4. Chapter Four
Chapter Four
Emma
I jerk awake, heart hammering against my ribs. Something's wrong. The perpetual darkness that I normally wake to... is not dark. Light filters through my eyelids, foreign and frightening. I force my eyes open, then slam them shut against the assault of light, color, movement.
Slowly, carefully, I try again. I see a window through my hazy vision.
An actual window . But that… that’s impossible.
There are no windows in my basement and yet trees sway outside the glass in a breeze I can't feel, their leaves a green so vibrant it hurts to look at. Cars glide past on a street below, the sun glinting off metal and glass. People—actual people— walk along a sidewalk, going about their lives as if everything is normal. As if the world isn’t just darkness and concrete and chains.
And above it all, the sun hangs in a blue sky.
My forgotten friend. My eyes water as I drink in its reality.
I haven't seen the sun in... how long? The sight is so surreal, so impossible, that hysteria bubbles up in my chest. This can't be real.
This has to be a dream, or maybe I'm finally, blessedly dead.
Hope flutters in my chest, a dangerous sensation that makes me want to sob.
Maybe my prayers were finally answered. But then my alphas’ rage crashes through the travesty of a half-bond, freezing whatever warmth the sun might give me. Their emotions slash through me like well-worn knives, reminding me that I'm not that lucky.
Surely death wouldn't include their toxic presence.
But there's something else alongside their toxic-waste emotions. Another presence in my mind, unfamiliar yet somehow... right. It floods me with self-hatred so deep it takes my breath, despair that matches my own, self-loathing that’s oddly protective.
Where my other bonds hold only darkness, this one carries light. Painful light, but light nonetheless.
My hand flies to my neck, finding thick bandages where teeth tore into my flesh.
The memory hits me of the massive alpha with gentle hands and anguished eyes.
The way he gathered me close instead of taking what he wanted when I’d offered my singular worth.
Mate, he'd said. But that's impossible. I'm already claimed. Already bound. And I wasn’t in heat.
I look down at myself. Clean white sheets surround me. Antiseptic instead of mold stings my nostrils. A hospital gown covers skin that's been washed so clean I barely recognize my own arms. An IV drips clear fluid into my vein, a pulse monitor on my finger.
I'm in a hospital room. With windows and sunlight and machines that beep steady rhythms. My chest constricts as panic sets in.
This isn't possible. This isn't allowed.
I shouldn't be here, getting this sort of treatment.
They'll come for me, and they’ll make me pay.
They always come for me. Always make me pay.
The sunlight is suddenly a spotlight, exposing me, marking me for punishment because good things don't happen.
I don't get windows or sunlight or clean sheets.
I get darkness and pain and half-formed bonds that let my alphas torture me from the inside out.
And now there's a new bond, a new alpha, a new way to be broken.
A new alpha to find more depths of hell to put me in my place.
To brand me. Own me. Make me do more unspeakable things because he has that power.
My heart rate spikes as I stare at the window. At the freedom it promises beyond. I’m alone in this room. There’s nothing but glass between me and the outside world. Between me and escape. I might never get another chance like this. No chains, no locked doors, no alphas watching my every move.
I force myself to sit up, muscles screaming in protest. My arms shake with the effort of supporting my own weight and black spots dance across my eyes. The simple act of sitting upright leaves me dizzy and gasping. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters except getting to that window.
The sheets slip away as I swing my legs over the side of the bed. A thick bandage wraps around my ankle where the cuff used to be, but there's no metal biting into my flesh any more. No chain rattling with every movement. Nothing to bind me down.
I rip the IV from my arm and toss the needle aside, watching with detached fascination as blood drips from the wound.
I feel nothing. The heart rate monitor comes next, its steady beeping cutting off in a shrill alarm that makes me flinch.
The sound pierces my skull, sets my teeth on edge. I have to move before someone comes.
Will I be charged if I steal myself? Can that actually happen? Perhaps not, because omegas aren’t people and property can’t steal itself.
My feet touch the floor, and my knees buckle.
I catch myself on the bed rail, fingers white-knuckled as I refuse to fall.
My legs are made of water, threatening to collapse with each shuffling step a battle against gravity.
It takes forever to cross the room and I struggle to retain my balance.
Smears of blood on the floor mark my painfully slow progress but I make it.
My hands shake as they touch the window frame, searching for the latch, for any way to open it.
The glass is cool under my palms, the world beyond so close I could cry.
There’s nothing. No latch, no handle, no way out.
I bang my palms on the glass. “No!” My voice is hoarse. Unused.
My fingers scrabble against unyielding glass, desperation making my movements frantic. There must be a way. Has to be something. I can't go back to the darkness. I can't let them chain me again. I can't…
The door opens behind me.
“I need help in here! She's pulled out her IV!” A male voice shouts, raw with panic. His voice cracks with something that sounds like genuine fear. Not anger. Not cruelty. Just... fear. For me?
I sob as arms close around my waist, lifting me off my feet. My body turns rigid, waiting for the pain, the punishment, the inevitable reminder of my place. Instead, I’m cradled against a warm, firm chest.
His scent hits next. Masculine. Alpha. Prime alpha that makes Matthew’s scent a draft in the wind in comparison.
This scent is thick. Filled with power. Smoked whiskey and worn leather wrap around me, and something inside me.
.. shifts. The scent is nothing like the toxic markers I’m used to.
This is safety and warmth and home, promising protection even as my mind screams not to trust it.
It seeps into my bones, makes my muscles slacken against my will.
I’m wrapped in warmth after an eternity of cold. I’m coming in from a raging storm.
“It’s okay, omega. You’re safe, I promise,” his deep voice whispers in my soul.
I tilt my head back, needing to see the face that belongs to this scent.
Dark hair falls across his forehead, mussed and spiked in all directions.
