18. Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Eighteen
Mira
“ W e'll answer you. We have nothing to hide, but I would like it to come from Cole and not us. It's his story to tell, as an apology for what he’s done to you,” Adrian says.
“I don't want an apology from him.” The words come out more bitter than intended, the hurt of his rejection warring with understanding. I wrap my arms around my knees and tuck them close to my chest, avoiding both alphas' gazes. “Some things are so deep they should never be discussed.” Like my own scars. Like the memories that still wake me screaming. Like the knowledge I hold about very powerful people.
Adrian's fingertip ghosts over a thin, puckered line across my shoulder. I tense, expecting him to demand I tell him how I got this mark, but his touch retreats immediately. “Not yet at least,” he whispers.
A yawn catches me by surprise, my body's exhaustion finally overwhelming everything else. The warm water and the alphas’ careful attention have drained the last of my reserves.
“Come on. Let's get you out of this tub and back to bed.” I stiffen automatically at the word 'bed', but Adrian continues smoothly, “For sleep, Little One. Just for sleep.” His scent carries nothing but honesty and penetrating fatigue.
“I can...”
Adrian scoops me up before I can finish the protest, standing in one fluid motion that displays his strength. He presses a kiss to my temple—so gentle it barely registers—before passing me to Zane. “I know you can. We’re not debating that. You’re strong and independent and that’s something to be admired. But you’ve just gone through a heat and need help. Please let us be that help.”
Zane's hands are gentle with the towel, efficient yet cautious as he dries me. There are no lingering touches or exploitations of my exposed vulnerability—just genuine care and attention. Adrian swiftly attends to himself, then turns his focus back to me.
“My nest,” I protest as he carries me toward the bed. Anxiety flutters in my chest at the thought of leaving my safe space and familiar scents.
“It needs to be washed,” he says. “The bed is clean. Nothing will happen—we all need rest.” His arms cradle me like I'm something precious and worth protecting.
I study his face, noting again the dark circles under his eyes, the stubble on his jaw, the exhaustion evident in every line. His face is softened by fatigue, making him look as wrecked as I am.
The shower starts in the bathroom—Zane, I assume—as Adrian settles us both in the bed. The mattress is impossibly soft, the sheets silky against my skin. Nothing like my thin mattress on the floor. I take a careful breath, analyzing the scent. It's neutral, new. Unused. No other omegas have slept here. I hate the way I relax as that truth takes root.
“I hope the omega you saved this bed for doesn't mind my scent in it,” I say.
Adrian nuzzles against my hair, his chest warm against my back as he draws me close. There's an intimacy to being held like this, skin to skin, that should frighten me. His muscled form curves around mine perfectly, protective rather than possessive. One arm drapes over my waist, heavy enough to ground me but loose enough that I could easily escape. He pulls me closer but makes no other moves, his eyes already closing.
“Our omega,” he corrects softly, “needs to get used to some luxury. Sleep, Little One.”
I want to argue, to remind him I'm not staying, that I can't be their omega, that this gentleness is more dangerous than any amount of force, but exhaustion drags me under before I can form the words.
Hugo shoves me down onto the hard chair on the other side of Dr. Mercer's desk. She doesn’t look up as she finishes writing some documents. I sit as still as I can with Hugo at my back while we wait. It’s never a good idea to bring attention to myself, even if she called me here. She’s an alpha and I’ve learned never to interrupt an alpha until they’re ready to focus on you.
The sterile smell of her office, antiseptic and cold, is just like her. The leather chair sticks to my thighs as I sit before her massive mahogany desk, the wood gleaming with the same heartless perfection as her coiffed hair.
She finally looks up, cold eyes roaming over me from behind expensive frames. Strange how every time I see her, her pupils are nothing more than pinpoints. “Your parents were involved in an automobile accident.” No preamble, no gentleness. Just facts delivered like weather reports. Like my world wasn't ending with each word. “There were no survivors.”
The world stops. Tilts. Shatters. The air becomes too thick to breathe, time stretching like taffy around the impossible words.
“No,” I whisper, the word small and broken in the vast office. “They were... they were coming to visit today. They told me they would be here...” Their letter is in my pocket, my mother's handwriting promising a visit for my birthday. One of the only times Haven allows parental visits, and this one is special. I’m twenty-one today.
“That’s all irrelevant now,” Mercer continues, manicured nails shuffling papers on her desk. The movement draws my eye… death certificates. Mom’s. Dad’s. And…mine.
