6. Chapter Six
Chapter Six
Emma
I surface slowly from darkness, confused to find myself back in the hospital bed. The IV is in my other arm, secured with extra tape that goes all the way around my arm. My failed escape attempt and consequent freak out is a distant nightmare, but the ache in my muscles tells me it was real.
A beta doctor stands at the foot of my bed, reading through a chart. He looks up, offering a gentle smile that doesn't quite hide his concern. “Hey, sweetheart. I'm Dr. Chen. How are you feeling?”
A laugh tries to bubble up. Bitter. Broken.
I swallow it down. How am I feeling? Like I've been living in a basement forever.
Like I'm trapped in a body that's more bruise than skin.
Like I'm drowning in bonds I never wanted.
That were never my choice. And someone is asking how I feel as though they care?
I might be dreaming, but the headache punching behind my eyes is all too real.
“Tired,” I manage. Gods, my voice sounds rough, probably because of not being used in years.
He nods, tucking the chart away. “I need to discuss your condition with you. Are you up for that?”
No. I’m not up for anything, but something in his eyes confirms that I’ll want to know what he tells me, so I nod.
He presses his lips together for a moment before speaking.
“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, well, worse news than what you’ve been through.
” He winces, then continues. “Nothing is going to make what I have to say better, so I’m going to just come out and say it. Rip the band-aid off, as it were.”
He pauses and I wait, nerves so jangled my mouth dries.
He clears his throat and the sugar-coating stops. “I’m afraid you're in a medically dire situation. Your body is severely malnourished and dehydrated. Your blood work shows concerning deficiencies, and there are multiple infections we need to address.”
There’s no need to soften the truth. I already knew all this. Lived it in multicolored horror.
“My alphas didn't exactly look out for me,” I mutter, then immediately regret the words.
Haven training runs as hard as my heart racing in my throat.
Do not speak out. Do not upset anyone.
Every muscle in my body clenches, wondering what punishment the doctor deems suits this crime, but Dr. Chen’s face merely flickers with pity. I drop my gaze because pity is the last thing I need.
Pity won’t help me escape my biology.
“I'm sorry,” I whisper, though I'm not sure what I'm apologizing for. For being difficult? For being omega? For existing?
“You have nothing to apologize for. Nothing that happened to you was your fault,” he says .
He’s wrong. Everything that's happened to me has been my fault. Because I presented as omega. Because I survived when my parents didn't. Because I keep breathing when it would be easier to stop. My fingers brush over the fresh IV tape.
“Please leave this one in. The nurses are getting tired of replacing them.” The doctor attempts a small smile, probably trying to lighten the mood, but humor is a foreign language I've forgotten how to understand.
My eyes drift to the window again, to the world beyond that’s both too close and impossibly far. Freedom just behind glass I can't break.
“That's a five-story drop.” Dr. Chen follows my gaze. “And you've survived too much to end it that way. You're safe here.”
Safe. The word tastes like ash in my mouth.
I would be safe, maybe, if it weren't for those delectable scents seeping under the door that make my nipples bead under the blue gown and goosebumps break out like hives.
How can they affect me so much? Pack Carmichael did nothing for me.
With them, I shriveled up in fear. Nothing like the alphas who picked me up off that basement floor make me feel.
“Are they...” My voice cracks. “Are they still here?”
“Yes.” Dr. Chen's expression turns serious after he throws a glance over his shoulder at the closed door. “You might not want to hear this, but you need to. As your scent-matches, they're actually your greatest protection right now.”
Scent-matches?
“What...” I swallow hard, hating how weak my voice sounds. “What are scent-matches?”
Dr. Chen's eyebrows rise, then furrow. “You don't know about scent-matches?”
I shake my head, my hands scrunching in the pristine sheets.
I’ve never heard of scent-matches before.
The only thing Haven taught was how to mindlessly obey an alpha.
How to present. How to clamp your mouth shut even when you hate every unwanted touch.
How to be a willing hole and take a knot no matter if you want it or not.
That was my education about being omega .
