13. Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Thirteen
Emma
I lock my knees when all I want to do is run back to the safety of my bed.
Not that it's my bed, or that it's safe, or will stop alphas scrutinizing my every move, but my stupid omega instincts aren't reasonable.
The Carmichaels did whatever they wanted to me.
I had no control over my body, even when my mind screamed to get the fuck away, my body still begged on my hands and knees for them.
I'll never forget their laughter when I pleaded for their cocks, writhing for them in my own sweat and filth—that cruel, satisfied sound seared into the darkest corners of my soul.
I crush the thought and stomp it down, down, down.
I clear my throat, trying to wet the desert in my mouth. “You'd risk criminal charges? For…me?”
“We’d risk everything for you, omega. If we haven’t been clear enough, let us tell you now without any question.
No matter what happens to us, you will never go back to Pack Carmichael.
” Asher rasps the words over gravel in his throat and steps toward me, one hand extended, but he moves too fast. Too sudden.
My survival instincts engage against the largest threat in the room.
I stumble backward, shoulder blades hitting the wall behind me, all reaction and no grace.
He’s not the only threat. They all are. Big, powerful alpha threats that make my insides quiver, with deep growls and delectable scents that fuck with my mind, and I don’t want that.
Don’t want my stupid, senseless omega side lusting after alphas.
That path has offered nothing but misery.
If there was a way to carve it out of me, please hand me the knife.
I’ll willingly sever any body part if it means peace.
Asher freezes, and I’m not sure he’s even breathing as his hand drops to his side. “I'm sorry, Emma.”
I ignore his deep frown and the flash of pain on his face as a torrent of his emotions unleashes into me.
I read them all as quickly as I name them.
Fear that he's frightened me again. Self-loathing for his inability to approach me correctly.
Despair at the damage done. Joy that I'm here, speaking to them.
Hope that somehow this—whenever this is— can be fixed.
But underneath the whiplash of emotions is a current of unmistakable lust—not predatory or demanding, but present nonetheless.
The last emotion sets my nerves on fire. I don't want another alpha lusting after me, no matter how different they seem or how their scents sink into my skin, warm my bones and prime my body to release a gallon of slick.
“Just—stay away from me.” Gods, please just stay away.
Asher backs up three full steps, giving me space I didn't expect. “I shouldn't have moved so quickly. I should have known better.”
I hate that I feel unhinged. Hate it even more that they see it and what makes it worse is the fact he acknowledged it. That he listened to me and backed off is a miracle in and of itself .
It’s not something I’m going to dwell on. “You didn't answer my question. Did you mean what you said? That you'd risk everything to keep me from going back to them?”
My voice wavers. I don't trust them— can't trust them—but I need to know if what I overheard was real or just another pretty lie. Need to feel the truth, if there is any, sink into my bones.
Phoenix nods. “That's exactly what we meant.”
“We told you. You're never going back to Pack Carmichael. No matter how dirty they play, no matter what strings they pull,” Soren adds.
Asher keeps his distance but speaks. “We'll find a legal way to keep you safe if we can. But if we can't...” His jaw tightens. “Then we'll find another way. Nothing is off the table.”
I thought hearing what they had to say would make it easier to understand but it doesn't. I have to tell them if they’re going to throw their lives away over me, I have no plans to stay with them.
“If you’re being honest with me, I’ll be honest with you.
Whatever you do, it won’t change that when this is over—when I'm safe from Pack Carmichael—I have plans.
And they don't include any alphas. Not even you.”
Pain flashes across their faces and I ignore the hook that sinks into me and makes me want to take those words back, but my beach is not big enough for any alpha no matter what they feel they have to do for me. That’s on them. Not me.
“If that's what you want when this is over, we'll make sure you have it. Your freedom, your choice—that's what matters,” Asher says.
I lift my chin. “I'm not going to change my mind. Not for any reason.”
The words taste like lies even as I say them.
Because their scents are delectable. They call to something deep inside me that should be lost forever.
Pack Carmichaels' rotting scents always made my stomach churn, but in the end it won't matter how good these alphas smell.
Scent-matches or not, I won't be here long enough for it to matter .
An uncomfortable silence stretches between us. I shift my weight, acutely aware of my rumbling stomach. That's why I came down here in the first place. Food.
“You're hungry,” Phoenix says, not a question but a statement of fact. He moves slowly, deliberately telegraphing each motion as he gestures toward the kitchen. “Let's get you something to eat.”
I follow him, keeping Soren between me and Asher. Phoenix guides me to a stool at the kitchen island, his hand hovering near my elbow but never touching.
“Sit before you fall down,” he says gently. “You're shaking.”
I fist my hands and cross my arms because that’s exactly what I’m doing. I’ve rested for a day here and days at the hospital, yet exhaustion is catching up with me. Being upright, alert, constantly on guard—being omega— is draining.
Asher’s giant form looms in the doorway. His gaze rakes my face before he turns away. Steps back. “I’m going to check on the patrols. Make sure everything's secure.”
I grip the edge of the counter, ignoring the hook that lodges in my chest and makes me want to call him back to soak in his scent and burrow against his broad chest and demand comfort. “I can make something myself.”
“I'm sure you can,” Phoenix says, already moving to the refrigerator. “But I made soup earlier. It'll be faster.” He pulls out a container. “And you look about ten seconds from collapse.”