What are they doing on her desk? Why is she signing them?
Her cold eyes fall on me. “You're a ward of the Institute now.”
The tears come then, hot and unstoppable, blurring the edges of the nightmare-memory. I can't breathe through the grief. Can't process. Can't understand how my gentle beta parents—my mother who taught kindergarten, my father who could make anyone smile with his dad jokes—could just... stop existing.
“Control yourself,” Mercer snaps, her lip curling in disgust. “Omegas and their emotional displays. So unbecoming of a Haven omega. We expect better control.”
But I can't stop. My parents are gone. Just... gone. The sobs tear from my throat, each one an offense against Haven's rigid control. “No. You’re lying. This isn’t true. They’re coming to see me. They’ll be here soon. Let me out of here. Let me see them!”
Mercer’s gaze tracks behind my shoulder. “Hugo, our young omega needs a lesson in emotional regulation. The cold room should help clear her mind before you take her to the basement.”
“No.” My voice is drowned by grief. By terror. “What is the basement? I want my nest. I want my mom!”
“Perhaps,” Mercer's voice follows me as Hugo drags me away, “this will teach you that attachment only leads to weakness. You’re mine to shape and mold as I see fit now, Omega. I own every part of you. Mind, body and soul. Although you are good for one thing.” Her lips twist into something cruel. “I’m going to make a great deal of money from you.”
“Mom!” When I scream myself awake, warm arms catch me. A familiar scent, smoked cedar laced with vanilla spices, surrounds me. The nightmare tries to hold on, but reality filters in: soft sheets, warm skin.
“You're safe.” Adrian's voice cuts through the remnants of the nightmare, his arms secure around me. “You're safe. ”
I can't stop trembling, my body wracked with sobs I can't control. The nightmare-memory clings like frost, making me shake despite Adrian's warmth wrapped around me.
“Where is your mom, Little One?” he asks softly, and horror floods through me as I realize I've been speaking aloud. How much did I reveal in my distress?
“G…gone,” I choke out, unable to stop the words from tumbling out. “They…they never came. They were coming for my birthday. They…died, they…oh my Gods, it's not safe. They’re looking for me. I can't… I won't go back. Not ever .” My voice breaks on the last word, panic making it hard to finish.
I won't survive it. The thought pounds through my head. Living on the streets, working two jobs, starving to afford suppressants… it's been hard, so hard, but it will be nothing compared to what awaits me if I'm caught. There will be no second escape. No more chances. Just a lifetime of “correction” and servitude, of being broken down until there's nothing left of me.
“Who's looking for you?” Adrian asks gently, his arms secure around me. “Where do you think they’ll take you back to?”
The question brings me to my senses. I've said too much already. If I tell him about Haven, about escaping... Emma and Leah might still be out there somewhere. I can't risk their safety; can't betray the only friends I've ever had.
“Please,” I whisper, pressing my face into his chest. “Don't make me tell you. Please.”
He's quiet for a long moment, and I wait for the demands, the alpha commands, the insistence on answers. The bark that will force me to give up my secrets.
But it doesn’t come.
Instead, he simply holds me closer, one hand stroking my back in soothing circles. “Okay,” he murmurs against my hair. “Okay, Little One. You don't have to tell me if you’re not ready.”
The simple acceptance of my boundaries, the lack of demands, makes fresh tears spring to my eyes. He just keeps holding me, his scent shielding me against the memories, offering comfort without expectation, and all I can do is keep wondering why. I shake and cry until fatigue drags me under again and then I know nothing until I wake to find myself alone in the impossibly soft bed. It takes a minute to process that I actually fell back asleep after that nightmare.
That's... unusual.
Normally, after dreaming of that day, sleep is impossible. I spend those nights jumping at shadows, convinced that Hugo and Lars have finally tracked me down. That they're coming to drag me back to Haven.
My ratty backpack sits by the wall, looking even more pathetic against the luxury surrounding it. I pad over on bare feet, the plush carpet cushioning each step. Inside are my few possessions… three shirts, two pairs of pants, some underwear.
The clothes smell musty from being stuffed in the pack. Some were already due for washing before my heat hit. I'll have to ask if I can clean them, but...the thought trails off. Ask what? To use their facilities? To borrow more clothes? Everything here is a trap waiting to spring and I will not ask for a thing. I don’t want to owe them anything. Well, nothing more than the food I’ve already eaten, although my heat should have paid them back for that.
