20. Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty
Zane
T he omega beside me is so small, so fragile, it makes me keen with the need to protect. She settles into the corner of the couch, making herself as compact as possible, like she's trying to take up the least amount of space. The soft, new blanket Cole left across the sofa for her drowns her thin frame. She burrows into it, using it as some sort of armor. I’m glad I wrapped it around her because she wouldn’t have reached for it herself, no matter how much her nature would have hounded her.
Omegas love soft things. Comfort items. And she had none of those in that disgrace of an apartment in which we found her. She probably couldn't afford them, but I suspect she intentionally avoided getting anything for herself because she's worked so hard to suppress her nature.
I bring up a selection of rom coms I think she might like. “Let’s see. These are the latest and greatest on the market today. How about a movie with Jacob Knight in it?”
From what I recall, the actor is the latest heartthrob no female alpha, beta, or omega can resist. Her scent shifts, spun sweetness to an edge of burned sugar. Her fingers stroke the soft edge of the blanket as her eyes glide over the images. A nervous tell, one of many I've started cataloging. Her hands are too thin, the bones too prominent. The lack of recognition in her expression pings something in my brain. “Uh. I don’t really know him, but I’m happy if you think it’s the right choice.”
Her expression is blank yet guarded as I study her. The actor is the biggest heartthrob on the planet right now. There aren’t many people who wouldn’t know of him and…she’s not lying.
I bring up a selection that goes back a few years, testing her with older actors who have moved on to other things or roles more suited to their age. I try to hide my frown when she shows no recognition. “Do you like any of these?”
Her eyes light up when a slide catches her attention. “I like that one. Mom, Dad and I watched it the last time I saw it.”
I hadn’t realized the selection had moved into the previous decade. Her green eyes dart to my face, checking my reaction, always vigilant. Always waiting for the threat. The dark circles under her eyes speak of chronic exhaustion, and there's a slight tremor in her hands that suggests she's running on pure adrenaline. It’s going to take her more than a few days of good meals to heal. I make a mental note to ask Dr. Maverick to run more tests when she’s better healed, to see if there’s any permanent damage to her system. Past the more recent malnutrition to the reason why her body is covered in scars.
I want to pull her into my arms, to shelter her from whatever horrors she's survived, but she's not ready for that. Instead, I maintain my casual demeanor because that helps the most for now, though my hand tightens on the remote until the plastic creaks.
I force a smile to my lips and start the movie. “I love that one too! I haven’t seen it in ages.”
I haven’t seen it at all, but I’m rewarded when her shoulders finally drop from up around her ears. I move slowly and settle my arm around her. She tenses, but I keep my touch light, not pulling away. She's a bird ready to take flight, every muscle coiled with uncertainty, but she has to learn that touch from us is only good. Only pleasurable. Her scent carries notes of anxiety mixed with something like longing… as if she wants the comfort but doesn't trust herself to accept it.
“Alphas need contact too. Would you mind indulging me?” It's a careful lie. Well, not entirely a lie. I do need the contact, but more importantly, I need her to accept my comfort and understand it’s given without obligation.
“I haven't watched a movie in such a long time. It’s decadent,” she murmurs, her attention already caught by the opening scenes. I don't think she realizes what she's revealed in that simple statement, how it speaks volumes about her life these past years.
“Why is it decadent, Baby Girl?”
Her glance at me is wary. She shrugs a pointy shoulder as though to throw the thought away. “Just not a lot of time to watch a movie between jobs, that’s all.”
I don’t press for more, even when I want to beg to know everything about her. As the movie plays, I can't take my eyes off her. Her face is transformed by wonder at simple animations, at moments of joy and friendship playing out on screen. Each genuine reaction is a gift, a glimpse of who she might have been before whatever happened to make her so wary, so hurt.
Gradually, her body begins to relax against mine. The exhaustion she's been fighting starts to win. Her head grows heavier against my shoulder, her breathing evening out. The dark circles under her eyes look even more pronounced up close, and I can see other signs of chronic stress—the slight gray tinge to her skin, the way her pulse still races even as she drifts off .
