17. Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Seventeen
Mira
Z ane appears in the doorway, a laden tray balanced in his hands. He freezes, his blue eyes darting between Adrian and me, reading the tension in the air. His nostrils flare slightly as he scents our emotional states.
“What's wrong?” he asks carefully, still not entering the nest.
“Mira needs to eat and rest. In that order,” Adrian says.
I want to protest that I don’t want to rest, but my body betrays me. Just the thought of moving makes my muscles tremble. When was the last time I truly rested? Not the exhausted collapse between shifts, not the heat-induced unconsciousness, but real, healing rest?
I can't remember.
Zane enters the nest with careful movements, setting the tray down between us. The sight is mouthwatering… fresh fruit, pastries, scrambled eggs, crispy bacon. A carafe of what smells like expensive coffee sits next to delicate cups and a teapot. He's even included honey for the tea and cream for the coffee. Giving me choices of what I want to eat or drink.
“I didn’t know what you’d like, so I got everything,” he says.
“I…thank you?”
His grin lights up his face and I can’t help but stare at him. “You never have to question your desires from me. I want you to have whatever makes you happy. “
“Oh…” I wait for the lie, taking a small sniff at his scent, but it remains clear. I have to admit, the food looks good, and my stomach feels as though it’s going to turn inside out with hunger. I reach for a plate, my hands shake so badly I nearly drop it. I’m weaker than I want to admit.
“Let me,” Zane says, taking the plate back. His smile holds no judgment, only warmth. He carefully chooses food—not too much, nothing too rich that might overwhelm my system.
My eyes can't help but trace the powerful lines of Adrian's body. His shoulders alone speak of immense power, the kind that could easily overpower an omega, yet those same hands that could break me have only ever touched me with exquisite gentleness. The contradiction is... confusing. Dangerous in how it makes me want to trust.
“She knows about Pinnacle,” Adrian tells Zane quietly, his voice carrying a weight of resignation. “Not only that we work there. She knows we own it.”
Zane's hands still in their careful arrangement of my breakfast, the piece of fruit he was placing on my plate forgotten.
“And she has the wrong idea about Pinnacle. About what we're trying to do.” Adrian runs a hand through his disheveled hair, a gesture of agitation that makes him look less a powerful alpha and more like someone fighting a losing battle .
Zane’s nostrils flare. “Have you told her about Hardwick denying us at every turn?”
Adrian’s jaw clenches. “That too. I’ve told our…I’ve told Mira that Hardwick isn’t interested in any legislation that gives omegas autonomy. We push for Pinnacle, yes, but we’re also pushing something more critical than our business.”
I let out a bitter laugh that tastes like old fear. Of course Hardwick doesn’t want to hand over omega rights to omegas. An alpha giving up control? Allowing omegas any measure of freedom? The same old story plays out in new ways. Power maintaining power. Control breeding more control. Money made from suffering.
I know for a fact that the senator is cut from the same cloth as Dr. Mercer. Memories rise like bile in my throat. The same cold eyes, the same belief in omega “correction,” the same dedication to maintaining the hierarchy that keeps us under alpha control.
I remember Hardwick's heels clicking down Haven's corridors alongside Dr. Mercer’s, the sound a warning of incoming inspection. Hardwick would watch as Dr. Mercer demonstrated their “training” techniques.
Hugo and Lars were their favorite guards, their most dedicated believers in omega submission. They had so many ways to teach us our place, but the cold room was their specialty. “Temperature regulation training,” they called it, laughing when they’d strip me bare and shove me in the large industrial freezer in the basement.
Some part of me is still there. Hearing how they laughed when my muscles started spasming with the cold. “This is all omegas are good for.” Hugo's voice echoes in my head. “Learning their place.” Lars's boots would stomp on the metal floor as he circled my shivering form, forcing me into a ‘presentation position’, widening my knees on the concrete floor with the end of his cane while I died a little more on the inside.
If they want to help omegas, I can tell them exactly who they’re up against and what those powerful people stand to lose if they ever do.
I try to shake off the memories, but they cling like frost to my skin. My parents had been good people—Mom teaching kindergarten, her hands always smelling of chalk and children's artwork, Dad managing the lighting store, coming home with stories about helping customers find the perfect lamp. I wish I’d presented as an omega before Haven was mandatory, but changes to legislation came through when my omega status presented itself. Because Mom and Dad couldn't afford Haven's fees, they placed me in the “common section.” It’s laughable that the two sections were made in answer to affordability when no one ever had a choice. There were a lot of omegas in that section. Many from beta parents like myself. Many from families where money was tight enough without the extra burden of birthing an omega. Then their car accident happened, and I went to the dungeon when there was no one to pay my ‘fees’…
“Mira?” Adrian's voice pulls me back to the present. “You're shaking.”
Am I? I look down at my hands to find them trembling violently. The food on the plate Zane prepared blurs before my eyes.
“You're cold,” Zane murmurs, his fingers brushing my arm. I follow his gaze to see goosebumps have risen on my skin, but the sensation of his touch is distant, disconnected. Like I'm watching someone else's body respond to memory-induced cold.
“Fuck. You’re crashing.” Adrian curses softly, his hazel eyes dark with worry. “We need to get you warm.”
A laugh bubbles up from my chest, slightly hysterical. “Warm? I was burning up a few hours ago. I didn’t have a choice about that either.” The sound that escapes me doesn't even sound human. “Funny how that works.”
Adrian exchanges a look with Zane that I can't quite interpret, but their scents spike with concern.
“Zane, run a bath,” Adrian orders quietly. Before I process what's happening, he gathers me in his arms, blanket and all.
