… just to be a mum?
I hang my head, my sniffle unheard of due to my whine.
My omega doesn’t know the answers anymore than I do.
And it’s killing us.
I try to breathe, try to swallow down the devastation curling in my chest, but I just can’t do it. I can’t quiet my omega instincts when we feel this way.
I feel it, the shift happening inside me, pulling at my chest, my ribs?—
The need.
The ache.
The desperation for the bond that’s supposed to be there but isn’t.
“Why would she die?” Sterling’s voice is fractured, and I’ve never heard him sound so panicked before.
“An omega needs their mate, they always have. Where betas would live a happy life without ever bonding, it’s not the same for alphas or omegas,” Oscar says calmly. He’s the only one whose scent is hidden, and I have no idea how he feels.
Where Sterling’s rage rivals my brother’s, and Paxton’s unease claws at him, Oscar is blank .
“An alpha would lose themselves to their anger, to their dominance. They’d eventually be overtaken by a rut and bond the closest person to them—consensually or not.”
Oscar shrugs at the sharp looks he receives. “But an omega? They couldn’t do that. With no bond, they face the same instability, but it’s different for them. Harder.”
“And a pregnant omega is the most vulnerable of them all,” Evander says. His words are biting, angry, hurt, scared. “They need their mate, their pack, more than any other person could.”
Their words hurt.
They’re not meant to.
They’re not trying to upset me.
But it doesn’t matter— they hurt.
A whimper slips out before I can stop it, small, weak, pathetic.
Evander jerks towards me, his rage colliding with my grief in the air.
And then, suddenly, Paxton is there.
Moving between us, a solid wall of muscle and authority, his scent cool and steady, breaking through the suffocating tangle of emotions in the air.
He blocks my brother from view, and his eyes fall to me. He doesn’t hesitate in reaching for my hands, stopping the compulsive picking I was doing to my cuticles.
There’s blood under my fingernails, and I had no idea.
“That’s enough, little treasure,” he says.
Little treasure?
I freeze, my breath catching in my throat, and, for a moment, I wonder if I just imagined it.
He’s never called me that before—and why would he?
I look up at him, and he immediately cups my cheek, gently brushing tears from my face.
“No more tears, little treasure,” he continues. His voice is calm but firm, and my omega immediately listens.
I’m grateful he’s stepping in.
Grateful he’s taken control.
And once again, he used that nickname. That endearment.
Treasure? He sees me as treasure?
It makes no sense. Treasures are things that are wanted, things that are cherished. Treasures are things people hoard, that they don’t throw away.
But that’s what Uri has done to me.
My throat tightens. I can’t cry again, but the ache in my chest only grows. I exhale shakily and press my face into his chest, taking the offered comfort.
“Get the fuck away?—”
“That is enough ,” Paxton says, not raising his voice or getting angry. Not like Evander.
But my brother doesn’t listen, he doesn’t feel Paxton’s dominance like I do.
“She’s upset?—”
“I know.” Paxton’s voice hardens. “And you’re making it worse.”
Evander bristles, but Paxton doesn’t back down.
Instead, he looks at me.
And I hate it.
I hate the way his eyes soften, the way his brow furrows, the way his scent changes, filling the air with something warm, something grounding. I hate how easily I calm, how fast my omega falls into line.
I hate myself for being this pliable.
“We’re going to get out of here and calm you down,” Paxton murmurs, but it’s not a request, it’s not a choice.
He’s made the decision.
And I’m not allowed to fight it.
Then again, do I really have the desire to try?
“Where the fuck do you think you’re taking my sister?” Evander hisses as Paxton gently tugs me up from the stool. “She’s not going anywhere with you.”
“I am her alpha,” Paxton says, giving my brother a stern look. “I would never hurt her. You know my family, you know our values. They’d sooner slit my throat and disown me before ever allowing an omega to be mistreated by a Sinclair.”
My eyes dart up to Paxton in confusion, but he doesn’t stop. When Evander’s jaw snaps shut, Paxton confidently strides past him, leading me through their home.
My legs are steady, able to withstand my weight, despite the uncertainty in my chest about where we’re going. I keep my eyes to the ground, not able to look around and get my fill.
I barely catalogue the changes in scents and atmosphere, instead, just holding tightly to Paxton’s hand and absorbing the care he’s offering.
Who knows how long it will last?
He leads me along the carpeted corridor, and I feel awful for having my shoes on. He doesn’t seem to care, though, walking down to the room at the very end and opening the door.
The room is large—larger than I expected it to be. I don’t know why, but the sheer space is truly startling.
