12. Chapter Twelve
Chapter Twelve
Adrian
T he corridor outside Mira's room is a cage. Zane and I pace the length of it, our footsteps silent on the thick carpet. Her scent drifts under the door, sweet sugared lilac twisted with pain and desire and something bitter that makes my alpha nature rage. She's suffering, and we can't help her. Each whimper that filters through the solid wood hits me like a physical blow.
“She needs us. She’s hurting so badly.” Zane’s hands clench and unclench at his sides. His scent carries notes of frustrated alpha that match my own. I've never seen him this on edge, this close to losing control.
My cock throbs against my zipper. Sweet venom floods my mouth with each turn of my restless pacing, its taste a constant reminder of what waits behind that door. The pressure is unbearable, my knot already swelling despite the lack of direct stimulation. My physical discomfort is nothing compared to her whimpers through the door, knowing she's fighting her heat when every fiber of my being exists to protect and comfort her. No omega should fear their heat. This should be a time of rejoicing. Of connection. Instead, she’s terrified.
Zane peers at me with wild eyes, his hands clenching in his hair. “Why is she fighting this so badly? I just want to go in there and take away her pain. Why isn't—”
“We both know why.” My voice is rough with suppressed rage. The thought of David's report sent through minutes after he left makes my stomach twist. Years of black-market suppressants, malnutrition, signs of old trauma. An omega becomes this way through mistreatment. Through the worst kind of abuse.
“The suppressants she's been taking...” Zane's voice trails off, his scent sharp with distress. “They would have cost her a lot. No wonder she was starving.”
Black market suppressants are marked up a thousand percent, and they are only that way because they’re in demand.
I lean against the wall, trying to control my anger. “They shouldn't be illegal. If we could just get the legislation through, if Hardwick would stop blocking our attempts to make them accessible...” The sigh that comes out of me drains all the air from my lungs. “But our hands are tied, while omegas like Mira are forced to buy Gods know what on the black market.”
This confirms a more sickening point. There are desperate omegas out there to warrant the risk. Not all of them are being turned over to Haven. How many others suffer like Mira? There will likely be more all over the country.
“There's no telling how old those pills were, what she actually took,” Zane says. “Someone could be manufacturing knockoffs, or...”
“Or there's a leak in our company and someone is stealing our suppressants to sell.” The thought makes me sick. I make a mental note to check our manufacturing logs. Legislation goes both ways. Although our production is limited, it’s also stringent. Every pill is accounted for. If there’s a hole, I’ll find it. “Either way, she would have paid extortionate prices for pills that could have killed her. Pills that should be readily available, that should be her right to access.”
We both tense at the pitiful whimpers drifting from the bedroom.
“We have to fix this, Adrian.” Zane's voice carries a desperate edge. “The system, the laws, all of it. No omega should have to choose between starvation and suppressants.”
“We will.” My promise won't help Mira now. Won't erase years of having to make impossible choices just to survive. Even more worrying is the fact she let drop she’d been at Haven. I need to understand why that put terror through her, and why she wasn’t secured to a pack before she left. “But first, we must help her through this heat. If she'll let us.”
The bitter scent of her distress grows stronger. Her distress leaches through the walls and into the core of my body.
Zane spins on his heels, his cock tenting his shorts as strongly as mine. “Gods, this is hard!”
He wants to go in there as badly as I do and turn those whimpers of pain into pleasure. We just want to stop her hurting but the choice has to be hers even though it kills me to wait.
I run a hand through my hair, probably making it stand on end. My control hangs by a thread. The memory of those scars on her back makes my vision blur with rage. Someone hurt our omega, marked her, tried to break her. The alpha in me howls for vengeance. “We can't force ourselves on her. If we want any hope with her, then her choosing us is the only way she’s going to accept us.”
Cole's tension bleeds into me despite his physical absence. He's at the office, running from this, from her, from everything she represents. Even he can't deny the pull. His distress bleeds through our connection at leaving her to this, making everything more complicated. He’s going to have to confront his demons so we all can confront hers.
Hours pass, and she's fighting it, fighting herself, making everything worse. I smell her self-hatred, her fear, her desperate attempt to deny what her body demands. Zane sits on the carpet opposite me. His head is tilted back, eyes closed but everything about him is on high alert, as am I.
