21. Emmeline
21
Emmeline
“ C
ould we take a video?” I ask, my throat sounding dry and husky. My cheeks are still wet, and my heart has never felt so full. “Of… of their heartbeat.”
Dr Chapman grins at me, nodding her head. “Of course, you can. I’ll print off some photos for you all, but feel free to take some, too. It’s an exciting moment that you all deserve to enjoy.”
“Thank you,” Paxton says, smiling at her. His grin hasn’t faltered since the moment our baby appeared on the screen, and I find his joy contagious.
Exciting.
This is such an important moment.
I’m upset I didn’t push for Sterling to be here, that I didn’t beg and plead for him to join us.
I’m even more upset that Uri… that he chose to leave, again. That he’s missing hearing his child’s heartbeat. Missing being here with his pack when we get to see our child for the first time.
Whether he wants me or not… his pack wants this child—they seem to want me.
This is going to be a very, very hard dynamic to deal with if he’s determined to keep his distance.
“I’ll record it for us, baby,” Paxton offers when I don’t move to do so. I don’t think I can.
I’m truly obsessed with the sound, and it’s like my heart tries to echo it but could never match the rapid one-hundred and fifty plus beats a minute of our baby.
Thankfully.
My baby is right there, a tiny flickering white light. They’re something I’m responsible for, something that will love me unconditionally. A tiny little person I created.
It feels… serene. I don’t have the vocabulary to describe how earth-shattering this feeling is. It’s everything .
Paxton is still holding me, still murmuring soft words against my temple, as he records the baby’s heartbeat and snaps a few photos. He’s so excited, so relaxed about the whole situation, and I soak up every single ounce of good energy.
But then I hear a familiar low growl, and I freeze. I can feel the shift in the air, and panic claws at my chest. Sure, the lack of scent is hard to process, but the unhappiness is clear.
I falter, my chest tightening, as I hesitantly look over at Oscar. I quickly look away when I see how rigidly he’s holding himself. If my alpha is this upset, I should be, too.
Right?
I clench on Paxton’s hand as the doctor gently pulls the ultrasound wand out from inside me. She doesn’t seem to react to Oscar’s panic, to his frustration, not the way I do.
I don’t know how that’s possible. How can she be such a strong omega, so able to resistant an alpha, and I’m just weak to their dominance and desire?
My heart clenches, and I whimper, shaking on the table. Paxton immediately wraps his arm around me, glowering at his packmate.
I turn my head just enough to see Oscar, but he’s not even looking our way. He’s standing so still, so tense.
His stormy grey eyes are locked onto the screen, but there’s something almost haunted about the way he’s looking at it.
Like he’s seeing something that isn’t there. Or maybe—something that was once there and is now gone.
The image is now frozen, one of the captured snapshots of our little baby, and yet, he’s not truly focused on them either.
His hands are clenched into fists at his sides. His jaw is tight, his lips pressed into a thin line.
I hate knowing that I’ve upset another one of my mates somehow. I just don’t understand how to fix this. How to erase his panic.
How to fix the uncertainty I now feel.
I squeeze Paxton’s hand and sit up slightly, wincing as my thighs touch the cold examination bed.
“I’ll give you a few minutes,” Dr Chapman says softly, reading the room effortlessly. “When you’re ready, just head back through next door.”
She doesn’t wait for a response. She just nods once, then steps out, the door clicking quietly shut behind her. The silence she leaves behind is thick.
Tense.
Oscar hasn’t moved. I don’t think he’s even realised that the doctor left, that it’s now just us in the room. His back is so rigid, his breathing too calm and steady.
I clear my throat, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t startle. I look up at Paxton wordlessly, but other than squeezing my hand, he stays silent.
Bastard.
I can’t blame him, not really. I know that he’s offering me the chance to figure out what’s wrong with Oscar, the chance to understand his feelings without Paxton being the one to fill the blanks in for me.
I appreciate it, kind of.
“Are you—” my throat catches, and I flinch. Oscar doesn’t even blink. I cough to clear my airway before I try again. “Oscar?”
Nothing.
I don’t even think he’s breathing anymore.
Paxton shifts beside me, his warm hand still wrapped around mine, but I can tell he’s watching the other alpha, too.
“Hey, talk to me,” I murmur, softer now, reaching out instinctively. My scent softens, my scent glands pushing it out into the air, desperate to soothe my alpha.
