11. Chapter Eleven
Chapter Eleven
Asher
S hadows lengthen across the compound's manicured lawn while we confer in the living area inside the house.
Behind me, ice clinks against glass as Phoenix pours three fingers of whiskey for each of us.
At least Emma is with us now. She's safe in this fortress of a house, away from hospital corridors where the Carmichaels could reach her.
We're bone-deep exhausted after standing guard outside her door for three days straight, but our discomfort means nothing.
She is all that matters.
Thank the gods we were there when Matthew and his goons stormed the hospital floor with that team of hired muscle. Why would they do something as desperate and public as that?
We've told Emma she'll never be back in their clutches again.
The bitter disbelief in her eyes when we promised her protection cut deeper than any knife, but we meant it with every cell in our bodies, every instinct in our souls.
She's our scent-matched mate. The one we've searched for without even knowing what we were missing.
There is nothing— nothing— we won't do to protect her.
Even if she hates us for it.
Even if she never trusts us.
Even if my bite on her neck remains our only connection to her.
We will keep her safe or die trying.
“She's finally asleep, bundled under all of the blankets in her bed,” Soren announces, entering the room after coming downstairs from checking on her.
He accepts the hit of whiskey from Phoenix and downs it in one gulp.
“Her scent is bitter. She's pulled every blanket into a makeshift barrier around herself.”
Of course it is. She's terrified of us. Of me in particular.
I frown, something nagging at me. “She didn't use the nesting room?”
Next to each bedroom in the safe house is a specially designed space for omegas—private, secure, filled with soft materials for nest-building.
Essential for omega comfort and healing.
We'd stocked Emma's with extra pillows, the softest blankets we could find, everything an omega in distress should crave.
Soren’s jaw tightens. “Didn't even open the door, from what I could tell.”
Phoenix sets his glass down, concern flashing across his features. “That's... not good.”
I know why those doors aren’t open and she chose the bed instead of a nest. “It means she doesn't feel safe. Not even slightly.”
An omega only builds a nest when they feel secure enough to be vulnerable. When they believe no harm will come to them in their most defenseless state. Emma, barricaded under blankets in a locked room, is telling us exactly how far we have to climb.
“We should get her more nesting materials,” Phoenix suggests. “Different materials she can choose from.”
Soren nods. “I’ve already ordered some. They’ll be delivered tomorrow, along with a variety of clothing for her.”
“And if she uses them to barricade her door instead?” I ask, only half joking.
“Then at least we'll know she's resourceful,” Phoenix says with a sad smile. “Baby steps, remember?”
Baby steps indeed. We're trying to undo years of abuse, and I'm not sure there are enough steps in the world for her to reach that destination.
I accept the glass Phoenix offers, the amber liquid matching his scent.
The living room of the safe house is both familiar and strange tonight.
Contemporary furniture we've used during dozens of protective operations, tasteful artwork selected to be inoffensive, neutral colors designed to calm witnesses under stress.
Nothing personal. Nothing threatening. A perfect blank slate.
“I haven’t helped make her feel safe,” I say.
“You need to ease up on the self-flagellation, Ash,” Phoenix says, dropping onto the leather sofa. “It's coming through the bond so strongly I can barely think.”
Words are acid in my mouth. “I bit her without consent. I did that to our mate!” Gods, I’d sell my left nut if I could go back to that night and re-do everything. She could be in our arms where she belongs instead of buried under blankets in a strange bed.
Soren takes the armchair across from Phoenix. “The bite was…unfortunate. But it’s the only thing legally protecting her from the Carmichaels right now.”
‘Unfortunate’ is not the word I’d choose. ‘Fucking abhorrent’ are better choices.
“Still doesn't make it right,” I snap, unable to keep the edge from my voice.
Soren grunts. “No, it doesn't, but dwelling on what can't be changed won't help her.”
I turn back to the window, pressing my forehead against the cool whiskey tumbler in my hand.
Our bond—the pack bond that has sustained us for a decade—pulses with shared emotion.
Phoenix's worry. Soren's concern. My crushing guilt.
All of it overlaid with the stunned disbelief that, after years of searching, we found our omega in a basement. Chained. Starved. Broken.
Fuck .
