17. Past Meets Present
Past Meets Present
~ELIZABETH~
M y phone buzzes with another text from Carter as I exit the administrative office.
"Second floor, east wing, near the dance studios. Don't keep us waiting too long."
I type back quickly.
"Meeting you later. Need to handle something first."
His response is immediate.
"Documents taking that long?"
"No." I reply, hesitating before adding, "Just need to think. The forms...they'd mean another Thanksgiving without seeing Dad and…"
I pause again, wondering if I’m sharing too much of my life by admitting that. I swallow the lump of anxiety filling my throat, deciding if I want to learn to be a good Omega, I have to be willing to open up a little as well.
“My Dad was a bit disappointed when I said I wouldn’t be allowed to go to Thanksgiving this year because of my mateless status…so…I just don’t want to sign them yet. Delaying the inevitable but…um…”
I send and pause in typing what my heart is begging for.
“Maybe by then, I can prove to be a worthy enough Omega so I can see my Dad again for Thanksgiving?”
Even if it’s temporary, if it allowed me to visit him and be around the family just for that event, that would make my entire year.
I know I’ll miss Christmas, but if I get to see him for Thanksgiving, that would mean the world to me.
I try not to admit it, but I’ve missed him. You don’t realize how much of a good Father you have until you’re stuck away from him for X amount of years. I wasn’t really one who was bratty or a bitch when their Dad said you can’t do this and that because I appreciated my Dad’s involvement in my life.
I realized in school that many had absent Fathers, and the few that did pressure them to go towards careers that didn’t align with their true desires. Either way, I always recognized my Dad was a rarity, despite him having his hand soaked deep in blood and chaos.
Yes, he was a sinner like any of us, but he did it to ensure I could be protected, fed, and given a chance at a future, despite being an Omega.
The typing bubble appears and lingers, Carter composing his response carefully. I'm so focused on the screen, walking aimlessly while I anxiously wait for Carter’s reply, that I don't notice the person in front of me until we collide.
Shit!
The impact sends me stumbling backward, but strong hands catch me before I can fall. I look up, ready to apologize, when familiar bright blue eyes lock with mine.
"Eli?"
The nickname hits me like a physical blow.
Only one person has ever called me that.
Ever dared get close enough to me that we were on nickname level.
"James?"
He whistles low, a grin spreading across his face as he steadies me.
“My rival ghost,” he whispers almost in awe, while he takes me in, appreciatively. "Damn, never thought I'd find you at Knot Academy of all places."
Me neither.
James Reed Morrison — Harvard's golden boy and my former dance partner. His blonde hair is shorter now, styled in that carefully messy way that probably took an hour to perfect, but those blue eyes are exactly as I remember them.
Sharp, intelligent, always analyzing, and yet so dangerously cunning.
When they rack your body, you can never tell whether he’s undressing you or plotting your demise. I usually aimed for the second option, but between us, when we were “something”, I felt he was peeling off the layers of my clothes in his mind.
Layer by layer…wishing to kiss and touch me all bare and vulnerable for just him…
"I could say the same thing, Mr. Harvard," I manage, taking a step back to put some distance between us. I don’t want anyone getting the wrong idea, especially if James is a new student and has a pack of his own. He wouldn’t be here unless he had a pack, which probably meant he was here to find an Omega of his own.
I try to ignore his carried scent that wrapped around my senses like a forbidden promise — smoked black tea and dark amber mingled with the spice of cardamom and cinnamon, laced with whispers of sage and vetiver, a maddening blend of temptation and dominance that made my pulse quicken instantly.
It had been years since I’d picked up his scent, but compared to the very light touch of tea and sage, I could grasp every single detail thanks to my Omega traits, which were currently yearning for me to surrender.
"What happened to your track to becoming the youngest professor in Harvard's history?"
His smile falters slightly.
"Things changed after you disappeared. I tried calling?—"
"My phone was disconnected," I cut him off, the words coming out sharper than intended. I mean, it’s not a lie. Father disconnected it, so I’m just stating the obvious fact.
"For five years?" He arches an eyebrow, his expression turning serious. I’m not expecting him to be willing to confront this situation here and now, but then again, he’s not the same twenty-year-old I left behind. Did he miss the accelerated teen who did everything to try to beat him on the academic board? "Your entire family vanished, Eli. No forwarding address, and no way to contact you. Even your social media went dark."
I shrug, aiming for casualness despite the way my heart is racing.
"Well, you know how it goes. The tragic tale of finding out you’re an Omega at eighteen in the middle of Harvard's courtyard tends to change things."
I don’t want to talk about the details, because I’m positive he’s not going to like what happened after that fiasco.
When I try to step around him, his hand catches my arm.
The touch is gentle but firm, and suddenly I'm transported back to our dance practices — the way he used to guide me through complicated lifts, his hands always steady and sure.
Maybe that’s what made me love and hate him.