The second my fingers brush against the scent glands on his wrist, his entire body snaps into motion. He rips away from my touch, stepping back so fast he nearly stumbles into the chair behind him.
I freeze. Paxton freezes.
But Oscar doesn’t. He moves back further, pressing his back against the wall. His eyes are wild and frenzied, the pupils dilated so widely that I barely see the grey.
Oscar runs a shaking hand through his hair, his movements jerky and unsteady. No longer am I worried he’s not breathing because now his breaths are rapid and shallow—a true sign of his panic.
“I—” He inhales sharply, his breath coming too fast. “I need—fuck, I need a minute.”
I sit up fully now, ignoring the lingering discomfort, my heart racing for an entirely different reason. He’s terrified.
Panicked, scared, anxious.
Feelings I completely relate to.
I can help him. This isn’t Uri’s disgust or Sterling’s sarcastic attacks. This is raw fear.
“Oscar—” I call gently.
“I said I need a fucking minute, Emmeline.”
I flinch. The words slice deeply, and I wasn’t expecting him to snap so… harshly. Paxton rises from his chair, ready to intervene, but I shake my head. I can handle this.
Or, at the very least, I want to try.
“Not like this, Os,” he says. There’s an edge of warning to Paxton’s words, but he doesn’t move any closer and gives me a reassuring nod.
Oscar’s gaze flickers to mine, and whatever he sees there makes his entire body tense once more. His hands are rapidly clenching and unclenching at his sides, and he’s almost rocking back and forth into the wall.
I let go of Paxton’s hand and get up off the examination chair. Things feel awkward down below, the lubrication gel sticking to me in weird places, but I can’t really pause right now to wipe it away.
Unfortunately.
I take a slow step forward, keeping my hands loose at my sides, open. Non-threatening. Gentle. Nice.
Sure, I want to whimper and to drop to the floor as I pathetically beg for him to come back to me.
But that won’t help. Not when Oscar is like this.
His breaths are coming too fast, and it’s only making things worse. I wish I could scent him. That my body could just instinctively react exactly how he needs.
But more than that—I wish I could fix the root of his anxiety.
“I know,” I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper as I softly approach him. “I know, baby. It’s a lot.”
Oscar flinches, his fingers twitching at his sides like he wants to reach for me but can’t. His muscles are locked too tight, his control stretched too thin. His eyes are still frantic, not focusing as they dart over my face.
I take another step closer, slow enough that he has time to move away if he needs to. He doesn’t. He watches—nervous, terrified, unstable.
“You don’t have to say anything yet,” I tell him, inching into his space. I’m desperate to just reach out, to hug him, to fix it. But I know that won’t help just yet. “Just let me close, okay?”
His nostrils flare at that, his frantic breathing hitching, and it’s all the answer I need. I reach for his wrist again, moving gently this time, giving him the chance to refuse me.
He doesn’t.
My scent pours into his gland, and his entire body shudders. The tension doesn’t leave him, not yet, but his shoulders relax ever so little.
Good. I am doing good. I’m helping.
I step into his space fully now, pressing my body lightly against his. Not pinning, not forcing—just offering. Letting him feel me. Letting him breathe me in.
He’s scent-sensitive—not just to his pack but in general, as a person. Hopefully, he finds mine soothing. I was made for him after all.
“Oscar, baby, you’re safe,” I whisper, my breath warm against his chest. I rub gently, softly, spreading my scent against his shirt. “We’re safe.”
His hands jerk, fingers flexing, before one finally lifts, clenching into my hair. I exhale slowly, tilting my head so my scent drapes over him. He breathes it in on instinct, a deep, uneven inhale that makes something in his body sag.
He’s relaxing, giving in to me, letting me help.
“There you go,” I whisper, smoothing my hands down his arms, over his forearms. “Just breathe with me, love.”
He sways, still shaking, but I can feel the way he’s trying to match my pace, the way his fingers tighten on my shirt.
Paxton doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t move. He lets me handle it, and it’s such a fucking relief.
But, fuck, he’s too trusting.
I stroke my fingers over the back of Oscar’s neck, rubbing small, steady circles against his scent gland. His skin is hot beneath my fingertips, his pulse rapid.
I press a kiss there, against the source of where his scent would be if he weren’t covered in scent-neutralising soap.
