27. Chapter Twenty-Seven #2
“I'm counting on it.” Something sharper than protective instinct drives my resolve. Images of Emma trembling and afraid ignite fury in my gut, demanding justice. Demanding accountability. “I’ll contact Adrian after dinner and ask if Cole has had any luck finding anything too.”
Pack Blackwood are as invested as us to get to the bottom of this. One thing I’m sure of, is that if Sylvia Mercer, Senator Hardwick and Commissioner Axel Turns are involved, this goes big and deep and this Alpha1465 could be the key we need to open a very large can of worms.
The kitchen is quiet for a while, only the steady, rhythmic sounds of preparation filling the silence between us.
I keep one eye fixed on the sauce, the other flickering restlessly toward the hallway, anticipation and nerves knotting relentlessly in my chest. Soren knows Emma hasn’t eaten dinner and he’ll want to feed her too.
I have faith in my brother that he’ll bring her here when she’s ready, but the wait is fucking killing me.
When footsteps finally echo softly down the hall, I lift my head.
Emma steps into the kitchen tucked close by Soren’s side, and for a second my heart just— stops.
Her hair, freshly washed and clean, spills pale and luminous over her narrow shoulders.
White-gold strands shimmer beautifully beneath the low kitchen lights, so pure and pale my earlier nickname for her—Moonbeam—hits me squarely in the chest, more accurate now than ever before.
This isn’t the pale dull blonde shadowed by dirt and sweat, but something purely bright like captured moonlight, shining clear and true.
She’s transforming. Becoming more beautiful in every moment. Flourishing.
My moonbeam.
The sight of her cheeks flushed a warm, healthy rose where there used to only be pale, fearful hollows is a balm to my battered sense of restraint. Even though her features are still too sharp, even though signs of trauma linger, she's fucking glowing, and it helps cool the embers of my envy.
She pauses in the doorway, hesitant, delicate hands pulling awkwardly at the soft cuffs of Soren’s oversized sweater she wears. She lifts her eyes to mine for the barest instant, a frown marring her brow as she rubs her chest.
I catch Soren’s serious gaze, and he shakes his head ever so slightly.
He sends a pulse of reassurance through our bond.
Something happened but he’s handled it. Whatever it is, I know he’ll tell us both later, but our omega should never have to feel ashamed of the affection or care she deserves.
She has nothing—not one damn thing—to be embarrassed about.
Healing from trauma means she’ll be up and down, a perfectly natural response.
The small crease between her brows speaks clearly of embarrassment, worry, the sense of shame lingering around the fringe of something beautiful that's just occurred. She’s all gentle uncertainty and nervous modesty and something fierce and protective flares inside me instead of my normal self-loathing.
She gasps, her gaze finding me again and damn, she felt that pulse of emotion from me.
It’s hard to shove it back down but I do it for her comfort.
I peel away from the stove to cross my arms loosely, head tilted as I try, despite my own awkward stiffness, to offer her something approaching comfort.
“You look...” The words dry suddenly in my throat and I clear it quickly before continuing with more confidence, “You look good, Emma. Really good.”
Her startled eyes widen before ducking away once more with a bashful shift of her feet.
I catch the faint, soft smile playing at her lips, the pink warmth in her cheeks deepening further.
It's enough to ease the tightness around my heart. She’s trying.
The shift it represents—however slight—is hopeful.
Beautifully hopeful.
Unless I’m a complete fool and my brain is superimposing its wants on reality.
Fuck, I hope that’s not the case .
Soren grins at us both, knowing we’re both smelling her sweet, satisfied scent. I ignore him, though it's damn near impossible, and Phoenix snorts quietly under his breath, humor coloring his voice.
“Lucky bastard,” he whispers toward Soren, low enough Emma won't hear, eyes sparkling in amused jealousy.
Phoenix covers the distance between Emma and himself, gently cupping the back of her head to place a lingering kiss against her temple. I keep my groan to myself at the fresh burst of honeysuckle.
So perfect. I want her to have that reaction for me.
I just have to work harder.
“Hey, Tough Girl,” he greets, eyes warm, lingering on her blushing face.
And there it is again, another quicksilver flash of color into her skin, another shy, blossoming smile as Phoenix gently guides her toward a chair at the table.
“Have we prepared a meal for you. I hope you like spaghetti bolognaise. It’s our specialty. ”
She sinks onto the chair, fingers tangling in the sweater, but this time her eyes linger upward.
Phoenix’s easy presence has coaxed forth something startlingly lovely on her face— the gentle curve of her lips widening tentatively into a true smile.
“I do. It’s one of my favorites…my mom used to make it for me all the time. ”
She’s shared something about herself with us and I vow to perfect the art of bolognaise.
The kitchen falls silent. All three of us alphas freeze, eyes fixed in shared wonder at the unexpected brilliance. That smile transforms her entirely, blossoming like fragile petals in moonlight, luminous and pure, colored by a gentle sweetness none of us have yet fully witnessed.
It’s magic. Pure, devastating magic.
Phoenix eventually clears his throat, breaking the spell, though his voice is hushed, reverent, and more than a little teasing. “Careful there, Emma. Keep smiling like that, and the garlic bread will burn.”
A shaky, embarrassed laugh spills from her lips, musical and delicate, and subtly cracks open the shell of caution she still wears around us .
And just like that, hope surges forward, fierce and undeniable, because even if I’m the farthest away from winning her trust completely, her smile right now tells me…we might have a chance.