33. Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Three
Mira
I scroll through the photos I took this morning, curled in my nest with the emerald pillow hugged to my chest. The penthouse provided endless subjects, rare winter sunlight streaming through windows, casting long shadows across polished floors. The careful arrangement of books in the library, leather spines gleaming. Fresh flowers in crystal vases, each petal perfect. The way dust motes danced in the air. Little details of a life I can't have for long. Moments of beauty I want to preserve.
I’ve taken photos of the places I’ve interacted with the alphas. The living room sofas where we’ve watched movies. The armchair where Adrian helped me through the strange heat spike. The kitchen where Cole cooked me chicken soup when they first brought me here. Their bedrooms. Bathrooms. The rooftop garden. Even the laundry room.
I flip to the next photo. Zane's face fills the screen, eyes crossed and tongue out, making me smile despite myself. The next shot catches Adrian mid-laugh, his usually controlled expression open and warm. The camera captured them perfectly—Zane’s playful spirit, Adrian's hidden softness. Heat pools in my belly as I remember Zane's kisses under the fairy lights. How safe I felt, how wanted, how... normal .
I have to be honest with myself… I'm falling for them. How could I not, when they treat me with such gentle care? When they give without demanding, protect without imprisoning? Their scents break down my carefully constructed defenses faster than I can rebuild them, making me want impossible things.
Guilt churns in my stomach. These are good men, successful alphas with everything to lose. If Mercer finds me here... or if Senator Hardwick discovers who's hiding me... I'll bring nothing but destruction to their lives. Sylvia Mercer and Evelyn Hardwick are powerful women, and both have a lot to lose if their secrets come out.
I know what happens to omegas like me, especially in the illegal flesh trade. Although omegas have limited rights, slavery is against the law for everyone, regardless of designation. The future that awaited Emma, Leah, and me could imprison them for life, not to mention that the methods and torture they inflicted are also unlawful. If they discovered my existence, they'd have a vested interest in silencing me and anyone I might have confided in.
I must protect my alphas. When I run I'll take this phone. Another thing to be guilty about, but at least I'll have these photographs. Physical proof that, for a brief moment, I lived in this beautiful world. That I knew what it felt like to be cared for, to be wanted, to be... loved ?
I loved my mom and dad. That was natural, but when it comes from these alphas, my emotions are so much more .
Bigger.
What I feel begins with their scents that dissolve into my bloodstream and infuse into every cell in my body until they become me. I wonder what they’re doing. What they’re thinking about. The urge to be around them is all-the-time, undeniable. Unending.
My skin tingles, pining to touch them. I burn to take them in my body. To taste them. To see them. To hear their voices. My heart flutters when I talk to them. I want to hear what they have to say. I want to understand everything about them. I’m consumed by them just because they exist.
My heart and my mind clash, shattered fragments move and shift and lock into a new pattern, broken but not as jagged. Not as disjointed. And I think…I think those pieces belong to my heart.
The only thing that is uncomfortable is the scratching heat under my skin. Sometimes, when I’m busy I don’t notice the heat, but when I’m still and I think of them, hundreds of little claws start digging into my bones. What I feel for them is happening too fast and without any logic behind it. I don’t really understand it.
Maybe I’m just so damn lonely I blow up any kindness out of proportion. Maybe I feel things I imagine are there. Maybe I feel all the feels I wish were mine to have.
My thumb hovers over the photos, and I realize what's missing. Cole. I have no shots of his quiet strength, his haunted eyes, his cautious kindness. The thought of leaving without capturing him, without having something to remember him by, is too wrong.
Throughout the day, I caught glimpses of Cole checking on me, a shadow in doorways, the brush of his scent before he disappeared into his bedroom. Each time, I wanted to chase after him, to understand why he keeps his distance when his scent calls to something deep inside me, but now I hear the familiar rhythm of fists hitting a punching bag, and something tweaks inside me .
I need to see him.
I ease out of my closet nest, phone clutched like a talisman drawn by the invisible cord that connects us. The gym is at the far end of the penthouse, and with each step, Cole's scent grows stronger. I expected a training space to smell of stale sweat and rubber, but his scent has infused every surface, rich and potent. The scratching in my bones turns into a simmer and my core clenches. I peek around the corner and... oh.
Cole doesn’t just move. He flows . All controlled power and lethal grace. He's shirtless, sweat gleaming on tanned skin as he works the heavy bag. Muscles flex and bunch with each precise strike, tattoos shifting across his broad shoulders like living art. His dark hair is damp, falling across his forehead as he maintains a brutal rhythm. There's something hypnotic about his movements, each punch calculated, each shift of his body purposeful.