He shudders under my touch, his grip on my hair loosening, before he lets go entirely. Now, his hands move, both of them gripping onto my shoulders, pulling me closer, pressing his forehead into my own.
He’s still shaking.
But he’s breathing normally again.
“I was scared,” he rasps, his voice rough.
I close my eyes, pressing another slow kiss to the side of his throat.
“I know, baby.”
His arms slide around me fully then, crushing me against his chest. And I let him.
I hold onto him as his breathing evens out and his tears dry up. I don’t let go as his grip loosens, and he starts to relax. I wait until he makes the move, letting him be the one who decides when he’s had enough.
Because, for me, it won’t ever be enough.
I can’t see Paxton any more, not from this angle, but I can smell his pride radiating through his scent. He’s happy, content, and it gives me the boost I didn’t know I needed.
A low exhale leaves Oscar’s lips, and he finally steps back, his fingers dragging over my skin before he fully pulls away. He rubs a hand over his face, looking somewhere near my shoulder as if still trying to ground himself.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, his voice still rough around the edges.
I frown, reaching for him again, but he shakes his head. Not harshly, just enough to keep the space he clearly still needs. It doesn’t stop the pang of pain inside me, but instead of protesting, I give him a small smile instead.
Paxton watches him closely, but he doesn’t push, doesn’t intervene.
“I just… I need to clear my head,” Oscar mutters, already moving toward the door.
Panic flares deep in my chest. “Oscar, wait?—”
He hesitates, his fingers tight around the doorknob, but he doesn’t turn back. My stomach knots. I don’t want him to go. I don’t want him to be alone when he’s clearly still struggling.
And, selfishly, I want him here for me .
But pushing him right now might make it worse. Might make the panic grip him once more, and if he’s alone… he might not be able to pull himself out of it properly.
I swallow hard, forcing my voice to stay soft. “You’ll come back?”
Oscar nods once, sharp and quick, before disappearing out the door. Not the one that connects to the room we were in earlier but the one that Dr Chapman left through—one that goes out into the corridor, instead, I think.
The moment he’s gone, Paxton lets out a breath, rubbing a slow hand over his jaw. I hesitantly walk back over to my other alpha, and he lifts me back onto the examination chair.
“That went better than I expected,” he admits, and I gape at him, waiting for the teasing, or him to go ‘got you’. But he doesn’t.
I let out a weak laugh. “That was better ?”
Paxton gives me a wry smile, brushing a loose curl away from my face.
“You don’t know how much worse it could’ve been, little treasure.” He squeezes my knee gently. “But you’re amazing. You handled him beautifully and gave him the support he’s always needed.”
A slow warmth spreads through me at the praise, at the reassurance that even if I don’t know exactly what I’m doing, I’m still doing something right .
Still, my gaze flickers to the closed door, my chest aching.
“You think he’ll actually come back?”
Paxton hums thoughtfully, and his expression softens. He tucks my hair behind my ears and nods.
“Yeah,” he says simply. “He just needs a few minutes to calm himself down.”
I nod, even if it doesn’t fully soothe the tightness in my chest.
Because I can’t shake the feeling that Oscar isn’t just taking a breath. He’s terrified, and it makes absolutely no sense to me.
Is it just me? Am I the problem here?
One mate is disgusted, one mate is concerned, and another is scared.
That leaves me with Paxton. Paxton Sinclair, the one who seems to be devoted . It makes such little sense.
And yet, it’s also the most natural thing in the world.
I smile at him, and he cocks a brow. “Thank you for being here.”
He rolls his eyes, but his scent darkens, becoming thicker—more intoxicating. “We’re here for my demands, not because you wanted to be. You don’t need to thank me.”
“Maybe I wanted to,” I offer, leaning in closer to him. I can’t help myself as his scent glands pulse, and he’s so damn warm.
“How would you like to thank me, then?” he asks, his eyes darkening.
I smirk, my chest fluttering. “Well, there’s a lot up for offering… but, honestly, I’d like to get cleaned up first.”
He laughs, deep and low in his belly, and gets up from the chair to grab some of the tissue paper. There’s a heated look in his eyes as I awkwardly clean up under his gaze.
I reach for my panties, hastily tugging them up my thighs, as I avoid looking at my alpha. The moment I’m sorted, he strides back over to me.
