11. Chapter Eleven
Chapter Eleven
Mira
“ I 'm not angry at you, Mira.” Adrian shifts toward me. His voice is gentle, at odds with the fury I smell in his scent. “I'm angry at whoever did this to you.”
I sniff the air, confused by the truth I smell there. This isn't how alphas react to disobedient, problematic omegas. We're supposed to be perfect, unmarred, obedient. Not scarred and skinny and prone to panic attacks in luxury bathrooms.
“We need to have a doctor look at you,” Adrian says.
“No!” The word explodes from me, fresh panic rising. Doctors mean Haven. Doctors mean cold hands and colder eyes, traps and needles and “treatments” that leave you screaming.
“No doctors.” I gasp, trying to press myself through the wall behind me. “Please, no doctors. I'll be good, I promise. I'll do whatever you want, just please—”
“We have a pack doctor, a beta, who has been with us for years. He's very gentle. Trustworthy.” Zane holds his hands out to me in a calming gesture. The action makes him less threatening somehow, though he's still massive.
I shake my head. “I’m not stupid. Doctors never help omegas.” The doctors at Haven wanted to ‘fix’ us. As though there was something intrinsically wrong with us because of our omega designation.
“I understand you're scared, and you have every right to feel the way you do.” Adrian pauses, searching for the right words, before he brings his gaze to mine and I fall into soft hazel pools. “Your heat is a powerful, natural part of who you are, and we want to make sure you have all the support you need to go through it without fear of it taking so much out of you it’s detrimental to your health.”
Something passes between Adrian and Zane, some silent communication I can't read, but a cramp twists through my abdomen, reminding me I'm running out of time and options. My heat is building again. The bath and warm water were just a reprieve. Thank you, biology, you fucktard of a mistress.
“We chose our pack doctor because he respects and values omegas. He’ll understand how vulnerable you feel. He’ll only want to provide you with comfort and safety. If anything makes you feel uncomfortable, you have the right to say no. We’ll listen. We’ll stop. Your wellbeing comes first, always,” Zane says.
I watch for the lie. For that drop in their gazes, that hitch in their breath that tells me what they think I need to hear, but it doesn’t come and that makes me more confused than ever.
The truth is, they don’t even have to ask me. They can go right ahead and do anything they want to me and there’s not a damn thing I can do to stop them. “I don’t have a choice. But I’ll only see your doctor. No one else.” The thought of strange hands on me makes bile rise in my throat.
“I’ll go and make the call. Doctor Maverick is nice, Mira. He’s very gentle and won’t make you uncomfortable. I wouldn’t even suggest you see him if he wasn’t,” Zane says, before stepping out to make the call. His massive frame casts shadows in the doorway, then he disappears. I'm alone with Adrian, and I'm shivering, goosebumps puckering my skin even though it's probably a hundred degrees in this bathroom. Water drips steadily from my hair, joining the puddles on the floor.
“Let me help dry you.” Adrian grabs another towel from the stack on the cabinet top. “You can keep that one around you.”
“I’ll do it,” I protest, but the thought of moving from my spot propped against the wall is impossible.
“You can't stay cold and wet. Let me help you, Little One,” he says.
The endearment catches me off guard, making something in my chest ache. No one has spoken to me with such tenderness since... since before Haven. Before I presented as an omega and Mom, Dad and I were a happy, beta family.
Again, I don’t really have a choice, even if he wants to pretend I have any say over my own sovereignty. I grit my teeth and nod before he moves toward me. My omega responds to his proximity, to his scent of smoked cedar and spiced vanilla, making slick gather despite my fear and exhaustion, but he keeps his movements clinical and gentle as he begins drying my hair, careful not to pull or tug.
“I won't hurt you. I promise,” he murmurs.
I want to tell him not to make promises he can't keep. Want to remind him that all alphas hurt omegas eventually. It's what we exist for, but I'm too tired. Too cold. Too aware of how my heat is building again beneath my skin, making every touch electric.