His face darkens. He pulls up a chair and sits, his expression turning soft.
“Then you should know a scent match is about much more than simply liking someone’s fragrance.
It's about biological compatibility on a visceral level.
Your scent isn't just appealing—it's actively communicating with your cells, your omega instincts.
It's your body's way of recognizing an alpha who perfectly complements you genetically, hormonally, physically…in every way that matters. When you find your scent match, your biology aligns effortlessly, instinctively knowing it’s found someone who can truly fulfill and balance your deepest needs.”
I…never knew something like that could exist. That a bond could ever be that way between an alpha and omega. It sounds like a fairytale, and probably is.
“My alphas said I was their mate.” I never believed them, and they hated when I never reacted to them the way they thought I should.
I might be naive about mates and bonds, but I’m not stupid.
Anything Pack Carmichael said to me was a way to control me.
My fingertips trail over the hated bite marks marring my neck.
“The alphas who held you in their basement? You were never their mate. They only gave you one-way bonds created without your consent. Am I correct?” I wisely say nothing, and the doctor goes on.
“They're nothing like true scent match bonds. Those partial bonds are weaker, biologically speaking. A true scent match will override any partial bond you have, my dear.”
My head spins with this new information and nausea rises in my throat.
More alphas with more control over me? Is that what Asher is to me now?
The rush of emotions I felt from him didn’t say that but what would I know?
My stomach heaves at the thought. I've had enough of alphas controlling me, owning me, using me.
The last thing I want is another set of alphas having an even more powerful hold over me.
My hand clenches over my chest where alpha hatred simmers and hisses. The newest alpha to claim me is quiet. As though he’s dialed down his emotions, but no. That can’t be true. Alphas don’t care how loud they are to me.
“What...” I swallow hard, hating how small my voice sounds. “What do you mean, override?”
If there’s even the slightest possibility of freeing myself from Pack Carmichael, I owe it to myself to hear them out, no matter how unbelievable it seems.
“A true scent match is so powerful that it has a chance to break the partial bonds your current alphas forced on you,” Dr. Chen says.
Hope flares in my chest, bright and dangerous. The first real possibility of freedom from the poison Pack Carmichael left in my mind. To be free of their emotions, their cruelty, their constant presence in my head...
“However, it would require you to accept the scent match bonds. To claim them in return.”
Hope dies as quickly as it sparked. Trade one set of bonds for another?
Chain myself to more alphas?
No. The price is too high. I'd rather live with the partial bonds, with the toxic emotions flooding me than willingly submit to more claiming bites.
Why does it have to be that way? Why can’t I just be on my own without any alpha in my head? I just want my beach. To be alone. To breathe air that isn't tainted by alpha scents or bonds or promises that always, always, turn to chains.
“I have to ask you some personal questions to help me assess exactly where you are medically speaking, if that’s okay?” Dr. Chen asks gently, redirecting my spiraling thoughts.
I nod, because there’s no use in denying the first proper medical care I’ve had in years.
Dr. Chen remains professional, thankfully. “How regular have you had your heat cycles?”
I close my eyes, trying to block out the memories that question triggers. “I went through four heats in that basement.”
Thank the gods for heat delirium. It blanked out the worst of what they did to me.
But I always knew how bad it was when I came out of it, when I saw the fresh bruises, the bite marks, the.
.. other damage. They'd leave me there afterward, lying in my own filth – sweat, slick, their releases, worse.
Nothing apart from a rag and however much water I could fill in the sink to clean myself.
No comfort. Nothing but the evidence of what they'd done dried on my skin. After they left I’d had nothing but time to scrub and scrub and scrub.
They'd disappear for days after, only coming down occasionally to throw some food at me like I was a dog they'd grown bored with. I hate them. I hate what they did to me. But most of all, I hate my omega biology that made their power over me possible.
“And how long were you in that basement?” Dr. Chen asks.
“I didn’t have a window, let alone a clock,” I say. I have no idea how long I was chained down there. It felt like lifetimes spent in darkness.