Her distress fills the air, and I pull it into me willingly in the vain hope that by taking it into my body, it will relieve hers. I know that might be a fallacy, that I’m not doing anything at all, but now it’s all I can do when every cell in my body needs to do something.
Then we finally hear her broken cry of “Alpha” that shoots straight to my soul. The sound carries such desperate pining that it shatters what remains of our restraint.
We waste no time. I scramble to my feet, Zane beside me. He looks at me with bright wild eyes as I burst inside, nearly snapping the hinges from the door in my haste. Her scent hits us, but I can’t see her. She’s not in the bed.
“The nest.” Zane bolts across the room to the nest and rips open the doors to reveal a dark emptiness. The soft bedding, blankets and pillows we supplied are untouched. She’s not there.
Zane turns desperate eyes on me. “Where the hell is she?”
A whimper slides out of the closet. I pace into the dark room, gut churning, hoping against hope that she’s not in there, only to find her curled in the back, huddled on thin blankets that smell of desperation and loneliness.
She’s tried to make her own nest with the three ratty blankets and the sight of her breaks something in my chest. Her small frame drowns in Zane's borrowed shirt, making her look even more vulnerable.
She looks up as Zane and I enter. Her pupils swallow the green in her eyes that are glazed with pain and fever, her face streaked with tears and rough with tension. “Where's Cole?”
“We're here, Little One,” I say softly, trying to remain calm despite the way my body screams to take, to claim, to possess. I rejoice that she’s asked for him, but I can’t tell her he’s not here to help her. She’s distressed enough. “We've got you.”
Her frame is raked with another fever chill. She clutches her arms around her middle as she curls into a tight ball. The boxers she wears are wet with slick she tries and fails to hide .
I want to gather her up, to carry her to the proper nest, to shower her with everything she's been denied, but the fear in her eyes stops me. We have to be so careful now. She’s balancing on an edge and could go either way between accepting us into the scraps of blanket to ease her heat or rejecting us outright. Which would mean she’d have to endure this all on her own. Unacceptable.
I crouch at the edge of the blankets, careful not to crowd her. She’s pressed into a ball, protecting her softness as though…as though she expects violence. Gods, what does she think we will do to her?
What has been done in the past to make her assume the worst?
“We won't hurt you. I promise.” I let my scent project nothing but calm and protection. “You're in control here. You choose what happens. Nothing happens without your consent. I’d like to come into your nest, Omega. I’d like to make you feel better. We both would. Would you let us do that? Would you ask us in so we can help you?”
Slowly, telegraphing every movement, I reach for her ankle, my hand hovering in mid-air. “May I touch you, Omega?”
A moment passes. A heartbeat that makes my forehead break out in a sweat. It drips along the side of my face, but I don’t move. I keep my gaze trained on her face, noting every small twitch in her expression. I will have her consent, as much as she can give it, before I do anything to her.
She nods. Finally. Just the dip of her chin but it’s enough. I let my fingers brush her ankle. The contact sends electricity through me, but I keep my touch feather-light, gentle. Her breath hitches at the contact, a tiny sound that's half fear, half need as her confusion and fear war.
“Your omega recognizes us,” I murmur, thumb stroking softly over her ankle. “Knows we're meant to help you through this. She knows we'll take care of you.”
“Cole...” she whispers, as Zane tenses behind me. Her heat will force her to want all three of us.
I keep my touch steady and gentle. “We'll give you everything you desire.” The 'for now' goes unspoken, but hangs in the air between us. Her body needs us all, but we'll make do with what she'll accept .
She stares at my fingers on her ankle. She’s in so much pain but her body craves relief. The moment stretches, taut with possibility. I hold my breath, waiting for her answer. Behind me, Zane's scent carries notes of desperate hope and fear.
But then...
Her arms lift slowly, reaching for me. The gesture is tiny, hesitant, but unmistakable, an invitation into her nest. Into her space. Into her trust. Her green eyes are wide and glassy, her lower lip caught between her teeth.
“Alpha. Please,” she whispers, and the words contain desperate hope. Her scent shifts, the bitterness softening with acceptance.
My heart breaks and mends at the same moment. This tiny gesture of trust is monumental, precious, fragile as spun glass.
