29. Emmeline
29
Emmeline
I jolt awake, my heart racing, as I clutch my blankets close to my chest. I’m in my nest in my office at home, somewhere that should be warm. Safe.
It’s my favourite space, and it’s full of things from my pack. Expensive, soft t-shirts and large, oversized jumpers. Plus, the large blanket entrenched in all of our scent.
This should be perfect.
So, why am I breathing so heavily?
Why is my anxiety fighting to take hold?
The room is dark and silent—too silent, if you ask me.
I strain my ears, desperately trying to figure out what woke me. There’s nothing at first. Just the steady hum of the radiator and the harsh hits against the window from the rain outside.
It could be classed as peaceful, if it weren’t for the trembling of my limbs and the goosebumps covering my bare skin.
And then I hear it—the thing that woke me.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
The sound crashes through the room, urgent and unrelenting. My pulse spikes, if that’s even possible, and I whimper. It’s pointless, though, considering there’s no alpha here to soothe me.
No mate to protect me.
Fuck.
I fumble for my phone, my fingers trembling as I swipe open the camera app. My office is near the front door, but it’s not safe.
Not with the intensity of my late-night visitor.
The pounding hasn’t stopped. It’s erratic, desperate. Terrifying.
Someone is demanding entry for whatever reason.
But as the camera loads up, a familiar head of dark blonde hair comes into view, and my heart drops. The anxiety that was taking hold shifts into something deeper, something harder to ignore.
He’s soaked through, the short-sleeved white t-shirt he’s wearing is moulded to his body, and yet, he doesn’t falter, he doesn’t pause. Another set of hurried knocks echoes through the house, and my heart clenches in pain for him.
I don’t even think he realises that he’s soaked. That his lips are blue, and he’s shivering.
The expression on his face, the true terror in his grey eyes, as he continues banging on the door, demanding entry, is enough to harrow me.
I force myself to move, my stolen— borrowed?— blanket slipping from around me, as I crawl out of my nest. My body protests, still heavy with sleep, but the adrenaline works faster.
My alpha is hurting. A thousand worst-case scenarios flicker through my mind.
Is his sister okay? Is Odelia hurt?
Has something happened to the others?
The pounding doesn’t stop. Instead, it seems to rattle through the house, getting louder as I make my way towards the front door. Each step I take is in time with another ferocious knock from my mate.
I swallow hard before undoing the locks and yanking it open. The wind and the rain cause my jumper to flare out, and my bare legs erupt in goosebumps. I shiver under the weight of the freezing night.
His eyes are frenzied, and when Oscar spots me there, he lets out a relieved growl that causes me to shiver for a different reason.
“You’re alive,” he gasps.
I freeze, not sure what’s going on or why he would think otherwise. Has he had a bad dream? Has someone threatened me, and he’s scared?
Surely not, Emme. Stop being dramatic.
“You’re alive,” he repeats, shuddering where he stands. His face is so pale, and his eyes are bloodshot.
I feel awful.
“Of course, I’m alive,” I soothe, stepping out of the way so he can get past me. “Come in, please.”
He stumbles through the doorway, water dripping down his body, but the cold still doesn’t seem to touch him.
I’m freezing just looking at him. I lock up behind us, noticing the way he seems to be fidgeting as he stands.
Hand movements, rocking on his heels. As if the panic in him is so strong he physically can’t stay still.
“How did you get here?” I ask softly. I pull the deadlock into place before turning back around to face him.
He’s wearing a pair of black shorts that, like the t-shirt, are soaked through to his body. They cling to him as he moves, and it looks so uncomfortable.
He’s only wearing one sock, and his white trainers are ruined. They’re covered in mud, the stains unlikely to come out, and they’re soaked.
There’s splash marks all up his calves from muddy puddles, I think.
“Got here,” he repeats, his voice almost monotone.
He shakes his head, his hair flickering droplets around as he meets my eyes, his breathing still haggard.