She finally sinks fully into slumber, even though the movie is barely a third of the way through, her small body curling against mine. It’s a victory and a heartbreak at the same time.
I adjust the blanket around her, making sure she's warm and comfortable and try not to jostle her awake. Her scent in sleep is sweeter, less bitter with fear and anxiety. Lingering traces of her heat are there, as though it’s not quite over, as though its claws are still locked there.
That doesn’t make sense.
Her heat was brutal enough to have finished, and yet complex musky notes still float off her skin, hovering.
I pick up my phone and pull up our pack chat.
ZANE: She's asleep on me. Guys, she hasn't seen a movie in almost a decade. Had no idea who Jacob Knight is.
I snap a photo of her curled against me in sleep, looking small and vulnerable under the cream blanket. Longing washes through me from both Adrian and Cole. Good. If it makes Cole pull his head out of his ass when it comes to Mira, then I have no guilt for making him jealous.
He’s beaten himself up and denied himself long enough. It’s time to heal and this little omega, our scent-match no less, will help him with that. She doesn’t realize how precious she really is. How much power she wields over us.
I look down at her sleeping form, so small against me. I hate to think of her life before we found her. A life that left no room for normal experiences.
ADRIAN: The biggest actor in Hollywood right now? That's concerning.
COLE: How did she react when you mentioned him?
ZANE: Blank confusion. Like she's been living in a void. And she let slip that she works “jobs”. Plural.
Without a designation card for employment, she’d be forced to work for cash-only jobs, and those are often the most brutal and lowest paid. My arm tightens slightly around her shoulders, protective rage building in my chest. How long has she been pushing herself? Why isn’t she at Haven, living a life suited to her biology?
COLE: Black market suppressants aren't cheap. Especially with Hardwick's restrictions.
ADRIAN: Two minimum wage jobs would barely cover rent and suppressants. No wonder she's malnourished.
The thought makes me sick. Her ribs bump under my hand. Her clothes hang off her frame. She's been starving herself to afford the medication she needs to stay hidden.
ZANE: An omega of her age facing a heat should not have been afraid. She should know exactly what it is and what to expect.
It was clear her idea of it was pure terror. And she’d only had the one before this one.
COLE: She should be bonded by now. Maybe even pupped. Instead, she's running herself into the ground, working multiple jobs to stay hidden.
ADRIAN: The question is, hidden from what? Or from whom?
Mira shifts slightly in her sleep, a small whimper escaping her throat. I gentle my scent immediately, soothing her back to a deeper rest.
COLE: Whatever she's running from, it’s bad if she'd rather live like this.
ADRIAN: No omega chooses this kind of existence without reason.
ZANE: She's terrified of going back somewhere. You should see how she flinches at certain things. This isn't just anxiety. It's a trained response.
I think of how she checks exits, makes herself small, how she expects punishment for every slip. Someone taught her those responses.
COLE: Institutional?
ADRIAN: Would explain the gaps in her cultural knowledge. The behavioral conditioning.
ZANE: Whatever it is, she's a survivor. You should see her, even sleeping she's partly alert. But she's so strong. To have survived this long alone…
Her strength amazes me. Despite everything, she's kept fighting, kept surviving. Kept her spirit, even if it's buried deep.
ZANE: She said she lived in Camden before her designation came in. There can’t be many omegas by the name of Mira from that area.
COLE: We have access to the omega registry. I’ll check.
That's one advantage of Hardwick's extensive documentation—each omega is meticulously tracked. We have records dating back to when the laws began to shift concerning omegas and their well-being. It was then that institutes such as Haven opened, and families started entrusting their omega children to the system designed for their education and care, following Hardwick's guidance.
Yet, a thought nudges at the back of my mind. Could Haven itself play a role in Mira's troubles? Not the entire institution, but perhaps a rogue element—a bad apple hidden within its ranks? The very place meant to protect might harbor something more sinister.
I want our omega to tell us about herself, but she’s so damaged it won’t be easy for her to trust us. We’ll work on that, but in the meantime, any information we can find will help us help her.