“We've got you, Little One,” I murmur, moving slowly into her space. “We've got you.”
And I silently vow to never give her reason to regret this trust.
I move into her nest with careful deliberation, hyper-aware of how she watches my every movement. Her thin blankets are no protection against the floor, but at least she has soft carpet under her, even though I hate her not being in the nest we prepared for her before we even knew her. The inadequacy of it all makes me ache to provide better, but right now this is her space, her rules, her trust I'm being granted.
Up close, I drink in every detail of her face, the flutter of her pulse at her throat, the way her pupils have dilated until only a thin ring of green remains, the slight tremble in her lower lip.
“May I kiss you?” I ask, hovering over her without touching.
She nods again, her scent spiking with pain and want. Moving slowly, I lower myself until I'm bracketing her small frame with my body, careful not to crush her. The first brush of my lips against hers is gentle. She tastes like heat and need and something uniquely Mira.
She makes a small sound in the back of her throat—surprise or pleasure, I'm not sure—and her hands come up to clutch at my shirt. The touch of her fingers, even through fabric, sends electricity down my spine .
Her lips part, sweet and desperate. My tongue traces her lower lip gently, savoring the small whimper she makes in response. She parts her lips on a sigh and I slide my tongue against hers, the sensation nearly undoing me completely. She tastes of destiny and desire, of everything I never knew I was waiting for.
Her small frame trembles beneath me as I explore her mouth with careful attention, learning what makes her gasp, what makes her press closer. Sugared lilac blooms on my tongue, mixing with the natural sweetness of her mouth. My cock jerks, my knot swelling even more from just this simple contact. Her heat pheromones call to something deep in me, something that wants to roll her beneath me and claim her completely.
But I focus instead on the soft sounds she makes, the way her fingers clutch at my shirt, the tiny movements of her body seeking more contact. Each response is precious, earned through trust rather than taken by force. She arches, pressing closer. Her eyes are glazed, her lips swollen from our kisses. She's stunning. Beautiful. Perfection.
“Alpha,” she whispers against my mouth, and the word contains volumes of trust and fear.
“It's not enough, is it, Little One?” I murmur against her heated skin. “You need both of us.” I press gentle kisses to her neck, tasting the salt of her sweat, the fever of her heat.
She whimpers as another wave crashes through her, her small body arching instinctively. She’s desperate and one alpha won’t be enough to satisfy the demands of her heat.
“Look at Zane,” I whisper, kissing the sensitive spot behind her ear. “He's waiting for your invitation. He'll take such good care of you, Little One, just as I am.”
Her green eyes find Zane where he kneels at the edge of her nest, his massive frame tense with restraint.
“He's your alpha too,” I murmur, trailing soft kisses along her jaw. “Your mate. He'll do anything to help you, to ease your pain.” She shivers at the word 'mate,' recognizing the truth of what I’ve just said even as her mind fights the concept .
“Mates?” Her voice is so small. So confused . Her gaze slides over me. I thought she’d have more reaction to that declaration. I don’t expect the way her brows knit, as though she doesn’t know what mates are, which I find erroneous. It’s more like she’s weighing up the validity of my claim.
Surely, she should feel it too?
But then her scent thickens with her heat and desperation, and I don’t know if she’s truly understood at all. Her small hand reaches out toward Zane, shaking slightly. “Please,” she whispers, the word barely audible. “Alpha...”
Zane moves with deliberate care, each motion slow and telegraphed as he enters her space. His scent mingles with mine and Mira's, creating something perfect and right. Her nest is small, barely big enough for the three of us, but somehow that makes the situation more intimate.
“Thank you, Omega,” he murmurs, settling on her other side. His large frame dwarfs her, but he's careful to keep his movements gentle, non-threatening. When he reaches out to touch her cheek, his hand trembles slightly with restraint.
Mira turns her face into his palm, instinctively seeking the comfort of her alpha. The gesture makes Zane's breath catch, his scent spiking with protective love. She's so small between us, our bodies creating a shelter around her thin frame.
“We've got you now,” he whispers, leaning in to press his forehead against her temple. “Both of us.”
Her scent shifts, the bitter notes of distress fading slightly as she allows herself to accept our presence, but there's still an undertone of need, of something missing.
Some one missing.