He carefully squeezes the excess water from my hair, patting the ends dry. He moves to my arms, my legs, always careful to maintain my modesty with the first towel. His touch is impersonal but tender, like I'm something precious that might break .
Too late.
I already have.
It should be invasive, having an alpha touch me like this. Should make me want to run or fight or scream but instead it feels... safe. Like being cared for. Valued.
And that horrifies me more than any amount of anger could because caring hurts more in the end. Gentleness will turn to cruelty. Any alpha's kindness is just a prelude to pain but as another shiver wracks my frame, I can't help leaning into Adrian’s touch, just a little.
He moves to lift me, and I tense, my fingers clutching the towel tighter. “I’ll walk,” I say, even though the room tilts every time I move my head. Pride is all I have left, and even that is fragile.
“Okay.” There’s no challenge in his voice as he helps me to my feet. My knees buckle, weakness and heat-fever conspiring against me. He catches me before I fall, his hands strong and steady against my waist. The contact sends sparks across my over-sensitized skin and I bite back a whimper.
“I hate this,” I mutter, frustration burning in my throat. I hate being weak, dependent, at anyone's mercy. Hate how my body betrays me, how even this simple touch makes heat burn between my thighs. I hate how small and fragile I am in his capable hands.
He says nothing, just gently lifts me into his arms, careful to keep the towel secured around me. His scent envelops me and something in me wants to burrow closer, wants to press my nose against his neck and breathe him in.
The bed is obscenely soft when he sets me down. The duvet puffs up around my bare legs, and I have to resist the urge to nest into the softness. I stiffen as he reaches for something next to me. I’m on a bed and going into heat. This is where he’ll demand payment for the food and the bath and the soft touches, but he only reaches for a stack of folded clothes at the foot of the bed.
He shakes out a soft gray T-shirt that smells like Zane and a flutter of something starts up inside me. I clench my hands and keep them locked at my side so I don’ t reach for it.
A flush colors his cheeks as he holds it out. “We don't have any women's clothes here. Would you mind wearing ours? Just until we can get you something more appropriate?”
The implication surprises me. They don't keep clothes here for other women? No omega entertainment? No beta companions? Something in my chest loosens slightly at this revelation, though I refuse to examine why.
“Thank you, it’s better than my uniform,” I manage, eyeing the dirty heap of fabric on the bathroom floor. The thought of putting those sweat-and-fear-soaked clothes back on makes my skin crawl.
He helps me dress with careful, clinical movements. The T-shirt that smells like Zane drowns me, falling to mid-thigh, but it's soft and clean and is reassuringly safe. The sleep pants must be Cole's from how much they have to be rolled up, and something about wearing his clothes makes me feel oddly protected, despite his obvious dislike of me. Adrian's hands never stray, never linger, never suggest anything beyond helping. Even when the towel slips, he keeps his eyes averted, maintaining my dignity in a way no alpha ever has.
“Did you try to drown yourself in the bath?” Adrian asks quietly, perching on the edge of the bed. There's no accusation in his voice, no judgment, just careful concern. I pull Zane's shirt closer around me, inhaling the comforting scent without meaning to.
“The water was warm, and I was so tired. I must have fallen asleep.” It's not a lie, exactly. The drowning was in the dream, in the memory. In that dark river where I almost gave up everything. That moment when it would have been so easy to give in. Not in the here and now.
He studies me for a long moment, his hazel eyes intent. The weight of his gaze makes me want to hide, but I force myself to remain still. “We scented terror in the room when we came in. Pure panic. And you were thrashing under the water.” His hand twitches like he wants to reach for me, but he stops himself. “I'm worried about you.”
The concern in his voice confuses me .
“Honestly, it was just a nightmare. Nothing to worry about.” I won't tell him about that night. Won't speak Emma and Leah's names aloud. I’ll do everything in my power to keep them safe. I hope they're out there somewhere, living free lives. I hope they found better hiding places than cleaning jobs and black-market suppressants. I hope they managed to build real lives, not just survival. I hope they're happy, wherever they are. Even though I scour the Daily Herald for our ad, I don’t blame them if they never want to revisit the past.