“Well done, little treasure,” Paxton murmurs, brushing a gentle kiss just under my ear. I shiver, looking up into his deep brown eyes. “You’re fucking perfect for us, Emmeline.”
“Really?”
“Think back to what I told you last night—about how she made Oscar feel.” He tucks my hair behind my ears, tilting my head up, and the intensity on his face shouldn’t thrill me the way it does. “How do you think you compared?”
“I… I helped him.” A slow smile spreads across my face. “I put his needs first, and I soothed my alpha. I helped my alpha.”
“You’re the perfect omega for us,” he repeats, and, this time, it’s me who initiates our kiss. I don’t hesitate in launching myself at him, wrapping my arms around his neck.
Paxton growls low in his throat, and I beg for access, licking his lower lip, trying to take control. My moan is desperate, and I move forward, straddling him awkwardly with the bed in the way.
I don’t care about the position, though, as long as I can get the angle just right. So that I can grind against him to chase the release I need.
Sure, I’d prefer his dick—his knot .
But right now, I’ll settle for an orgasm.
Paxton lets out a low, approving growl, his hands sliding up my thighs, squeezing as he shifts beneath me. His scent wraps around me, making it even harder to focus on anything outside of him.
I rock against him, just once, a teasing slide of fabric against fabric, and his breath hitches. My slick soaks into his thigh, but he doesn’t seem to give a fuck.
“Little treasure,” he murmurs. His voice is rough, laced with something dark. “You keep moving like that, and I’m going to?—”
The door swings open.
I yelp, my entire body tensing as I try to scramble off Paxton. He doesn’t let me get far, his grip tightening, keeping me close, his expression shifting into something smug as he glances towards the doorway.
Oscar stands there, frozen mid-step, his grey eyes locked onto the scene in front of him. His nostrils flare, his expression unreadable, and for a long, excruciating second, no one says a word.
Then—
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose.
A flush crawls up my neck, my body still straddling Paxton, my hands gripping his shoulders. I can feel how turned on he is beneath me, and Oscar—Oscar knows it, too.
I try to move again, but Paxton’s grip is firm, his hands leisurely sliding down to rest on my hips, holding me in place like I belong there.
“You didn’t knock,” he points out casually.
Oscar lets out a slow, measured breath like he’s restraining himself from something, and there’s a bubble of hysteria in my throat. I don’t know why I find now the appropriate time for giggles, but, apparently, it is.
Paxton wraps around me properly, holding me against him, not a single ounce of embarrassment in his body.
“I suppose this is why all of the rooms here are sound-proofed,” Oscar says teasingly.
Paxton smirks. “You do know what kind of hospital this is, right?”
Oscar levels him with a glare before flicking his gaze to me. His expression softens, just slightly, but I don’t miss the tension still lingering in his shoulders, the slight tremor in his fingers before he shoves his hands into his pockets.
“I came back,” he says quietly.
The words hit me harder than I expect. I swallow around the lump in my throat, my stomach still fluttering from my almost moment with Paxton but now tangled with something else. Something deeper.
I shift again, trying to dislodge myself, but Paxton holds me steady a second longer before finally letting me slip off his lap. He lets me go but not before pressing a kiss against my scent gland, making very sure Oscar sees it.
Smug bastard.
I really shouldn’t enjoy that as much as I do.
Oscar exhales sharply, but whatever panic had been brewing inside him when he left earlier seems… tamer now.
“I’m glad you did,” I murmur, hesitating before I take a step toward him. “Are you okay?”
His jaw ticks. “I will be.”
Not perfect, but it’s something.
Paxton hums from behind me, stretching like he wasn’t just two seconds away from rutting me against the chair.
“Well, now that we’re all here, what do you say we get the rest of this appointment over with?”
Oscar arches a brow at him, unimpressed. “Think you can keep your knot in your pants long enough?”
Paxton grins. “No promises, Remington.”
Oscar rolls his eyes. He’s still a little shaky, but he gives me a soft smile. “Thank you, Emme.”
“You never need to thank me for giving you support,” I say softly. “That’s my job. Literally.”
“Well, technically your job is to—” Oscar starts, but he cuts himself off. I look up at Paxton, seeing him shaking his head at Oscar, and erupt into another round of giggles.
“Let’s go see the good doctor,” I say with a lightness in my soul that feels right.
Natural, even.
Things are still uncertain, but after what we’ve seen today, how can they not be okay?