9. Chapter Nine
Chapter Nine
Phoenix
S he weighs almost nothing in my arms, this precious omega who has no idea how valuable she truly is.
Every single bone pokes through the borrowed clothes.
I can count every rib where my arm supports her back and if she weren’t dressed in a bulky sweater, her spine would mark a corrugated line down her back.
She’s unnaturally pale, her skin nearly translucent, both because of being so malnourished and being locked away in darkness for so long. Fuck if that doesn’t gut me alive.
She stares out the window as though she's seeing the world for the first time, which I suppose she is after two years in darkness. Two years of hell while we were living our lives, unaware our mate was suffering just across the city in that shitshow of a basement. As if bars alone wouldn’t be enough to contain a tiny omega, they had to chain her too.
Asher, Soren and I have had conversations about how we’ll make Pack Carmichael pay.
All illegal as hell, but we’re not letting something as trivial as that stop us because the field we’re operating in isn’t exactly legal either.
My heart cracks a little more with each breath our omega takes.
And she is ours. There is not a reality where she isn’t.
Her scent weaves through me, settling in places I didn't know existed.
It's subtle, muted by trauma and malnutrition, but undeniably ours.
Mine. Soren's. Asher's. Our mate, found at last in the worst possible circumstances.
Asher is beating himself up pretty badly through our pack bond. His remorse is crushing and real.
As it should be.
Our prime alpha, so controlled, so disciplined, lost his shit completely when he saw those chains, that basement, our mate living like an animal. But one impulsive moment has destroyed any chance of her trusting us anytime soon. That’s going to work against us with the need to keep her safe.
Pack Carmichael came too close today. We underestimated their determination. They're in custody again, but legally they have rights to her that make me sick to contemplate. I fucking hope that Adrian and his pack can enact real change on their end.
Now that Hardwick is implicated, we understand this goes right to the top, and if the commissioner is in bed with the Carmichaels we need solid, irrefutable evidence to convict both of them.
We would if omega statements could stand up in the courts, but they aren’t and they don’t.
Not one of the omegas we’ve saved has a voice in the eyes of the law.
The number of omegas we’ve discovered in hiding, taking black market suppressants that wreck their system, is staggering.
Mira is a prime example. None of it becomes public knowledge, either.
The black ban on media is a troubling issue, a decree handed down by Hardwick.
As is the dire situation for anyone with an omega designation, due to no fault of their own.
The removal of their rights has been slow yet systematic.
The claiming bite on our mate’s neck is the only silver lining in this fucked-up situation.
As scent-matches, we hold more ownership over her than Pack Carmichael.
Owners. I fucking hate that word. It’s degrading and immoral.
All kinds of wrong. Ultimately, though, it has legally bought us rights, time, and protection for Emma.
The silver lining is that she can heal. The possibility of burning away her partial bonds from Pack Carmichael is my latest mission.
Emma shifts in my arms, her gaze jumping from the city outside to each one of us. Does she know we're trying to help her? Can she conceive of alphas who want something other than ownership? After what she's been through, I doubt it. And that's the real tragedy here.
The SUV slows as we approach the compound gates, an imposing barrier of reinforced steel set into a twelve-foot concrete wall topped with security cameras.
Motion sensors. Biometric scanners. The works.
Soren supervised every inch of this setup, obsessing over every potential vulnerability until it was as impenetrable as modern security can make it.
Two armed guards step from the gatehouse, automatic weapons visible but pointed down. I recognize Jones and Ramirez.
“Sirs!” Jones snaps to attention as Asher winds down the window.
Jones’s eyes slide to Emma, lock and stay far too fucking long on her. Her scent sharpens, bitterness edging sweet honeysuckle as she turns rigid in my lap. A whimper sounds and something hot and dangerous flares in my chest.
“Eyes to the front, Jones.” I shouldn't have to tell him. Not only because she’s omega.
Many vulnerable people have passed these gates and Jones knows that.
Carl Jones has just made my shit-list in less than a second.
He should know his job better than this, but at least he snaps to attention again with a quick, “Sorry, sir.”
“No one comes in or out without direct authorization from one of us three. Clear?” Asher’s voice is low with a subvocal growl .
“Crystal, sir,” Jones responds, stepping back to allow us through as the massive gates slide open.
Emma trembles, her scent stringent in my nose.
The muscles in my arms tighten so hard they almost cramp, but that’s okay.
My body is the cage she needs, and I don’t give a fuck what it does to me.
A purr builds in my chest, a deep, rumble I've never made before. Not for anyone. The vibration travels from my chest into her small frame, and I’m so fucking grateful when her muscles unclench and her scent mellows.
We pull through the gates, and I make sure they close behind us in the rearview mirror.
The vehicles flanking us turn back and we’re on our own.
The tension bleeds from Asher’s shoulders and Soren’s fingers drop from around the handle of his gun.
I catch Asher’s gaze before he returns to the drive ahead.
“Carl Jones is out,” I say.
“Already done,” Asher says.
I work hard to relax as Asher takes us along the winding road lined with maple trees and tasteful landscaping.
To the untrained eye, the compound could pass for an upscale residential community.
That's by design. Every aspect of this place was created to feel normal, to help traumatized witnesses and victims decompress while under protection.
The compound is five acres of secured land containing several modest dwellings arranged around a central courtyard.
