Chapter 28 Dorian
twenty-eight
Dorian
I wake up to sunlight streaming through unfamiliar windows and the scent of lilac and rain so close it makes my chest ache.
For a second, I forget where I am. Then it all comes rushing back—the lake house, the drive home, Vespera in the master bedroom down the hall. Our house. Our pack.
She's here. She's actually here.
I roll out of bed, noting the time: 6:47 AM. First day of fall semester. The day we prove we can do this. That we can be a functioning pack in the real world instead of a disaster contained at a lake house.
The claiming marks on my neck throb dully. I touch them—her teeth, her choice, her claim on me. The bond hums contentedly at my proximity to her, even through walls and doors.
Down the hall, water runs. She's awake. Showering.
My Alpha instincts immediately catalog details: what she's wearing, how she smells, whether she needs anything. I force myself to stay in my room. To give her space. To remember that being pack doesn't mean I have unrestricted access.
The lock on her door proved that last night when I'd stood outside at 2 AM, listening to her breathe through the wood, fighting every urge to knock and ask if she was okay.
I shower in my own bathroom—smaller than hers, less luxurious, but I don't care. She gets the best. That's how it should be.
By the time I'm dressed and downstairs, Oakley's already in the kitchen making coffee. He looks better than he has in weeks. Lighter. The tension carved into his shoulders since we kidnapped her has eased.
Things between us have been... different since the lake house. Better. We've finally stopped dancing around what we've always been to each other and are. The relief of it still catches me off guard sometimes.
"Morning," he says, handing me a mug without being asked. "She up?"
"Heard the shower."
"Nervous?"
"Terrified." I take a long drink. "This is where it all falls apart, isn't it? The second we step on campus."
"Maybe." Oakley leans against the counter, cedar scent warm and steady. "Or maybe we actually pull this off."
"You're optimistic this morning."
"I had a good night's sleep for the first time in months." His smile is soft. Private. Meant for me. "Hard not to be optimistic."
Corvus appears in the doorway, tablet already in hand because of course it is. He's fully dressed, hair perfect, looking like he's been awake for hours. Probably has been.
"Status report," he says, because he can't help himself. "Vespera's schedule is uploaded to the shared calendar. Her first class is Movement at nine, which overlaps with your Voice class, Dorian. Oakley, you have Scene Study at the same time."
"So we can all walk her to the theater building together," Oakley says.
"And look like the controlling pack we're trying not to be," I point out.
"Or look like the pack we actually are," Corvus counters. "She's living with us. People will know. Might as well own it."
He's right, but it still makes my stomach clench. The whispers. The looks. The inevitable questions about how the scholarship Omega ended up claimed by the pack that spent months hunting her.
"Cover story," I say. "We went away together over summer. Courted her properly. She accepted."
"Will anyone believe that?" Oakley asks.
"Does it matter?" Corvus sets his tablet down, meets both our eyes. "She's ours. We're hers. That's the only truth that counts."
Footsteps on the stairs. All three of us go still, tracking her movement. She appears in the kitchen doorway wearing jeans and one of my shirts—the one she kept—and looking nervous and defiant in equal measure.
"Morning," she says.
The word lands like a grenade. So casual. So domestic. Like this is normal. Like we do this every day.
"Morning," I echo. "Coffee?"
"Please."
I pour while Oakley wordlessly starts making eggs and Corvus pulls up her schedule to double-check something. We move around each other like we've done this a thousand times instead of once. Like we're actually a pack instead of four people who barely survived six weeks in captivity together.
She sits at the island, wrapping both hands around the mug I give her. Watching us with those green eyes that see too much.
"You're all being weird," she finally says.
"We're being normal," Corvus protests.
"That's what's weird." But she's smiling slightly. "You're trying too hard."
"We want this to work," Oakley says, plating eggs and setting them in front of her. "Is that so bad?"
"No." She takes a bite, chews thoughtfully. "Unexpected. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop."
"No shoes," I promise. "This. Whatever this is."
"A pack," she says quietly. "This is what being pack looks like. Apparently."
The word settles over the kitchen like a benediction. Or a curse. Hard to tell which.
We eat in relative silence, the kind that's comfortable instead of tense. When she's done, she carries her plate to the sink and Oakley immediately moves to wash it.
"I can do that," she protests.