When it came to the academic side, I despised him because he was my competition in that realm of grades and success, but when we danced together…fuck, it was a heightened connection that took years for me to finally forget.
Yet here he is when it seems as though I’ve moved on from the idea of finding freedom with the one passion that’s kept me alive for so long.
"Five years, Elizabeth," he says softly, his voice carrying an intensity that makes my breath catch. "It took me five years to finally find you."
To…find me?
Could I dare allow myself to think that he was looking all this while? Or would it make me angry because why did he find me now?
Find me far too late…
I swallow hard, very aware of how close he's standing. The familiar scent of his cologne — sandalwood and something crisp like winter air — brings back a flood of memories.
Late nights in the dance studio, perfecting routines until our muscles screamed. Study sessions turned into heated debates about literature and philosophy. The way he'd look at me during performances, his eyes finding mine across the stage as if we were the only two people in the world.
"James," I whisper. There’s so much I want to say. To quietly confess how despite us despising one another, we secretly relied on one another to have each other’s backs.
Like now, I feel the need to tell him about Carter…about the complicated situation I've found myself in, within just a matter of days. But the words stick in my throat as I realize the truth.
I'm not actually claimed.
Sure, Carter seems invested, and there was that intense moment with Felix when we were drunk and horny, but Holmes's resistance is a glaring obstacle.
Victoria's words echo in my mind.
"I will be the Omega your pack chooses."
James's gaze drops to my lips, and I can read his intentions clearly.
He's going to kiss me — the same way he would before every performance, our own private good luck ritual.
But before he can move, a strong arm slides around my waist, and a familiar chin settles on my shoulder.
"If you're gonna try to kiss our Omega," Carter's voice cuts through the tension like a blade, "you're gonna have to kiss me first."
The playful words are at odds with his tone — dark and dangerous, promising violence. I turn my head slightly, catching sight of his expression, and my breath catches.
While my heart is galloping on overdrive.
I can’t say I’ve accounted for seeing Carter genuinely angry, but now there is a newfound beauty in his menacing stare of spite to this new predator in the ring.
Attempting to claim what is his.
His hazel eyes have gone almost black, fixed on James with predatory intensity. His usual easy smile is gone, replaced by something feral and possessive. The arm around my waist tightens fractionally, pulling me more firmly against him.
"Your Omega?" James repeats, his own posture shifting subtly while his eyes are darting between us. The change is familiar — the way he used to square up before difficult choreography, preparing for a challenge. "Funny, I don't see any claiming marks."
Right. Haven’t dove into the whole marking phase just yet.
Besides, it’s too soon for that. Markings are permanent, though you can get rid of them. Even if they’re a pain in the ass, worse than tattoo removal. Either way, we barely know each other to be talking about spending the rest of our lives together.
Carter's laugh is low and without humor.
"You offering to check?"
"Carter," I murmured, placing my hand over his where it rests on my stomach. I can feel the tension thrumming through him, like a tightly coiled spring ready to release.
James's eyes track the movement, his jaw tightening.
"Still dancing, Eli?" he asks, deliberately using the nickname that makes Carter's grip tighten further. "We made quite the pair back at Harvard. Maybe we could pick up where we left off."
Shit…
The offer I dare admit is tempting. Doing solos has been my choice for the auditions because no one wants to dance with a Forgotten Omega.
It’s bad luck…apparently.
Yet, James and I always had chemistry. The way we moved on the stage, no matter our rivaling flaws, never ceased to captivate a crowd, even if they knew our ongoing envy towards one another.
"The only place you'll be picking anything up," Carter growls, "is the emergency room if you don't back off."
"Carter!" I snap, but there's no real heat in it. Part of me — a part I'm not proud of — thrills at his possessiveness. To be fought for is such a turn-on for me when I read it in books or watch it in movies, but to physically experience it, is a whole other level of triggered lust.
James takes a deliberate step forward, entering Carter's space.
They're almost the same height, both radiating Alpha energy that makes the air feel thick and charged. I’m the middle person, yet I can’t do anything but dart my gaze between the two, noticing how charged the air is; like electric currents can spark into reality at any moment.
"You know," James says conversationally, though his eyes are hard, "Eli and I have history. Years of partnership, trust, chemistry." His lips curl into a challenging smile. "Things you can't build in what, a few days?"
"So?" Carter emphasizes smoothly. "You'd be amazed what you can build in a short time with the right person. I’ll admit, we only just met, but when you meet the right Omega, sparks can fly in a heartbeat." His mouth brushes my ear as he adds, "Right, Abbie?"
The deliberate use of the new nickname — his nickname for me that I warned he’d have to ‘earn’ to use, which…he kind of did — makes James's expression darken.
"Abbie?" he scoffs. "She hates nicknames."
"No," I find myself saying, "I hated being called names that were intentionally made to bully me. Like Lizzy from that stupid show. Abbie..." I pause, realizing the truth as I say it, "Abbie feels more sentimental."