His olive skin is shadowed with stubble that hasn't seen a razor in days, and there are dark circles under his eyes that speak of sleepless nights.
A muscle ticks in his strong jaw. His name drifts to me, remembered on the wings of a horrified tone. Asher .
The alpha who claimed me.
Asher peers down at me, the endless deep brown filled with something I can't name. Something that looks like pain and guilt. Like he's the one who's been hurt.
He's also beautiful. Strong jaw, full lips, the kind of face that belongs on billboards.
But it's the exhaustion etched into his features, the worry lines around his eyes, the way he holds me so tenderly, as though I might shatter if he grips too tight, that makes me want to hide from the raw emotion on display.
I flinch at the movement at the door and press back against the alpha holding me.
Two more men burst in, one with neat brown hair cut military-short, the other with disheveled blond waves.
Both wear rumpled black uniforms like they've slept in them; both stop short when they see me.
I recognize them too. These are the other alphas who came to me in the basement.
“Gods, she's out of bed!” The blond one's voice cracks with what sounds like shock. His blue eyes widen, darting from me to the bloody trail I've left across the floor. “Ash, she's bleeding.” His hands hover in the air like he wants to reach for me but is afraid I'll break.
Ash. That must be short for Asher.
“I know she’s bleeding,” Asher says, his voice harsh as his beautiful full lips twist.
“ Nurse !” The blond sticks his head out the door, bellowing down the hall with enough force to make me cringe. My heart flips in my chest like it’s a hammer pounding hot metal into shape. I’m about to lose my shit with the sudden noise. The attention. Their scents and just…them.
“We need a nurse in here now !” When the blond turns back, his face is twisted with apology when he takes in my state. “Didn't mean to shout, Omega. Just... you're hurt and...”
“Tone it down, Phoenix. She’s jumpy enough as it is,” Buzz-cut rasps. His voice is gentle. Solid. As though I could lean up against him in a storm and I’d be safe. I remember his name too. Soren.
The blond, Phoenix, gouges his fingers through his hair as he looks at me. “I’m so sorry.”
Why is he apologizing?
Their scents flow over me, dark roast and spiced wood and my muscles loosen from the death grip on my bones. The combination should be overwhelming, terrifying, but these scents... the scents wrap around me like Asher’s, promising all the things I thought I wanted but were beaten out of me.
Dangerous.
So, so dangerous because the promise makes no sense .
“How did she make it to the window?” Soren asks, his voice tight.
He takes a careful step forward, hands slightly raised like he's approaching a wounded animal.
Which, I suppose, I am. “She shouldn't even be awake yet. The doctor said...” He trails off, swallowing hard as he looks at the blood dripping down my arm.
“Determination, brother,” Asher says, his arms tightening fractionally around me. Not restraining, but... supporting? “Pure determination.” There's something in his voice that sounds almost like pride, but that can't be right.
Phoenix moves closer, completing their circle around me. But it doesn't feel like being trapped. Doesn't feel like being cornered. It’s like... shelter? Protection? My mind can't process this reversal of everything I know about alphas and their behavior.
“Hey, sweetheart,” Phoenix says softly, his blue eyes full of gentleness that makes me think I’ve lost my grip on sanity.
“Let us help you back to bed before you do harm to yourself. We can’t have that.
Not when everyone has worked so hard to save you.
The nurses here would hand my ass to me on a silver platter. They are that scary.”
An almost-laugh bubbles up in my chest. The sensation is so foreign, so forgotten, that it dies before it reaches my throat. When was the last time anyone tried to make me laugh? When was the last time anyone spoke to me like I was... human?
My thoughts scatter like startled birds. I don't know what to feel, what to think.
“What's your name, honey?” Soren asks.
I freeze. My name? It's been so long since anyone called me anything but 'omega' or ‘whore’ or ‘slut’ or.
.. other things, bad things I try not to remember.
My name is distant, belonging to someone else.
Someone who existed before the basement, before the darkness, before I learned what being omega really means.
The girl who had that name died a long time ago. She died the day her parents died. Just after her omega designation sentenced her to this life. The day those alphas put that chain around her ankle. I'm not her anymore. I'm nothing but the ghost of that girl, and ghosts don't need names.
I shake my head. Speaking is dangerous. Everything is dangerous. Panic claws up my throat. Too many alphas.
Too close.
Too much.
I twist from the alpha who holds me, desperate to get away.
I slap my palm on his chest, heaving out of his arms, surprised when he lets me go.
One thing I’ve learned about alphas is that they're hyper-focused, unmovable, and if they don’t want to let their prey go, they do not.
My legs give out the moment my feet touch the floor, and I sprawl at the massive alpha’s feet.
The alpha looming so tall reaches for me. I try to scramble away but all I can do is flounder on the floor, coating myself in blood, tears and snot. I hear a terrible sound. A wounded sound. Some animal is being tortured nearby, I’m sure of it, and then I realize the sound comes from me.
Asher crashes to his knees in front of me, but all I see are hands reaching for me. A scream tears from my throat, and I throw my arms over my head. My bladder releases, warm liquid spreading beneath me on the cold tile, but I'm beyond shame. Beyond everything.
Voices shout around me. Running footsteps. The squeak of rubber soles on tile. Someone calling for help, but I'm already retreating, falling back into the safe place in my mind where no one can touch me.
I’m back at my cold, freezing beach. Gray waves crash against dark rocks. Wind whips my hair. I shiver, but it’s better than hands on my body taking what I don’t want to give.
Taking, taking, taking.
Here, I'm alone. Here, I'm safe. Here, nothing can hurt me. I rock back and forth on my frozen shore, letting the sound of waves drown out everything.
Let them do what they want to my body. They can't touch me here.
They can't touch me here.
They can't touch me here...