My mouth dries. Heat pools low in my belly as I watch him, unable to look away. This is different from his usual contained presence. He is beautiful with his intensity. The power in his frame should frighten me, but it doesn’t. The cord pulling me to him grows tighter, making me step into the room and lift the phone. My finger presses the camera button, capturing the moment he throws a particularly powerful combination.
The sound of his measured inhales, the sharp crack of fists meeting leather, the way his scent fills the space, all combine to make my head swim. I want to bare my throat, to submit, to have those strong hands on my skin. His scent is strongest here, undiluted by those of his brothers, and the yearning in my chest almost makes me call out to him.
Cole slams a solid fist into the bag. The muscles in his bicep bulge. Sweat pours from his forehead to splatter on the mat. God, he's gorgeous when he lets his control slip. When he's not trying to maintain that careful distance, when he's just... himself. Raw and powerful and haunted by whatever ghosts drive him to punish this bag night after night. I want to see him when he’s not haunted. I want to see those hard lines relaxed. I want his scent to infuse my nest and even that wouldn’t be enough. Not when I want all of him in my nest .
No . I'm here for photos.
Just photos.
Nothing more.
I can't let myself want more than that because what I feel is not a reality I’ll ever have.
A wave of sadness washes over me. I'll never know what it's like to have Cole look at me with the tenderness Adrian and Zane have shown. Never experience him touch me in the gentle way they do, never see that softness in Cole's eyes that might be present if he looked at me for longer than three seconds.
I won't be the omega who breaks up their pack. Cole keeps his distance from me for a reason. If he knew the risk having me here entails, he’d throw me out without a moment's hesitation. And I’d agree with every action. They've taken enough chances, shown enough kindness to last me a lifetime.
I raise the phone again, desperate to capture one last perfect shot of him. I want to showcase the sweat on his shoulders. The way the fluorescent light catches the stark, powerful lines of his body. I want to remember the intensity of his expression, the power he keeps contained. I center the shot, lost in the perfection filling the screen.
Something makes him pause mid-strike. His head snaps up and his eyes lock into mine. I'm imprisoned by pure alpha focus. I can’t move from my spot even if my life depended on it. His chest heaves with exertion, sweat dripping down his temples, following the dips and ridges of hard muscle. His eyes bore into mine, something wild and wanting and afraid all at once. His scent spikes, the deliciousness flooding my senses and making slick pool in my core.
“What are you doing here, Little Mouse?”
I clench the phone and lower it, trying to ignore how his voice sends shivers down my spine. “I'm not a little mouse.”
Not the best comeback, but hell, it's all I can think of when my entire being drinks up the picture he presents. When his scent makes me want to beg for his knot .
“It's better than calling you little voyeur,” he says, and there's something almost playful beneath his gruff tone that catches me off guard.
“I'm not a voyeur, either.” Although what I was doing totally was. Heat floods my cheeks at being caught.
“What else do you call someone who hides and takes photos of people without their consent?” he says. This is the most he's ever spoken to me, and the novelty of it makes my omega preen despite the circumstances.
I'm thrown by this sudden communication, by him actually engaging with me instead of maintaining careful distance. I can't tell him the truth and admit I'm collecting memories for when I have to run, or why I need these photos of him specifically.
Instead, I grasp at the first excuse that comes to mind, one that might serve a dual purpose. “Could you...” I swallow hard, forcing myself to meet his intense gaze. “Could you teach me how to throw a punch? I want to be able to defend myself.”
He stares at me, his expression unreadable, and my heart sinks. Of course. He doesn't want to be near me. That's been clear from the start. I'm an idiot for even asking. “It’s okay, I’ll just…”
I turn to leave, cheeks burning with embarrassment, when his voice stops me. “Grab a pair of gloves first, Little Mouse. You’ll need to protect those hands.”
I spot the container of gloves and select a pair that might fit. As I set my phone on the counter, my fingers trembling slightly, I realize what I've just gotten myself into. Close proximity to Cole. To his raw power, his intoxicating scent. To everything I've been trying not to want.
Walking toward him is like moving through honey. Every step onto the mat strengthens his scent. That itchy heat simmers under my skin. Slick pools in my core, and panic flares. He'll smell it, how much I want him. Because Gods, I do want him. As much as I want Adrian's steady strength and Zane's playful tenderness .
But Cole... Cole is untouchable. Off limits. The alpha who keeps his distance for reasons I should respect. Who looks at me with something like fear behind his desire.
This was a terrible idea. Being this close to him is too much.
This will only end in heartbreak… mine, when I have to leave. But it's too late to back out now. He's watching me approach with those intense eyes, and my body moves of its own accord, drawn to him in a command I can’t resist.