Something flashes in James's eyes — hurt maybe — or recognition that things have changed more than he realized. He recovers just as quickly, but I do dislike that it has to come down to this.
That I have to hurt him so he’s not pulled into a mess that may get him hurt.
"We were good together," he says softly, his tone shifting to something more vulnerable. "Before everything went wrong…before you disappeared...we had plans, Eli. Dreams."
Fuck…
If only I could tell him the truth.
How despite the need to run away, I had been tempted so many times to reach out to him. How I wrote letters that were a postbox away from sending, and yet I couldn’t gather that final push to reach out to him.
To tell him I was okay.
That I was safe.
That I was tainted and ruined…but not fully broken.
That…the girl he loved died that day…
"Dreams change," I reply, matching his quiet tone, trying desperately not to show just how emotionally heavy his words are. "People change. I'm not the same girl you knew at Harvard."
"Maybe that's a good thing," Carter interjects, his voice still carrying that dangerous edge. "Because the Elizabeth Abercrombie I know doesn't let anyone define her future. Not even ghosts from her past."
I want to roll my eyes at his commentary, but I hold off, knowing he’s trying to wrap this up so he can steal me away from his “newfound” competition.
James's hands clench at his sides.
"You don't know anything about our past."
"I know enough," Carter counters. "I know she's here, in my arms, not running back to yours." His head tilts slightly as he studies James. "I also know you're not registered as a student here yet. Visitors aren't allowed in this wing without proper clearance."
The implied threat hangs in the air between them.
James's eyes narrow.
"How would you?—"
"Felix," Carter cuts him off, "is very thorough with his background checks. One of my pack mates, by the way. And right now, he's probably watching this whole interaction through about ten different security feeds. More or less, but I’m leaning toward the ‘more’ possibility."
As if on cue, my phone buzzes.
The message is from Felix.
"Want me to activate the sprinkler system? Might cool things down."
Despite the tension, I have to bite back a smile. Carter peaks at my phone, seeing the message which makes him chuckle as he announces, “Nah. Don’t want our girl getting too soaked before class.” He pauses just so he can meet James’ gaze once more. “Only those worthy of admiring our Omegas’ sinful body get to see her wet silhouette at such close proximity.”
Damn…
Is it hot in here or is it just me…
Cause all of this is making me feel blazing.
I’m a bit relieved Carter’s holding me because I feel slightly lightheaded for some odd reason.
"You should go," I tell James gently, deciding I would rather he not be here if I suddenly faint. The one thing I’m sure hadn’t changed with James was his OCD when it comes to your health. The moment you’re sick, unwell, or even cough, he’s in medical mode, trying to solve the cure for cancer or some crazy shit. I still don’t get why he didn’t become a doctor like his other brothers. "Before this escalates into something none of us wants."
He studies me for a long moment, his expression unreadable.
"We're not done talking," he says finally. "There's too much left unsaid."
"Maybe," I concede. "But not now.” I have to further shake my head to emphasize my point. I know he understands, but if we want to have a true conversation about the past, he’ll have to wait for another opportunity. “Not like this."
James takes a step back, his posture relaxing slightly though his eyes remain fixed on Carter's arm around my waist. I see the way his adam’s apple moves up and down as he swallows, and his eyes meet mine once more, filled with a layer of resolve.
"I'll see you around, Eli."
James…
"No," Carter says pleasantly, "you won't."
We watch him walk away, his shoulders stiff with barely contained anger. Only when he turns the corner does Carter's grip on me loosen slightly.
"So," he says, his voice deceptively light, "A past acquaintance it seems?"
I turn in his arms to face him properly.
His expression is still hard, but there's something else there now — a flicker of uncertainty that makes my heart clench. I’d be lying if I pretended that my gut wasn’t sinking with a heaviness that makes me wonder if I was wrong for letting James walk away.
This could all be fake…
He could just be using you for their reform goals.
This…all of this is getting too overstimulating.
"He was my dance partner," I say carefully. "Before...everything."
"Just a dance partner?"
I meet his gaze steadily.
"Does it matter?"
"Yes," he says simply. "Because I don't share what's mine with dance partners."
The possessiveness in his voice should probably bother me, but instead, it sends a shiver down my spine. I try to ignore it and even roll my eyes at his overprotectiveness, deciding I should remind him of the factors in place when it comes to “us”.
"I'm not yours yet," I remind him, though the words taste bitter. "Holmes?—"
"Holmes will come around," Carter cuts me off, his hand coming up to cup my face. "And even if he doesn't..." He pauses, something dark and determined crossing his features. "I didn't spend ten years building an empire just to let someone else's stubbornness cost me what I want."
The intensity in his voice makes it hard for me to dare breathe as our gaze feels so overwhelming, that I could drown in its scrutiny.
"And what do you want?" My voice comes out like barely a whisper.
His answer is immediate and absolute:
"You."