Chapter 3 Oakley #2
"Fuck, Oak—" He slams home one final time, his knot swelling to full size, locking us together as he comes.
The stretch is brutal, overwhelming, his knot pulsing as he fills me.
We're locked now, will be for at least twenty minutes, his biology trying to breed me even though I'm not an omega, can't carry his kids, can't be what his body really wants.
But for now, with his knot buried inside me and his body pressed against mine, the rejection sickness eases. His breathing slows, his desperate edge softening into something almost like peace.
We stay locked together for twenty minutes, his knot keeping us connected while the water runs over us. He holds me against the wall, my weight nothing to his Alpha strength even weakened as he is. Occasionally his hips twitch, grinding his knot deeper, making me gasp at the fullness.
"She would have taken it so perfectly," he murmurs against my neck. "During her heat, she was so tight, so perfect around my knot. But she fought it, even then. Even when her body needed it."
I don't respond, just let him talk, let him work through his obsession while his knot keeps us joined. This is part of it too—the afterward, when his mind clears enough to process.
Finally his knot starts to soften, and he pulls out carefully. The emptiness after being so full always makes me shudder, and today is no different. Come leaks down my thighs, washed away immediately by the shower spray.
"Fourteen days," he says as I wash his back, checking for injuries I might have missed. "Until we go to Columbus and bring her home."
"She might never forgive us," I point out, even though I've already agreed to help. "Taking her by force, keeping her captive—it might destroy any chance of her accepting the bond."
"She already won't forgive us." He turns to face me, and his eyes are clearer now, the desperate edge temporarily satisfied. "We spent months tormenting her. We claimed her against her will during her heat. We're already past forgiveness, Oak. Now it's just about survival."
I rinse the soap from his hair, the familiar gesture grounding us both. We've been doing this dance for so long—him leading, me following, both of us pretending it doesn't mean more than physical release.
For a moment I want to say it—those three words that would change everything. But we don't do that. We don't acknowledge the deeper currents between us. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
"Help me get her back, Oak. Help me fix this."
"I will." The promise feels like signing my own destruction, but I make it anyway. Because that's what I do—I heal, I help, I hold things together even when they're falling apart.
We dry off and I treat his wounds properly, bandaging his knuckles and checking his vitals. His fever is still too high, his weight loss concerning, but he's stable for now. The sex helped, gave him a few minutes of peace from the rejection sickness.
"You should try to sleep," I tell him as he pulls on clean clothes.
"Can't. Every time I close my eyes, I see her leaving." He moves to his closet, to the shrine of her things. "This helps. Her scent, even fading. It helps."
I watch him breathe in her sweater, his whole body shuddering with need, and I make a decision.
"We'll need supplies for the lake house," I say. "In case her rejection sickness gets worse. And we'll need a clean vehicle, something that can't be traced."
His head snaps up, hope flaring in his eyes. "You're really going to help?"
"I'm really going to help." God help me, but I am. "We bring her to the lake house, we keep her safe and healthy, and we try to convince her that the bond is worth accepting. If she still wants to leave after that—"
"She won't." The conviction in his voice is absolute. "Give it time. Proximity, the bonds reinforcing, showing her what we should have shown her from the beginning? She'll stay."
I'm not so sure, but I don't voice my doubts. Right now, he needs hope more than reality. And maybe, just maybe, if we can show her who we really are instead of the monsters we pretended to be, she might find something worth staying for.
"Get some rest," I tell him again. "I'll talk to Corvus in the morning about logistics."
"Oak?" He calls as I'm leaving. "Thank you. For everything. For letting me knot you even though it's not... even though you're not what my body actually needs."
"I'll never give up on you," I say, and mean it. "That's the problem."
Back in my own room, I can still feel the phantom stretch of his knot, my body sore in that familiar way. I stare at the ceiling and try to reconcile what we're planning to do.
Kidnapping. That's what it is, no matter how we justify it.
We're going to take an omega who rejected us, hold her captive, and hope that proximity breaks down her resistance.
Every ethical bone in my body screams this is wrong.
But watching Dorian destroy himself, feeling the pack bonds weaken until they snap, losing everything we've built together—that feels worse.
We've got time. Time to either fix this or destroy it completely.
Either way, at least the waiting will be over.