ADRIAN: Good, Cole. Tell us as soon as you hear anything. Zane, did she let you buy anything for her?
My brothers know as well as I do she came here with nothing. Clothes destined for the charity bin. Thin and threadbare. The thing she calls a coat won’t stand up to any winter wind. She packed next to nothing when we took her from that dump of an apartment, not that she left any clothing behind. What she took was all she had.
I used the ridiculous stuff as cover to see what actually caught her eye. She didn’t want me to buy anything and looked terrified if I put items in the cart. Luckily, I brought my laptop with me and ordered the basics for her while she slept.
ZANE: She didn’t let me, but I ordered them anyway. They’re coming this afternoon.
Mira whimpers in her sleep, her body tensing against mine. Her scent spikes with distress, that bitter note of fear returning. My thumb flies over the screen.
ZANE: Another nightmare starting.
I gather her closer, letting my scent wrap around her. The way she burrows into my chest, seeking comfort in sleep, breaks my heart. An omega needs physical contact like they need air. Going without is systematic torture for their nature. If her logical brain doesn't recognize us as mates, her subconscious certainly must.
COLE: How bad is it?
ZANE: I think she’s…touch-starved. She responds to every casual touch like she's dying of thirst and someone's offering water. Then immediately tenses like she expects it to be taken away.
ADRIAN: No wonder she has serious health issues. Especially combined with malnutrition and exhaustion .
Our omega needs to get well. She needs to be pampered. She needs to understand what it is to be an omega.
What it is to be loved.
I check Mira's face, now peaceful in sleep, before typing. I’m concerned about the dark circles under her eyes against her too-pale skin. She puts her nose against the scent gland in my neck and inhales. Her breath tickles my skin, but I don’t move. She’s scenting me in her sleep. Something she’s never done in a conscious way. She also had no reaction when Adrian told her we were mates. My fingers hover over the phone as the implications hit me. Every omega knows their true mates by scent. It's instinctual, biological. Unless…
ZANE: What if she doesn't know what we are to her? Like really doesn’t know.
ADRIAN: Explain.
ZANE: She's been on suppressants so long, denying her omega nature. What if her instincts are too suppressed to recognize us as her mates?
The thought makes my chest ache. Years of chemical suppression may very well have muted her ability to recognize what we are to each other, added to years of fighting her omega nature.
COLE: It makes sense. Her recognition response could be way off.
ADRIAN: We need her story. To understand what we're dealing with. And I swear to the Gods, I'm going to get Hardwick to change this legislation if it kills me. Plus, we need to find that leak at Pinnacle. Black market suppressants come from somewhere, and it starts with us.
ZANE: Meanwhile, I plan to spoil her until she can't help but fall for us, mates or not.
I’ll pull everything in my arsenal because, as much as I hate to admit, she’s a flight risk. I want her to be ours so badly it hurts. Want to see her healthy, happy, cherished. Want to watch her bloom under our care, see her cheeks fill out, her eyes lose that haunted look. Want to hear her laugh without fear.
Movement catches my eye. Cole stands in the doorway, watching her sleep. The longing on his face is raw and painful to witness. For a moment, I see everything he desires but thinks he can't have. His hands clench at his sides, his scent thick with need and grief and want.
Then his walls slam back up, his expression hardening as his gaze finds mine, and he stalks away, leaving only his scent of leather and pine, tinged with pain and longing.
ZANE: He was just here. Watching her.
ADRIAN: Progress. Small steps.
COLE: I can still read the chat, you know.
ZANE: Good. Then read this: She needs all of us, brother. Even the broken parts. If anyone will understand, it’s her.
The silence that follows speaks volumes. I look down at Mira, still sleeping trustingly against me despite everything she's survived. Maybe that's the lesson here… broken things can still trust, still love, still heal.
If we're patient enough.
If we're gentle enough.
If we can convince her to stay long enough to let us help.
My phone screen dims as I set it aside, focusing instead on the precious weight in my arms. One step at a time. One touch, one meal, one moment of trust.
We'll bring our omega home to herself, and to us.