The walls are painted a calm, soothing shade of green—something between an olive and sage. It’s gorgeous.
The bed is in the centre of the room, pushed up against the back wall, and it’s massive. A haven of white sheets and plush blankets. It’s big enough for a full pack, though it’s clear it hasn’t been used this way.
This room carries none of their scents, it’s just completely open . Airy. Bright. Warm.
My omega feels content, and, honestly, so do I. There’s so much space in this room, and my fingers twitch at my sides, a desperate need filling me.
The air is at the perfect temperature—crisp, fresh, and just a degree or two higher than giving me a chill.
The bed draws my attention once more because I know with just a little bit of effort, it could be transformed into the most perfect nest to ever exist. Sure, right now, the pillows are piled haphazardly all over the place.
Whoever made this bed didn’t style them this way for decoration but because they don’t have the right eye for this kind of thing. There’s big ones and small ones, and they all look just perfect for my nest.
Across from the bed, an oversized armchair sits beside a wide, low-set couch, the kind made for sinking into, not perching on. The fabric is an off-white, worn at the edges, but I know a soft setting when I see one.
A thick-knit throw blanket is folded over the back, the kind that invites you to pull it around yourself and disappear for a while. I need it—I want it.
Floor-to-ceiling curtains frame the windows, a slightly darker shade of green than the walls, heavy enough to block out the world when I need it to.
A place where I could build a different kind of nest—where I can arrange things properly for when the baby comes.
I can picture it now. How easily it could all fall into place.
How good my life could be, if… well, if I was good enough.
Because that’s Uri’s problem, isn’t it? I’m not a good enough omega to be his.
I don’t realise how tightly I’m gripping Paxton’s hand until his thumb brushes against the back of my hand, and he growls low in his throat. The soothing vibrations calm me faster than anything else ever has.
“This space is yours, little treasure,” he murmurs, low and certain. “For as long as you want it.”
And for the first time since Uri left, I feel the smaller, faintest flicker of hope. I let myself breathe, and it’s like the world falls into perfect clarity.
For a moment anyway.
Then my hormones catch up, the exhaustion sets in. My limbs go heavy, my breath hiccups, and I feel it taking hold.
Before I can stop myself, I shatter. I burst into the most pathetic, gut-wrenching sobs that have ever befell me.
My body shakes with a force I can’t contain, the broken whimper echoing through the room.
I don’t even know what I’m crying for—Uri, for myself, for the baby, for the panic… for all of it, probably.
I can’t stop. I can’t calm down.
But it doesn’t matter because Paxton doesn’t hesitate.
He lets go of my hand before lifting me into his arms effortlessly, gently. He cradles me against his chest, and I can smell the protective edge to his cinnamon and vanilla scent.
I feel the solid warmth of him, the steady heartbeat beneath my cheek, but where it should calm me down, it only makes the sobs hit harder.
I cling to his shirt, fisting the fabric so tightly that my fingers ache, because I can’t let go.
It’s not possible. I can’t be alone right now, I don’t think I’d survive it.
Paxton moves forward without stumbling, even with the weight of me, and he reaches the bed.
I tense, crying out “no”, because I’m still wearing my shoes. I can’t dirty this bed, this room. I can’t taint the perfection.
I try to get out of Paxton’s arms, despite still holding tightly to him, but the alpha within snaps.
With a “stop it” barked towards me, he holds onto me tighter, not letting me fall. Without fumbling, he manages to undo both of my shoes with one hand, dropping them down onto the floor with a soft thud.
Fuck, that was close.
Paxton gently places me onto the soft mattress, but when he tries to pull back, even slightly, I whimper—a weak, broken sound that I hate.
But it works.
He doesn’t seem to think me pathetic, not if the look in his eyes is to be trusted.
Instead, his scent shifts, deepening with warmth and something akin to love.
He doesn’t leave.
He doesn’t back away.
He stays with me even as I whine and cry.
“Shh, little omega,” he murmurs, kicking his own shoes off. He doesn’t remove my hold on his shirt, he doesn’t adjust me in the slightest, as he crawls onto the bed next to me.
He pulls me close, tucking me against his chest, guiding my hands to rest over his heart.
I don’t fight him.
I can’t.
I just… let him. Let him hold me. Let him care for me. Let him anchor me.
His fingers stroke a slow, steady pattern up and down my spine. His touch is gentle and unhurried as if he’s savouring each movement.
I wish that was the case—stop fooling yourself, Emme.
But a darker thought takes root. Sure, he might want to be here… but the practiced way of movement is like he’s done this before.
The fact that he knows what I need before I need it speaks to an experience he shouldn’t have.