"I know. But I want to." He grins at her. "Let me be useful."
She rolls her eyes but doesn't argue. Leans against the counter and watches him with something soft in her expression. Something that makes hope flare painfully in my chest.
Maybe we can do this. Maybe it's actually possible.
"We should get going," Corvus says, checking his watch. "Campus will be chaos with everyone moving in."
"Right." Vespera straightens, and armor slides into place. Getting ready to face the world. "Let's do this."
The drive to campus is quiet. Tense. All of us processing what comes next.
When we pull into the parking lot, students are everywhere. Moving boxes, hauling suitcases, reuniting with friends. The energy is electric. Excited. First day of fall semester energy.
And we're about to walk into it as a unit. A publicly claimed pack with the most controversial Omega on campus.
"Ready?" I ask, glancing at Vespera in the rearview mirror.
"No." But she's already opening her door. "But let's go anyway."
We walk across campus together. Four of us in a loose formation—me in front, Corvus and Oakley flanking Vespera. Protective without being obvious. Pack formation without making it a statement.
Except it is a statement. Every head that turns, every whispered conversation that stops mid-word, every stare that follows us proves it.
The Ashworth pack claimed an Omega. The scholarship girl. The one they hunted.
The thoughts are practically audible even unspoken. The questions in every face we pass.
Vespera holds her head high. Refusing to look cowed. Refusing to act like she has anything to be ashamed of.
Fuck, she's magnificent.
We reach the theater building and she pauses at the entrance. Turns to look at all three of us.
"Thank you for walking me," she says formally. Like we're acquaintances instead of her pack. "I can take it from here."
"We have class in the same building," Oakley points out.
"I know. But I need to walk in alone." Her jaw is set. Determined. "People need to see me as me. Not as your Omega."
The words sting, but she's right. If we hover, if we follow her everywhere, we're proving every assumption about controlling Alphas and submissive Omegas.
"Okay," I say. Even though everything in me screams to follow. To protect. To claim. "We'll see you after class."
She nods and walks through the doors alone.
The three of us stand there like idiots, watching her go.
"That went well," Corvus says dryly.
"Shut up."
My Voice class is torture.
Not because of the material—Professor Valenti is brilliant as always, breaking down breath support and resonance with surgical precision.
But because I can't stop thinking about Vespera one floor below in Movement, surrounded by other students, without any of us there to make sure she's okay.
The bonds stretch uncomfortably. Not painful, but present. A constant awareness of her location, her emotional state, the distance between us.
"Mr. Ashworth." Valenti's voice cuts through my distraction. "Would you like to demonstrate the exercise?"
"Of course." I stand, moving to the center of the studio, and run through the breathing pattern she outlined. It's automatic. Muscle memory from years of training.
But my mind is still on Vespera.
When class finally ends, I'm out the door before Valenti finishes her closing remarks. Down the stairs. To the Movement studio where she is.
I pause outside the door. Through the window, she's in the center of the room, moving through some combination with perfect control. Her body knows what to do even when her mind is elsewhere.
She looks happy. Relaxed. Completely in her element.
And none of the other students are bothering her. No whispers. No pointed looks. Normalcy.
Maybe this can actually work.
The door opens and students start filing out. I step back, trying not to look like I was lurking. Trying to be casual.
Vespera emerges mid-conversation with another Omega—a girl I don't recognize. They're laughing about something, easy and natural, and when Vespera sees me her smile falters only slightly.
"Dorian," she says. "This is Maya. We're in Movement together."
"Nice to meet you." I extend my hand, forcing myself to be polite. Normal. Not a controlling Alpha.
Maya shakes it, eyeing me with obvious curiosity. "You're Vespera's... pack?"
The question hangs there. Loaded. Dangerous.
"I am," I say simply.
"Cool." Maya turns back to Vespera. "So lunch tomorrow? There's that new café off campus."
"Yeah, definitely. Text me."
They exchange numbers—Vespera has friends now, is making plans without checking with us first—and then Maya waves goodbye and disappears into the crowd.
Vespera looks at me. "You were waiting outside my class."
"I was passing by."
"Liar." But she's smiling. "Come on. I have an hour before my next class. Let's grab food."
We walk to the dining hall together. Not touching, but close enough that her scent wraps around me, the bond humming contentedly.