“It was just a nightmare,” I repeat, more to myself than him, but the memory of dogs baying in the forest makes me shiver despite the warmth unfurling inside me. Phantom icy water closes over my head, Emma's sobs ring in my ear, and Leah's fingers bruise my arm as she pushes us away.
Adrian frowns at me, clearly wanting to ask more questions, but I bite my lip and look away. The action makes him understand I won't say more, though his scent carries notes of frustration and concern.
A knock at the door saves me from further interrogation. Zane enters with a man who must be in his fifties, with silver-streaked dark hair, kind eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses, and a gentle presence that immediately puts me at ease. He's wearing casual clothes rather than a white coat, and something about that helps calm my racing heart.
“This is Dr. Maverick,” Zane introduces, hovering near the door.
“That was quick,” I say.
Zane offers me a shy smile. “Dr. Maverick works for us. He was only a few floors down.”
“Oh.” How could I have forgotten I was in the enemy’s building?
The doctor's earl gray tea beta scent carries no threat, no underlying agenda. If he's surprised to find an unmated omega in heat in the Pinnacle alphas' penthouse, he doesn't show it. I make no guesses about what other situations he might have seen here.
“Please, call me David,” he says, setting down his medical bag with careful movements. “I hear you've had quite a day.”
“You could say that. ”
“Do you mind if I examine you?”
I glance at Adrian and Zane, still hovering anxiously. “I'd like to be alone for this. Please.”
They exchange looks, clearly reluctant, but eventually nod. “We'll be right outside,” Adrian assures me, as if that's supposed to be comforting.
Once they're gone, Dr. Maverick—I can't quite bring myself to use just his first name—begins his examination with careful efficiency. He talks about his three cats while he takes my temperature, tells me about their latest antics as he checks my blood pressure. His touch is clinical but gentle, nothing like the invasive examinations at Haven.
“I'd like to draw some blood,” he says eventually, “to check your nutrient levels. You're showing signs of several deficiencies.” He doesn't mention how obvious that must be from my protruding bones and pallid skin.
I consider refusing, but what's the point? This is the first real medical care I've had in two years that wasn’t specifically about my omega biology. “Okay,” I agree, holding out my arm and hitching my breath as he fetches the necessary items from his bag and lays everything out.
“So, there's Mr. Whiskers, face-to-face with this cucumber,” Dr. Maverick says as he draws blood, his hands gentle on my arm. “And you've never seen a cat so convinced they're about to be murdered by a vegetable. Back arched, fur standing on end, making these little 'mrrp' sounds of absolute betrayal.”
A laugh bubbles up from somewhere deep inside me, surprising us both. I can't remember the last time I laughed. The sound is foreign in my throat, almost wrong after so long making myself small and unnoticeable.
Exhaustion hits me, making my head spin. The world tilts slightly, and Dr. Maverick's hands steady me as he notices my fatigue. His experienced eyes miss nothing behind those wire-rimmed glasses. “Your heat is very close. Is this your first?”
The memory slams into me, three days of agony in an abandoned warehouse, clawing at my own skin, biting through my lip to keep quiet. The taste of blood in my mouth, the hard concrete against my fevered skin, the terror of being found before I shake it off. “No. Not my first.”
“How many heats have you experienced?”
“Just the one.” I look away from his careful gaze, studying the spotless white bedding instead. “It…was enough.”
His look when I finally turn back is weighted, measured. Of course, he knows what this means—that I've been using suppressants to stop my natural cycle. Even if they weren’t black market, it’s only safe to skip one heat. Two at the most. Not two years’ worth.
His scent remains neutral, non-judgmental, but I see him mentally adding this to his notes. Adding it to whatever other conclusions he's drawn from my malnourished frame and collection of scars.
“Your body has been denied its natural cycle for too long. This heat will be more intense than any other heat.” He pauses, then adds, “Adrian, Zane, and Cole are good alphas. I've known them since they started Pinnacle a decade ago. You're in good hands.”
I don't know what to say to that. Don't know how to process an alpha being described as “good.” I just mumble a thank you, the words inadequate.