He's not wrong. The simple act of coming downstairs has drained me.
Soren retrieves a crusty roll from the pantry, butter from the fridge. “Sustenance is critical to recovery. Especially with your current nutritional deficits. Dr. Chen gave us a diet for you to adhere to and strict instructions to make sure you eat.”
“What Soren meant,” Phoenix says with a wink as he pours soup into a bowl, “is that you need to eat good food to get your strength back. Luckily I’ll be your chef for the foreseeable future.”
Soren spreads butter in even strokes on the fluffy bread while I swallow the saliva that’s flooding my mouth. “Not everyone needs your translations, brother. ”
Phoenix rolls his eyes. “Everyone needs my translations.”
“My information is accurate.”
“And delivered with all the warmth of a medical textbook.”
Their banter continues as Phoenix heats the soup. Soren slides the buttered bread across the counter to me. I know it's meant to be comforting, but I can’t help my shoulders rising to my ears.
I’m not used to this.
My stomach twists its demand for food, and I have to obey.
The first taste of the bread roll catapults me backward in time.
Sunday mornings with my parents—Dad with his coffee, Mom slicing fresh rolls from the bakery down the street.
The sunlight streaming through our small kitchen window, catching in Mom's blonde hair that matched my own.
Dad telling silly jokes that made Mom roll her eyes but smile anyway.
The three of us building sandwiches together, adding layers of cheese and meat and vegetables, making a game of whose creation would be tallest. Dad always let me win.
The memory is so vivid, a sound of pure pleasure slips past my lips. The air thickens. Phoenix and Soren's scents flood the kitchen. I eye the coffee machine, certain that Phoenix is fixing a fresh brew but it’s all alpha pheromones stealing my will with his distinct male musk.
My lungs open and I draw in a deep breath, savoring the dark and moody sandalwood.
A ripple of awareness rolls through my body and my abdomen tightens.
Warmth I haven’t felt for a long time pools in the place between my hips, making everything heavy and languid.
Another moan slips out and this sound has nothing to do with bread rolls and everything to do with things best not felt.
Two pairs of eyes lock onto me, heat-seeking missiles finding their target so that I’m weighed and pinned to my seat.
Phoenix's blue gaze darkens to stormy midnight, lips parted as though my sound has robbed him of oxygen.
Soren's brown eyes are liquid chocolate, his fingers frozen mid-motion on the butter knife.
Time stretches between us, honeyed-thick, pure alpha attention.
My skin prickles, caught between the urge to flee and the treacherous desire to bask .
I slide to the edge of the stool, my movements slow and careful. I eye the distance between me, the alphas and the door that I’m sure I won’t make it past, but seconds tick by and neither alpha moves. Their scents remain charged, but their bodies stay exactly where they are.
Soren clears his throat, scrubbing a hand down his face. “You don’t have to worry, Emma. Please don’t stop making any sounds you want to make. It's... gratifying to hear you enjoy your food as you should.”
“I'm going to stock the entire pantry with these rolls. You can have them every day if you want,” Phoenix says.
The promise of daily bread shouldn't make my throat tight. Shouldn't make my chest ache with something dangerous and warm. It's such a small thing, but it’s also enormous.
Too enormous. Too dangerous.
They see too much. Care too much.
I buckle beneath the weight of promised attention that is everything I need and nothing I want.
Their scents slam into my unprotected soft omega center.
My omega hindbrain stretches awake behind the barricades I built to contain it.
Padlocks open on the thick door I shoved that part of me inside.
Hinges squeal and pure longing floods through the cracks, reminding me what I was made for.
Connection. Bond. Pack.
The words float up from that awakening place, terrifying in their power to destroy everything I've fought not to become.
Any omega who hopes is an omega who is chained, yet my skin crawls with the need to be touched.
Their skin on mine. To share body heat. To merge our scents in my nest of soft things, saturated with all our scents.
I want their purrs to vibrate through me as we burrow in darkness under soft materials.
For their hardness to balance my soft parts. For their scent to become part of me.
To be surrounded by them.
To be filled by them. Cocks. Knots. Seed.
Everything .
The freshly woken part hisses with anticipation.
She wants her mates and sees nothing wrong with demanding they give her everything.
The choice between my wants and needs are stripped from me when warm wetness seeps between my thighs.
I’m caught in the frozen cage of my body as fresh honeysuckle blooms on sharp ozone around me.
The pure notes of my scent signal a re-awakening.
The side of me I fought into hibernation. The part of me I broke for survival.
A deep growl vibrates from Soren's chest. His eyes are dilated, the black devouring the chocolate.
My appetite vanishes, replaced by a traitorous desire to lean into that sound rather than flee from it.
The restraint in their rigid postures costs them—I can see it in the white-knuckle grip Phoenix has on the counter, in the muscle jumping in Soren's jaw.
Run.
Now. Before it’s too late.
I push the half-eaten soup away. “I’m going back to my room. Don’t follow me.”
And like the prey I am, I back through the doorway, keeping my eyes locked on the largest predators in the room before I spin, bolt up the stairs and dive under the blankets on my bed that offer me no real protection.
My heart pounds, not just from exertion but because the most dangerous predator in this house isn't them.
It's the omega inside me, waking up and wanting things I can't afford.