“I can do it myself,” I protest automatically, but my voice sounds far away.
“Of course you can,” he agrees gently. “But right now, I don't think you can stand, let alone do anything else. Can you? ”
I try to focus on my legs, to assess if they could support me, but everything is disconnected. Distant. Like I'm floating somewhere above my body, watching this scene play out.
He carries me to the bathroom where Zane is filling the massive tub. Steam rises from the water, and somewhere in my mind, I register it should look inviting. I should be anything other than numb.
“You're here with us now. Safe,” Adrian murmurs against my hair.
But am I? Part of me is still in that cold room, Hugo's laugh ringing in my ears as metal bites against my skin.
The massive soaking tub could easily fit four people, its curved edges and ergonomic design speaking of thoughtful indulgence. Zane adds oils to the streaming water that fills the air with the scent of lavender and vanilla. Like what he used during my heat but more soothing. Steam rises in elegant curls, creating a dreamy haze that softens the room's sharp edges.
Adrian steps into the tub holding me and sinks down with me in his arms. The water is perfectly hot without burning, and he settles me between his thick thighs.
The liquid embrace of the water envelops us, and he begins the gentle work of warming me, cupping handfuls of water to pour over my shoulders, my arms, my collarbones. His touch remains careful, each movement designed purely for comfort and warmth rather than arousal.
He tells me to concentrate on his fingers. The warmth of the water. The air in my lungs. His quiet voice rumbles against my back, growly and soothing. I gradually notice being cradled against his chest, of how tiny I am against his large frame. His thighs bracket my hips, strong enough to hold me in place but loose enough that I could easily move if I wanted to. One arm supports my back while the other continues its gentle work of warming me.
“Better, Little One? Back with us yet?” I tense, waiting for the moment this turns sexual, for his hands to wander, for the inevitable shift from care to conquest, but he just continues his methodical care, humming softly… something low and soothing .
Adrian’s voice vibrates against my back as he settles back and starts to talk. “Zane, Cole and I were paired for a group project at university. Scent technology research. None of us wanted to work together at first. Three alphas, all stubborn as hell, all convinced we knew better than everyone else.” His laugh holds genuine warmth. “But something clicked. We had different skills but the same vision. Cole's brilliant mind for research, Zane's technical expertise, my business sense...”
Zane perches on the edge of the tub. His eyes roam my face. He must see something he’s happy with because his face loses its pinch, his shoulders round and he talks, too, adding his own warmth to the story. “We started Pinnacle in my family's basement. Just three idiots with big dreams and no money. The 'office' was this tiny space wedged between my dad's workshop and the laundry room. Second-hand furniture, computers we cobbled together ourselves, and more determination than sense.”
“But we had each other,” Adrian adds, his voice soft with memory. “We formed our pack during those early days. Working eighteen-hour days, sleeping on office floors, sharing everything, including our dreams of making real change.”
“Remember our first contract celebration?” Zane grins, reaching toward the tap to adjust the water temperature. “Pizza boxes everywhere, my mom bringing extra chairs because we didn't have enough furniture. My sister bringing that horrible attempt at champagne...”
“And Cole's face when your dad showed up with actual blueprints for expanding the lab space.” Adrian chuckles.
Their voices paint pictures of something I never expected: alphas working together without power plays or dominance battles. Supporting each other, building something from nothing, sharing a vision bigger than themselves.
“We wanted to make things better,” Adrian says softly, his hands still gentle as they warm my cold skin. “We still do. Even if the system fights us every step of the way. Even if Hardwick blocks every attempt at real change.”
The genuine frustration in his voice, the way Zane's scent spikes with shared anger at the mention of the Senator, doesn't fit with what I know of alphas, or my experiences of their cruelty and competitive natures .
“We built Pinnacle to help omegas,” Zane adds quietly. “Not to control them. Never that.”
I want to dismiss their words as lies, but there's something in their voices that speaks of truth.
“What about Cole?” The question slips out, my voice small in the steamy air. The water laps gently around us as I force myself to continue. “If he hates omegas so much, why help us? Why...” I swallow hard, hating the vulnerability in my voice. “Why dedicate your life to this if you can't stand to be near…us?”
I almost said, ‘near me’, but that would make this line of questioning more personal than I want.
The silence that follows is heavy. Adrian's hands still momentarily on my shoulders as his chest rises with a deep breath against my back.
“Cole doesn't hate omegas, Mira.” Zane shifts on the edge of the tub, his usual grace absent in the weight of this conversation. “It's... it's the opposite, actually.”
“You have the wrong idea about him.” Adrian’s touch is more deliberate now, like he's choosing his movements as carefully as his words. “Cole was hurt, badly, before we formed our pack. Before Pinnacle. That pain...” He pauses, and swallows hard. “In some ways, it brought us together. Gave us purpose.”
They exchange a look loaded with years of shared history, of understanding, of protecting their pack brother's pain.
“He loves omegas enough to dedicate his life to helping them. Even though being near them causes him pain. Even though every interaction reminds him of what he lost,” Zane says.
“He doesn't hate you, Mira.” Adrian's voice is gentle against my hair, his breath stirring the damp strands. “He hates himself.”
The water continues its gentle lap against the tub's sides, but somehow the sound is different now. Less like luxury and more like tears.
“What happened to him?” I whisper, not sure I want to hear the answer.
Their scents twist with shared grief, and I almost take back the question. Almost .
Something in me needs to understand the alpha who runs from what he wants, who dedicates his life to helping those he can't bear to be near.
Maybe because I see too much of myself in that contradiction.