“Is the baby okay?”
I move my hands to my stomach, to the small bump I have, and I nod.
“We’re fine, I promise. No sickness, no nothing. I was asleep.”
“Asleep.” Another repeated word. It seems like he’s struggling to focus.
I reach for the dial on the wall so that I can turn on the heating. He might not be feeling it right now, and that’s the scary part.
I don’t know how long he was outside or what’s going on, but I know I can help him.
“I’m cold,” I say, faking a shiver.
His eyes widen. “Cold.”
I nod. “Can you come shower with me, please, Alpha? I’d feel better with your heat.”
“Heat,” he says again, and I let out a purr. He seems to soften ever so slightly, and I take his hand.
It’s frozen cold—I swear, I’ve touched warmer ice cubes.
But yet, he still doesn’t seem to feel it, notice it. I don’t care about the wetness dripping from him or the mud he’s trailing through the house.
I just lead him through to the bathroom, desperate to help make sure he’s okay.
I can’t scent him properly, the musty rain and the dirt too overwhelming. He was likely wearing scent neutraliser anyway.
Sadly for him, I don’t have any.
Luckily for me, though.
I turn on the heated towel rack, knowing he’ll need the warmth, and close the door behind us.
Oscar stands there silently as I reach inside the shower to turn it on. It’s almost as if he doesn’t know what to do. He’s still rocking back and forth, his eyes darting everywhere and, yet, unfocused.
I keep testing the water, not wanting it anywhere near the warmth I usually scald myself with when he’s as cold as he is.
Depending on how long he’s been out there, he might end up with chilblains or something worse.
The water is tepid—to his chilled skin, even this will probably feel scalding.
“Alpha, can I please undress you?” I murmur my question, fluttering my eyelashes in what is probably an embarrassing move. But I know it’s necessary, as it appeals to his baser instincts.
“Undress you,” he repeats, reaching for me.
I shake my head, and he freezes. “Please, Alpha, let me help you first.”
He relents, and I gently remove his soaked clothing, each item dropping to the floor with a wet squelch. His body is just as pale as his face, and I’m so terrified.
Goosebumps cover his skin, yet he seems barely aware of his condition.
His dick is completely flaccid, and when I stand in front of him, his eyes are distant, frozen. Whatever’s scared him, whatever has happened… it’s not something I’m going to be able to easily fix.
I rest my head against his icy chest and purr, hoping to ground him through some contact. If I can warm him a little before he gets in the shower, it might make it easier for him to adjust.
“Feel my breathing,” I whisper, wrapping my arms around his waist.
“Breathing.”
“Hear my heartbeat,” I add, listening to the soothing beat of his own.
He gulps a breath, the swallow echoing in my ear. “Heartbeat.”
“Feel our baby.” I guide his hand to my stomach, wishing I had a bigger bump, or a baby who could kick. We’re not far enough along for that yet, but I wish I was right now.
I wish I could heal whatever hurt he has.
“Our baby.” Emotion finally breaks through his monotone voice, and I purr with relief.
He’s conscious. He’s present. He’s home .
“Our baby,” I confirm.
Tears fill my eyes, but I squeeze them closed, refusing to let the wetness fall. Right now, this isn’t about me—it’s about Oscar.
He needs the support. He needs my attention.
“Oh, fuck, Emme,” he gasps, shaking in his spot. “You’re alive. You’re safe. You’re here.”
His arms tighten around me, and I don’t know if the wetness in my hair is from his own or from his tears.
What is going on?
“Let’s get in the shower. You’re freezing.”
He lets go of me like I’ve hurt him. His grey eyes widen again, his pupils fully dilated.
“I’m freezing.” He shivers, goosebumps coating his skin, and it’s like the awareness has slammed back into him.
I don’t think his echolalia of my words is purposeful. He’s stuck, unable to speak properly, unable to function.
“The water is warm,” I offer, gesturing to the shower. He’s hesitant but walks inside, shivering as he does.