Does he have an omega sibling like Oscar? An omega friend?
Has he had an omega before?
The thought sends another wave of hysterical sobs through me, and I feel him moving around underneath me. Whilst the action is annoying, my omega won’t dare say a word.
Not at the risk of losing him.
A low, steady alpha growl vibrates through his chest, rippling through my body, and I exhale shakily, something deep inside me latching onto the sound.
It helps.
It shouldn’t.
But it does.
The joys of being biologically driven.
I hiccup on another sob, feeling the wet heat of tears from my cheeks absorb into his shirt. He doesn’t seem to care.
The mess of my emotions are tangled too tightly for me to separate them anymore.
Paxton adjusts slightly beneath me, moving around, and for a brief second, my omega panics.
She doesn’t want him to leave.
But then— “Yes!”
The word is barely a whisper, muttered so quietly I don’t think I was meant to hear it.
I don’t know why he’s so joyous, but it’s less than a second later that he pulls a blanket close, fidgeting with it.
I sigh through my tears, and his chest goes back to the soft vibrations of an alpha growl. It’s heaven and exactly what I need to help me through the waves of hormones.
Through the pain and the grief of losing Uri again.
And before I can dwell on it, a blanket is pulled over us both, tucking me into warmth, into comfort, into something steady.
I don’t even care anymore. This is heaven, this is what I needed.
It’s everything. I shudder through my tears, so exhausted I can barely think, but somehow… he knew how to give exactly what I needed.
The growl starts again, soft and rhythmic, Paxton’s chest rumbling against my cheek, and I don’t fight it.
I won’t. I just let him soothe me.
Let it carry me through the waves of grief, of hormones, of loss.
Of everything.
Why bother beating myself up even further when I can just relax and take what he’s offering?
His growls rumble beneath my cheek, slow and steady, the rhythmic vibration that unwinds something tight inside me. I don’t know how long we stay like this—minutes, hours, a lifetime?
I don’t care. I know I should, I know there’s a world still moving outside our bubble, but, for once, I don’t want it to be my problem. I want to just give him my control, give him the power, and just… stay here.
Paxton doesn’t rush me into calming down. He doesn’t try to pressure me to do anything. He just holds me, his fingers brushing slow, careful circles over my spine like he’s willing to stay in this moment as long as I need.
As if this is what he was built to do.
Eventually, my sobs fade into hiccups, then sniffles, then silence. I’m still curled against him, dazed, exhausted, completely wrung out.
I should move. I should let go.
But I don’t.
Because he’s still here, still smelling of love and comfort.
I can’t bring myself to move.
And, it seems, neither can he since he hasn’t let go either.
“Little treasure,” he murmurs, the words a whisper against my hair.
I hum in response, too drained to speak, too worn down to think of a response.
His hand stills against my back. A pause. Is he nervous? Hesitant?
And then, softly, he asks, “Would you like to build a nest here?”
My breath stutters. My fingers twitch, the instinct sharp and immediate, before I can stop it. Before I can even think.
I hate that he sees it.
I hate that he knows .
This part of me is shameful, embarrassing. It always has been. I’ve spent my entire life looked down on for being an omega, for having these needs and impulses.
And he just… he sees them. He understands.
I feel like I’ve laid my soul bare, and he just knows.
My stomach clenches into another knot, the ache returning but different now. Stronger, more painful.
This room— this bed, this space —is everything. I knew from the moment I entered that it would be perfect for a nest, perfect to spend my life in.
There’s something about it that just feels like home .
There’s enough room. Enough warmth. Enough of him—enough of them all, whilst also being a blank slate for me to fix.
But I can’t.
I can’t allow myself to want this.
I can’t allow myself to need it.
I press my lips together, my fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. I don’t answer. I won’t let him know how much I crave this.
But Paxton doesn’t push. He just waits, the pressure of his hand steady at my lower back.
And, somehow, that’s worse.
Because I know he’s not asking for himself.
He’s asking for me.
For the baby.
He’s trying to give me something that will make all of this easier for me and my omega. To offer the one real thing that will make me feel safer.
I squeeze my eyes shut, the conflict ripping me apart.
And, yet, I can already picture it.
The pillows rearranged, layered just right. The blankets woven together, the space becoming mine. The nest I should have already built.
The one I don’t deserve.
A lump rises in my throat, sharp and aching, but I manage to whisper, “Why?”
Paxton exhales slowly like he was waiting for the question. His fingers move again, slow and careful, comforting without pressure.
“Because you need it, little treasure, and I can provide it.”
I swallow hard.
Because I really do.
And we both know it.