Behind the pleasant facades, each building is a fortress—reinforced walls, bulletproof windows, panic rooms. These buildings have housed dozens of protected witnesses over the years, providing safety while their cases wound through the justice system.
None of them are as important as the precious cargo in my arms.
“Welcome to our little slice of suburban paradise,” I tell Emma, hoping conversation might ease the tension running through her body. “Complete with picket fences, flowerbeds, and enough hidden security measures to make a military base jealous. ”
She watches the buildings pass with a healthy dose of fear, probably wondering what she’ll face. I can’t have her uncertain. She has to really understand how secure this place is.
“See that building there?” I nod toward a large structure between houses that looks like a community center. “That place houses our response team. Twenty officers on rotation 24/7. Soren, Asher, and I have pulled more overnight shifts there than I can count.”
She remains silent, but studies my face, clearly trying to determine if I'm lying. The distrust breaks my heart but is completely understandable given what she's survived.
“The average response time to any alarm is two minutes,” I continue, trying for lightness. “Which is four times longer than it takes Asher to go from 'calm professional' to 'grouchy bear' when someone touches his coffee without permission.”
“Coffee is sacred.” Thankfully, Asher picks the banter up. “And I’m not a grouchy bear.”
“Hmmm. What about ‘Moody Mocha Mammoth’?”
Asher raises an eyebrow. “Mammoths are extinct.”
“True, but they were majestic and memorable, just like your caffeine tantrums.”
The joke falls flat. She doesn't smile. Of course she doesn't. She's been thrown into yet another unfamiliar environment controlled by alphas. The fact that this one has prettier packaging doesn't change that fundamental reality for her.
Asher pulls the SUV into the driveway of the third house on the right, a blue two-story with white trim and a covered porch. We specifically requested this one for its layout: two exits, open floor plan, the highest security rating in the compound.
“Home sweet temporary home,” I say as Soren and Asher exit the vehicle. The driver's door opens, then mine, before we stand in the driveway I wish was our own instead of being a government owned and issued safe house.
I should set her down. Should give her space, autonomy, the choice to walk on her own, but her fingers are still clutching my shirt and, selfishly, I'm not ready to break this connection, this precious trust of her allowing me to hold her. I don’t think she’s conscious of what she’s doing, if that walk from the hospital room is anything to go by.
But I’ll take it. So, I don't put her down or give her time to overthink.
I carry our mate toward the house that will either become her sanctuary or her newest prison, depending entirely on how we handle the next few crucial days.
Gods help us—and Emma—if we fuck this up.
Asher pushes open the front door, stepping aside to let us enter first. The house is bright and airy with tall windows letting in welcome sunshine, but Emma's body grows increasingly rigid in my arms with each step.
She rounds her shoulders and tries to shrink in my arms, making herself smaller.
Less of a target. She has prey instincts written all over her.
“You have nothing to worry about here, Tough Girl,” I murmur.
She risks a glance at me, and the tension bleeds all over her face.
Asher stands in the entryway, guilt etched into every line of his body as he watches us. The air thickens with awkward tension. Him not knowing what to say, her not trusting anything he might say, me caught in the middle with our traumatized omega in my arms.
“I'm making an executive decision,” I announce, breaking the silence. “It's lunchtime. I'll make us all something to eat.” Food fixes everything, right? Or at least gives us something to do besides stand around marinating in discomfort.
“This house even has a coffee machine. Just don’t let Asher anywhere near it, as priorly discussed,” Soren says, a smile playing on his lips as he winks at her. I don’t miss the withering glance Asher sends to Soren and wisely keep my chuckle to myself.
I carry Emma through to the kitchen, a spacious room with granite countertops and stainless-steel appliances.
Emma's breath hitches, turning shaky, and at first I think it's fear.
Then I follow her line of sight to what's beyond those windows to a covered patio with comfortable lounge chairs arranged around a glass table.
Beyond that, a small pool sparkles in the sunlight, surrounded by lush potted plants.
The entire space is enclosed by tall privacy fencing, creating a secure outdoor sanctuary.
Her scent shifts, the bitter notes of fear mingling with something sharper, more desperate. Longing. Raw, undisguised yearning. This is something I can help her with.
“Do you want to go outside?” I ask softly.
She looks up at me, and my heart fractures at the hesitation in her eyes. “Would that... would that be okay?”
Would that be okay? As if feeling the sun on her skin is some extraordinary privilege she has to earn. As if she needs permission to breathe fresh air. I don't know whether to weep or punch through a wall.
“You never need to ask us for anything.” Demand it. Nothing will be too much for you, beautiful.
I carry her through the sliding glass doors and onto the sun-warmed tiles. “Put me down, please,” she whispers, and I carefully set her on her feet, staying close in case her legs give out again.
She stands there, swaying slightly, then tilts her face upward with her eyes closed.
The sunlight bathes her in gold, highlighting every hollow of her too-thin face, every fading bruise.
But it's her expression that undoes me. Pure joy, simple and profound, at something as simple as feeling warmth on her skin.
I silently beg to whatever gods are listening for reincarnation so I can kill those alphas again after I've ripped them apart with my bare hands the first time. Emma has suffered too long in darkness. Too long without feeling the sun. Too much of her life stolen that we can never get back.
“Looks like we're definitely having lunch outside,” I say lightly, burying the rage beneath a smile. Because right now, my violence won't help her. My protection might.
And somehow, seeing that look on her face, I'd trade all my vengeance just to keep her in the sunlight a little longer.