I don’t stand and watch, instead I crouch under my sink to grab supplies.
He’ll want clean products to wash himself with. I grab one of the sponges from the packet and my cherry soap.
I wish I had something unscented because I know that he’s sensitive, but I don’t. It’s this or nothing.
I place it on the floor of the shower before slowly undressing myself. My body trembles but not from the cold.
No, I’m fucking burning.
I’m nervous, sure, and I should probably be scrutinised for being aroused right now. But I can’t help the way my body reacts to him—he was made for me, just as I was for him.
Oscar doesn’t react, despite the clear shift in the air. It breaks my heart.
I drop my clothes in the hamper basket, leaving Oscar’s wet ones on the floor to handle afterwards. He doesn’t open his eyes, he doesn’t move.
My alpha seems numb. Whether this is because of the cold, the panic, or potentially shock, I have no idea.
“I have cherry-scented soap,” I say softly. “Can you smell it for me, love?”
I hold it up, and he sniffs, giving a one-shoulder shrug. Bare minimum effort, completely unlike himself.
“Did you know that the average cherry tree has over seven thousand cherries?” I ask, squeezing the bottle to put soap onto the new sponge.
Oscar’s breathing is slow and steady, but he’s staying so rigid, so tense. Usually, he’s got perfect posture, even if he’s often crouched weird or walking funny. But, right now, he’s hunched up, uncertain, uneasy.
I hate it.
My purrs don’t seem to be doing enough to help him, and I know that it’s not going to be until I get him in my nest and comfortable that I’ll get to the root of his problem.
He doesn’t correct me or add in a fact of his own.
“How many cherries does it take to make a pie?” I ask, trying to distract him as I start wiping him clean
He hums low, his chest vibrating, and I don’t think it’s in reply to my question. No, I think the alpha within is the only thing capable of reacting.
I continue purring, and I press my chest into the side of his body as I wash him. Touch is one of the biggest soothing abilities an omega has.
I run the sponge up and down his chest, lathering his ice-cold skin with the soap. Turning away from him, I reach to turn the shower up ever so slightly, determined to try and warm him up.
Gently gripping his arms, I also move him back a little so his chest is getting some of the spray. I don’t hesitate in washing his body, paying special attention to his mud-soaked thighs and calves.
I try to ignore his dick, not wanting to sour this moment by being unable to control my sexual appetite.
Even when it leaks with the most delicious smelling pre-cum.
“You’re doing amazing,” I murmur softly.
He sounds drunk when he repeats the word. “Amazing.”
I don’t touch his face, knowing how sensitive he is over scents, but I’m in heaven. Every swipe of the sponge, every droplet of the water, washes away the smell of rain and mud. The cherry smell contrasts quite well with his usual almond and nutmeg, and the result is an alpha who smells like home.
An alpha who smells like he’s mine .
His body is fully clean by the time he manages to pull himself out of the shell he’s in. Still quiet, still calm, but he finally manages to open his eyes.
“You’re here,” he whispers, his voice still monotone, but there’s a hint of wonder as well. As if he can’t believe it.
Something terrible must have happened.
He’s still cold, still tense, but I turn the shower up warmer.
His lips are no longer blue and his skin less pale.
“Did you run here?” I ask softly as I grab my shampoo. Cherry again so that I don’t overwhelm him with too many different scents.
Oscar blinks several times, water droplets clinging to his eyelashes. “Ran. Car wouldn’t... Couldn’t get keys.”
I frown. He couldn’t get his keys?
Did none of the pack notice? Where are they? Nobody has called, nobody has reached out.
Is this kind of behaviour normal with Oscar?
Oscar’s meticulous with his belongings. Sure, things might be organised chaotically and in a system that only makes sense to him, but he’d never not be able to get them.
For him to run in a rainstorm… something bad has happened.
“Do you want to tell me what scared you?” I keep my voice as even as I can, trying to maintain the soothing tone so I don’t upset him.