Now dressed in my cleanest outfit, which isn't saying much, I perch on the edge of the bed, not knowing what to do. I’m not rushing to get to a job, or being ordered around. Minutes tick by, but no one appears. No instructions have been given, no expectations laid out.
What am I supposed to do now that my heat is over? Just... leave? Stay? Wait for orders?
At least the heat itself is done, though the thought of finding more suppressants makes my stomach clench. I don't know of any other reliable dealers than Marcus, and he turned out to not be reliable at all. The black market is getting more dangerous by the day, prices climbing as police crackdown on suppliers.
A twinge in my abdomen makes me pause. It’s almost like... but no, that's impossible. My heat should be over. This lingering sensation, like warmth coiling deep inside… I've never experienced that before. When my last heat broke, I was do ne, but really, what would I know? I’ve only had one heat before this one, and they were each as horrendous as the other.
Yet…something is different this time. Wrong, maybe. Or just... different.
The scent of cooking wafts through the air, something savory that makes my stomach clench with hunger. Bacon, eggs. An omelet, perhaps? These alphas don’t do things by halves. Movement and low voices drift from somewhere in the penthouse, domestic sounds so different to the raised voices and loud music that pounds through the walls in my apartment building. Not that I’ll be going back there. My room has probably been ransacked and become someone else's step above living on the streets.
Suddenly, I can’t remember if I packed my locket. I fall to my knees and upend my pack on the floor. Dirty laundry falls over the carpet. A few toiletries. I rifle through the articles, nausea rising in my gut.
I can’t find it. I’ve lost the locket.
I must have dropped it when the alphas found me in my apartment, momentarily forgotten in my panic of being discovered. I’ll never get it back now. It was the last thing I had of my parents.
Now I have nothing.
I sit back on my heels, staring at the wall until my vision blurs. Until the cold from the snow falling against the window permeates my bones.
I’m never going to get warm again.
Not until my next heat. When the desperation will start all over again.
I wrap my arms around my stomach and clench my eyes shut. If I were a beta, life would be so different. Okay, I might not have a lot, but I’d have my parents. I’d have a home. Maybe even a job I liked. My future would be certain. That present would be nothing like my stark reality now.
The stark reality I can’t waste any time not planning for.
At least I have a few months to rest before my next heat. If I can’t find any suppressants by then, I’ll definitely scope out some empty warehouses where I can ride it out alone. I don’t want that happening, but beggars can’t be choosers, and I’m definitely begging these days .
My stomach cramps again with hunger. I can’t sit here all day. I wipe my face, hope it’s not too splodgy from crying, and step hesitantly out of the bedroom, conspicuous in my worn clothes against the luxury surrounding me. If I don’t head out, one of the alphas might come for me and I don’t want to give them any reason to come and find me. I should be the one cooking for them, by rights. A good omega always serves her alphas. Now my heat is finished, they’ll expect duties from me, other than the one on my back. They might not want to see me at all, now that my heat is over.
Adrian told me we’re mates, but that might be something that he just said to confuse me. Make me think things that aren’t real. To maybe hope they are so they can lead me on but... Adrian held me through my nightmare, his arms strong and sure around me, his scent wrapping me in safety when the terror threatened to overwhelm me. Zane drew that bath, added those oils, cared for me with gentle patience. Even Cole, who can't bear to be near me, cooked for me during my heat. Patches of memory break through the haze of him bringing cut fruit and cheese so that Zane and Adrian could feed me. He walked away when I begged him to stay. I do remember that. But he still provided nourishment, and that is far more than many alphas would do.
They didn’t have to do any of that. None of it aligns with what I learned at Haven about alphas and their nature. Everything I was taught, everything beaten into me about alpha behavior and omega submission, crumbles in the face of their careful consideration.
I can't allow myself to get comfortable, though. Can't let my guard down. Can't trust that this gentleness will last. History has taught me better than that.
Following my nose, I make my way toward the kitchen, but stop short in the doorframe, arrested by the scene before me.
All three alphas are there, existing in comfortable domesticity. Cole stands at the stove, his movements precise as he tends to whatever is cooking. His shoulders tense when he no doubt scents me. Zane has set up a laptop on the kitchen island, absorbed in whatever is on his screen. Adrian leans against the counter, scrolling through his phone, and taking a sip of coffee. I don't remain unnoticed for long. Zane looks up from his laptop, his blue eyes finding me straight away.