“You're severely dehydrated,” he continues, professional mask back in place. He indicates the bottles of water Zane left on the nightstand. “I’d suggest an IV but I don’t think you’d let me administer that to you. Drink as much as you can, and rest while you're able before your heat fully starts.”
My eyes drift to the double doors I haven't dared open. The nest room. Every omega instinct I possess knows what lies beyond those doors… soft things, safe things, everything I need for what's coming, but once I cross that threshold, there's no turning back. Once I enter that space, I'll be at the mercy of my biology. And these alphas.
“Thank you,” I say again as he packs up his bag. “Can you tell them I’d…like to be left alone?”
He nods, understanding in his kind eyes, and leaves me with my thoughts and my rising heat .
I curl tighter into myself, wrapping my arms around my knees, trying to ignore how empty the room is without anyone's scent to ground me. Trying to ignore how my eyes keep drifting to those doors. Trying to ignore how my body screams for what it wants, even as my mind rebels against it.
At least the bedroom door remains closed. The alphas respect my wishes more than I expected. Their scents linger in the air, though, mixing together in a combination that makes my omega side whine. A wave of arousal claws through my insides, and a whimper claws up my throat. The massive bed is too exposed, too open, and those double doors leading to the proper nest room make my omega nature keen with want. But I can't. Won't. A proper nest means submission, giving in. It means accepting what's coming.
My legs shake so badly I have to brace against the wall as I scramble out of the bed and retrieve my pack to pull my blankets out. They're thin and worn, the fabric pilled and faded, but they’re mine.
The massive walk-in closet catches my eye, dark, enclosed, defensible. Perfect. Only one entrance to watch, walls on three sides, and enough space to curl up in the back corner. My omega hindbrain approves of this shelter, even as my rational mind shakes its head and tells me how pathetic it is to be hiding in a closet.
I drag my blankets to the very back corner, and I tremble as I arrange my pathetic nest, smoothing the blankets over plush carpet. I curl into the corner where the walls meet. Sweat soaks through Zane's borrowed shirt as a wave of heat crashes over me, stronger now. My body trembles with fire and fear and I quickly succumb to pure exhaustion.
I drift in and out of consciousness, fever-dreams merging with reality. An inferno burns through my blood and makes every nerve ending scream. I'm being flayed alive from the inside out. Sweat soaks through Zane's shirt, making it cling to my oversensitive skin in a way that's both torture and not enough contact.
Dr. Maverick was right. This heat is different. Worse. Years of suppressed biology demand payment with interest. The pain twists through my abdomen, sharp and deep, making me curl into a ball on my pathetic nest. My insides are being torn apart, my body trying to turn itself inside out. Slick soaks through my clothes, through my thin blankets, my body preparing for something I don't want. The scent of my arousal fills the small space, mixing with my distress.
Time loses all meaning. Minutes or hours pass as I writhe on the floor, fighting my own nature. My hand slips between my legs, desperate for relief, for anything to ease the burn. I hate myself for it, hate how easily my body betrays me, hate the emptiness clawing my insides despite my fingers working frantically. Every touch brings pleasure edged with pain, satisfaction that never quite reaches completion.
But it's not enough. Nothing is enough. My body yearns for knots, claiming, completion. Things I've denied for too long. My abdomen tenses, hurting when I can’t reach my climax, and a deep pain blooms through my body, leaving me more desperate than before. The emptiness inside me is a physical wound. I need... I need...
“ Alpha .” The word escapes without permission, a broken plea in the darkness. “Please, Alpha...” My voice sounds foreign to my own ears, raw with desperation.
The closet door bursts open, flooding the space with light and alpha pheromones. Adrian and Zane fill the doorway, their massive frames blocking out everything else. Their scents make me keen.
Something's missing. Some one's missing. I register the absence immediately, distress adding to the cocktail of desperate emotions flooding my system. The scent of leather and pine should be here, completing the trinity of scents that my body wants together.
“Cole,” I whimper, surprising myself with the need in my voice. “Where's Cole?”