“Not yet.”
My heart aches at the broken tone.
I hold in my frustration, knowing that my anxiety isn’t going to fix anything. I’m giving him what he needs.
I purr once more.
“Bend your head down, please, love.”
He does as I asked, and I rub the shampoo into his hair. I take special care in massaging his scalp.
I wash his hair twice with shampoo and once with conditioner, making sure to be gentle. But he seems to respond well to the touching, and I selfishly don’t want it to end.
The room is quiet, other than the running of the shower, and, by the end of it, the temperature is at full.
Oscar is quiet, contemplative, even, and it doesn’t feel right. Not for him.
“I’m here,” I repeat, standing on tiptoes to press a gentle kiss to his jaw. “I’m safe. The baby’s safe.”
His hand finds my stomach, resting there as if to reassure himself. I guide the sponge down his torso one last time. The shower has done its work, bringing him back from wherever his mind had taken him.
“You took care of me,” he whispers, and I blow him a kiss. I step out of the water, grabbing a towel from the towel warmer, and wrap it around my body.
My hair is dry, and as Oscar turns the shower off, I hand him a towel, too. Sure, it’s pink, but it’s extremely soft and very warm.
Oscar wraps it around his waist, and my core pulses at the way the water drips down his chest, trailing over every inch of naked skin.
His body is toned, and I salivate at the idea of tracing those droplets with my tongue. With following the curves of his muscles and getting to taste him as I do.
Fuck, get your head out of the gutter, Emme.
“Sit,” I demand, pointing to the edge of my bathtub. Oscar frowns, but I point once more. He moves over, sitting awkwardly on the side, and his eyes are narrowed as he watches what I’m doing.
It might be awkward, but it works perfectly for what I need.
At my encouragement, he lowers his head, and I rub it with the towel, drying it as best I can. Oscar’s laugh is free and full of joy as I do it again and again.
I can’t imagine he’ll be appreciative of the hair dryer, and I don’t want to push him back into a state of anxiety.
“Thank you for helping me,” Oscar says calmly. There’s no agitation in his tone, no upset, just genuine appreciation.
I grin, running the towel over his head once more. “That’s my job.”
He smiles, meeting my eyes. “It’s my job, Emme.”
“Maybe we can share the job,” I offer, continuing to dry his hair.
He hums, staying quiet. Once his hair is relatively dry, I pull him up to standing, taking his hand in mine. His skin is finally warm, the towel around his waist doing little to hide the reaction his body is having to my proximity.
The air isn’t charged with lust or with arousal, though. It’s filled with love, with warmth, with gratitude.
I won’t take that for granted.
“Will you be staying?” I ask, twiddling the towel between my fingers.
Oscar shakes his head. “I can’t.”
He can’t?
After… after coming here in such a panic and not explaining what happened, he’s just going to leave ?
I don’t know whether to scream at him, beg him, or cry.
My brain decides for me and lets out a distressed whine.
Oscar immediately trails his knuckles down my cheek, catching my shiver.
“It’s for the best, Emme. Then you can get some proper sleep.”
He really wants to leave. Is this… does he think that he has to?
Is that what this is?
Or does he actually want to leave?
There’s a difference, and I don’t think my heart can take the latter.
I tighten my grip on his hand, giving one last ditch effort. If he refuses again, I won’t push. “It’s still raining. And you shouldn’t be alone after what panicked you tonight.”
His gaze softens, a chink in the armour. “I don’t want to impose.”
Yes!
My inner voice does a cheer, but I don’t let on how happy this makes me. I don’t want to embarrass myself.
Or get him to change his mind.
“You’re not imposing.” The words come out more forcefully than I intended, and when he gives me a sceptical look I rush to reassure him. “You’re my mate , Oscar. That means everything to me. You’re my alpha, my pack, my scent match. You’re always welcome here, with me.”
Oscar’s breath catches at my declaration.