“Did either of you ever imagine it would be like this?” Phoenix asks quietly, voicing what we're all thinking. “Finding her, I mean.”
“I had scenarios,” Soren admits. “None included finding her in those conditions.”
I close my eyes, remembering the moment her scent first hit me. Florally sweet honeysuckle and musky vanilla. Perfect. Pure. Ours. Then seeing her so thin, bruised, terrified… that shattered me.
“We should be celebrating.” I can’t keep bitterness from edging my words. “Ten years of waiting, of wondering if our fourth even existed, and here she is. Our perfect match. And she can't stand to be in the same room with us. With me.”
“She let Phoenix carry her,” Soren points out. “She accepted the security tablet. And our food.”
I turn to face them. “You saw her flinch every time I moved.”
Phoenix leans forward, elbows on his knees. “Recovery isn't linear. Trust isn't built in a day. Especially not after what she's been through, and it’s only early days.”
He’s right. Given her trauma, it’s far too early. Her healing will take years. Not days.
I knock back my whiskey, welcoming the burn that’s nothing compared to the acid of self-loathing in my gut.
Forgiveness from Emma is a distant star—visible but unreachable.
In her current state it's a faint hope at best. And why should she forgive me? I became exactly what she fears most. An alpha who takes what she clearly didn’t want to give.
I set my empty glass down on the mantel, exhaling a weary breath. My limbs ache with exhaustion, but my mind refuses to stop spinning. The questions crowding my head are relentless, keeping sleep far out of reach .
“What background information do we have about Emma?” My voice is quiet but edged with urgency I can't conceal. I know Soren would have investigated files to find everything he could.
“To be honest, not nearly enough. We know Emma was at Haven with Mira. We know they escaped together, along with a third omega named Leah who’s still missing. After that…” Soren trails off, shoulders stiffening.
I run a palm across my face, tension coiling hot and tight within me. My chest is heavy, anger and helplessness mingling bitterly at the thought of all Emma has endured. “The question is how exactly Emma ended up in Pack Carmichael’s hands.”
We’ve been tracking the omega auction network through Haven’s files we found after Mercer’s death thanks to Pack Blackwood. Emma is another victim of that trade, but we need to understand exactly how she ended up in that basement. We need paperwork. Connections. Proof of the larger network.
We've rescued nineteen omegas so far, since Mira stepped forward. Nineteen. And still, nothing concrete directly tying Hardwick. Nor any information about how the Commissioner is implicated.
“Even if every omega testified openly tomorrow, the courts would disregard their words.” A year’s worth of raids, rescues, watching shattered omegas fight to reclaim broken lives, all painfully slow victories fighting upstream against a legal system pitted against them.
“We have to find evidence that's undeniable. Evidence that no judge can ignore.”
A hopeless silence falls across the room, each of us absorbing that frustrating truth.
Soren straightens, breaking the quiet. “Pack Carmichael are powerful, wealthy alphas. If anyone has something concrete, it's them. We may not be able to find evidence, but we do have a source.”
Worry darkens Phoenix’s expression. “We can’t push her. Forcing her memories to the surface might traumatize her more than she already is. ”
I don’t want to press Emma harder than she’s ready. The last thing I want is the fragile trust, such as it is, to crash back down. But still, without her we might never put an end to this nightmare.
“Maybe she already knows more than she realizes,” Phoenix says, subdued steel entering his voice. “A name, a location, even a seemingly meaningless detail about how the transactions happen.”
“She needs to be willing to open up on her own terms.” The words taste bitter, clawing at my throat.
Asking her to relive her trauma, even briefly, feels unbearably wrong.
But inside, I can’t stop thinking of what’s at stake.
“If we find the evidence through her, it’s not just about justice for Emma.
It's about finally dismantling Hardwick’s operation and changing the very laws of our currently broken society. ”
None of us speak but I can sense we're all struggling with the same impossible balance—the fine line between protecting her or exposing her again to the cost she's already paid.
“Whatever we do, we have to tread carefully. Pack Carmichael's ties to the commissioner change the game entirely. There’s no telling how deep his reach goes. At least we’re safe here, for now.” I rub my tense neck.
Soren meets my eyes, arms folding across his massive chest. “Do we think he was behind the hospital raid? Would he risk showing his hand so openly?”