“Your scent match,” he echoes, but, this time, it’s not the echolalia from before. This time it’s a confirmation.
I nod, suddenly shy. “Yes. You’re mine.” He doesn’t move, and my heart thuds against my chest. “Right?”
He brings our joined hands to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to my knuckles. “Right.”
Thank fuck, that’s settled.
“Then, please, stay with me.” I twiddle my mostly dry hair and look up at him. “It’ll help me and the baby.”
He nods firmly, and I don’t feel even an ounce of guilt about playing him this way. Sure, it’s the truth , and it actually will help me.
But if it wasn’t for his anxiety attack— was that what it was? —then I never would’ve admitted this.
My scent sours ever so slightly, a hint of bitterness in the chamomile.
As his gaze turns probing, I turn around and leave the bathroom. I enter the guest bedroom, searching to see if I have anything of Evander’s that Oscar could wear.
He and Isaac have spent ages here, and, hopefully, they’ve left some clothes behind.
Sadly, I can’t find anything clean that would fit him. I’m sure there’s some in my laundry, but I don’t think Oscar’s going to be comfortable wearing them.
Not only are they dirty, but they smell like my brother, who carries a scent that’s too bitter for my hypersensitive mate and too sweet at the same time.
Fuck.
Of course, Isaac is too good at his job to leave anything behind.
With my head hung low, I trawl back through to the bathroom, finding Oscar sitting exactly where I left him.
It’s clear he hasn’t moved, and it’s quite cute that he just expected me to come back for him.
“Are you okay?”
“I don’t have any clothes that will fit you,” I admit, biting my lip. My heart hammers against my chest, and I’m so nervous that he’s going to leave.
Oscar looks down at himself, then at me, a hint of his usual analytical gaze returning. “I’m fine in a towel.”
The thought of him in just a towel, in my home— in my nest— sends a rush of heat through me. But I push it away, knowing that’s not what he needs right now.
He didn’t come for sex.
“You can’t sleep in a towel,” I argue gently.
He tilts his head, a small smile finally gracing his lips. “I’ll sleep naked, Emme. It’s estimated that thirty-seven percent of the population sleep naked the majority of the time anyway.”
How he got those numbers, I’ll never know. Are they true?
Who knows.
I raise a brow, amusement filling me. “You will, will you? Who says your bare ass is going to be allowed on my bed?”
Oscar tugs me forward, wrapping his arms around my waist. Our eyes are level, and he smirks. “Please, Emme, love. Let me in your bed.”
He pouts. “I did run here in the rain to make sure you were okay, after all.”
I giggle, my tummy fluttering. “Really? You’re using the incident you’ve still not explained to sway me to your side?”
“Yes.” He shrugs, unashamed. “Now, can we get dry and go through to bed? I’m exhausted.”
“Yes, of course.”
Relief fills me. I’m glad he’s here to stay. Like the pervert I never knew I was until I met these men—I’d much rather he was naked anyway.
He dries himself off as I get myself redressed into my pyjamas. He uses the mouthwash on my sink, and I stand there taking in the calm that surrounds him as my brain continues to try and piece together the events that happened tonight.
This isn’t our normal dynamic, not even a little bit. Sure, the intimacy is always there, but the panicked person between us both is usually me . He had a bit of a wobble at the hospital, but, otherwise, he’s been a much needed calm in my life.
And yet, tonight—the roles were reversed. He trusted me to be there for him, and I’m so fucking grateful.
The caregiver, the supporter, the enabler.
“Let’s go to bed,” I offer the moment he’s ready.
I lead him out of the bathroom, shutting off the light behind us, and we head down the stairs towards my nest. Oscar hovers at the bottom of the stairs, looking into the open doorway of my office.
Is he having second thoughts?
Well, fourth thoughts
“Come cuddle,” I command, not taking no for an answer when he hesitates.
“In your office ?” he asks nervously. “Why not your bedroom?”
I pause, looking down at my feet. “I wanted… I thought… forget it. Let’s go to my bedroom.”
Oscar growls low in his throat, and my eyes fly to his. “What is wrong, Omega?”
The bark, the tone… it’s all alpha.
Fuck me.
A shiver races down my spine, and the words tumble out without my permission. “My nest—my good nest is here.”
My words are whispered out on a breath, nearly silent, in the too-quiet house. My heart is racing once more, my scent gland pushing my scent out quickly and sharply.
“Oh, Emme.” He takes my hands in his, squeezing gently. “I’d be honoured to be invited into your nest.”
“Really?” I ask nervously. I don’t know why I’m so scared of rejection—he’s already spent the night in my nest once, and he attached himself to me all night long.
He grins. “Really.”
I don’t bother turning the main lights on, instead crawling inside my nest to turn the fairy lights on. It’s far more cosy this way. I pat the spot next to me, but Oscar doesn’t move. I don’t think he can.
His eyes are bright, the joy pouring through him, as he takes in my nest. It’s so much bigger than the one at his home and far more elaborate. This one is years in the making.
Years I’ve spent perfecting it just for this moment. I might’ve claimed I never wanted an alpha, but, deep down, isn’t that what every omega wants?
“You made this for us?” he asks.
“For us,” I say, this time being the one to echo his words.
“Fuck, Omega,” he hisses the words, shaking his head with a widening grin.
He comes into my nest, almost hesitantly, with a reverent kind of treatment. Oscar doesn’t hesitate in getting comfortable beside me, and I burrow us up in the blankets. He presses in next to me as tight as he can, and it’s perfect.
I love it.
His warm skin is like heaven against mine, and I feel so calm, so content, so comfortable. This is what my nest has always been missing—an alpha, a lover, a protector.
He cuddles me in, and I wrap around him, not caring about the way his cock is now resting against my thigh. Not even when his pre-cum leaks onto me.
Now I smell like him—the best part of him.
I reach for my phone from where it’s plugged in, just away from the fabric and my pillows. Oscar watches, and I know he’ll be reading my message as I key it out.
But I open up the group chat that Sterling set up so that if they wake up and worry, they know that Oscar is safe. That we’re together.
Emmeline
Oscar’s at my house, just in case you wake up and realise he’s not home.
We’ll head into work together in the morning.
See you soon.
X
“I never thought to message them,” he says, almost in wonder.
I toss my phone back to the area it was and adjust so I’m a little more comfortable.
“I know, but I did, and now it’s sorted,” I murmur. “We’ve got different strengths. There’s not a chance I’d have been able to run all the way here from yours. Especially not in the rain.”
He sighs, tightening his grip around me, and it’s the nicest feeling in the world. I just wish he wasn’t so tense.
“You know that Odelia is sick.” Oscar’s words are a statement of fact, and even though he’s never outright said it, I pieced it together.
I nod against his chest, drawing shapes onto his skin, relieved that he’s finally opening up. I just want to be close, to be touching him however he will let me, so that I can understand.
“Well, she wasn’t always sick—at least, not that we knew of. When she was only eight years old, I walked into her bedroom and saw her asleep in her bed.” Oscar’s body tenses underneath me, and I slowly raise my head, looking down at his distant expression.
“Except, I knew she wasn’t asleep. No child could be laid in a bed with that much of their blood soaking the sheets and still be alive.”
His grey eyes meet mine, and, I swear, they darken. “In that moment, all I knew was that my sister was dead.”
“What happened?” My voice is practically silent, the thudding of my heart louder than it, but he hears me anyway.
“What do you think? She presented as an omega at eight years old, and it nearly killed her.”
He draws a shuddering breath, his eyes distant as if seeing that blood-soaked bedroom all over again. His face pales in the darkness, his eyes glowing.
And when he speaks, chills race down my spine as if someone has walked over my grave.
“And tonight, Emme, I dreamt it was you.”