Chapter 31
Chapter Thirty-One
Emily
The windshield wipers beat a steady rhythm on the glass, brushing off the rain.
Auren sits curled in the passenger seat, his form a pale shadow in the darkness. His bandaged wrist curls against his body like a badge of honor while the truck cab fills with his pheromones, crushed violets thickening the air until each breath coats my lungs in sticky sweetness.
I keep my attention locked on the road, where reflections of streetlights stretch and warp across the wet asphalt.
Auren sighs for the third time since we left the lot.
“The storm is getting worse,” he murmurs, a note of fear tightening his throat. “I can’t believe they kept us at the hospital for so long.”
I say nothing as I grip the steering wheel, my attention focused on the curving road ahead.
Auren winces as we hit a pothole, his body jerking forward then back. My jaw aches from clenching, teeth grinding together each time his pheromones spike with manufactured distress.
When I don’t react, he lifts his bandaged wrist closer, fingers curling around the gauze, as if there’s any way I’ve forgotten about the injury. “The doctor said I should be careful not to jostle my injuries.”
A car passes in the opposite direction, headlights flaring across the cab. That flash betrays his calculated look before he can go back to playing up the pain.
“You’re taking the long way,” Auren observes, his head turning toward me. “You could cut through Maple Street and save us ten minutes.”
Save us ten minutes to what? To me, giving in? To him, stepping back into my life?
I check the rearview mirror and see nothing but black emptiness stretching behind us. No other cars are braving the storm at this hour.
Auren shifts again, this time leaning toward me, his scent intensifying. The blanket slips from one shoulder, tempting me to reach for him, to reestablish the caretaker dynamic he thrives on.
I keep my attention on the dark road ahead, the familiar routine of driving keeping me from spiraling into the vortex of his manipulation.
“This is silly,” Auren says after the silence stretches too long for him. His bandaged hand emerges from beneath the blanket, hovering in the space between us. “You could just take me home.”
Home. The word hangs in the air.
I swallow, throat clicking dry despite the humidity. “The Omega house has professionals who can help you.”
“I don’t need professionals.” His voice slips into an intimate husk, one that never failed to undo me before. “I need my Alpha.”
The traffic light ahead turns yellow, then red. I brake slowly, the truck settling into stillness at the deserted intersection.
“I’m not your Alpha.”
Auren’s reflection in the passenger window shows a flash of irritation before he schools his emotions to only show hurt. “You promised you’d always take care of me.”
The light turns green, and I tap the accelerator, the truck lurching forward with more force than necessary, rainwater spraying from beneath the tires. Auren’s body sways with the motion, and this time, his wince might be genuine.
“The Omega house will connect you with resources and counseling,” I say. “You’ll need that now.”
“I don’t want counseling,” he spits, the mask slipping. “I want—”
“We’re almost there,” I cut him off.
Auren falls silent, his breathing ragged. His lavender hair hangs in damp strands, water from the brief dash to the truck gathering at the tips and dripping onto his blanket.
I turn onto Oak Street, the Omega protective house waiting three blocks ahead. I had called from the hospital while filling out the discharge paperwork, so they knew to expect us, despite the late hour.
“They’ll lock me away.” Auren curls in on himself, appearing smaller. “Like I’m broken.”
“No one’s locking you away,” I say, the first crack of emotion bleeding into my words. “They’re giving you a safe place to stay until you decide what you want to do next.”
The rain eases as we approach, and a sturdy craftsman house comes into view, warm light spilling from curtained windows. The sight of it loosens a knot between my shoulder blades.
“You’re abandoning me.” Auren’s whisper carries above the road noise. “After everything.”
I pull into the driveway, tires crunching on wet gravel, the engine idling. Every instinct says I could still drive away, could still give in to the years of conditioning that are screaming at me to protect, to soothe, to fix.
“No.” I kill the engine. “I’m setting us both free.”
Auren sucks in a breath. “You don’t mean that.”
For the first time since the hospital, I turn to face him head-on, and the pure, cold rage I see chills me before it disappears again beneath a new rush of wide-eyed vulnerability.
I unbuckle my seatbelt, the click loud in the sudden quiet of the cab. Auren doesn’t move, his body a study in reluctance, each muscle tensed in silent protest.
“We should go in,” I say, reaching for the door handle.
His cold, slender fingers catch my wrist. “Please don’t do this.”
I pull away, my skin crawling in the place he touched me. Nothing about this Omega tempts me anymore. I’ll see him to safely inside the Omega protective house, then I will close the door on this part of my life and finally move on.
I grab the leather satchel with his change of clothes and push my door open, raindrops pelting me as I step out.
For a moment, I think Auren will refuse to leave my truck, and I’ll be forced to call the police to have him removed. But he must decide to spare us both the indignity as he slides out, the blanket still clutched around him.
The porch light flickers on as we approach, a motion sensor announcing our arrival. Auren trails behind me, his footsteps dragging across wet gravel. Water drips from his lavender hair, trailing down his neck, and he shivers nonstop.
Before we reach the steps, the front door swings open. Warm light spills out, outlining a woman in the doorway. Tight coils of hair frame her head, and the blue wool sweater she’s wearing is thinned and frayed at the elbows, softened by years of use.
“Ms. Wilson?” she calls over the rain, lifting a hand in greeting. “I’m Maria from Safe Harbor House. We spoke earlier.”
I climb the steps, aware of Auren shuffling pathetically behind me. “Thank you for meeting us so late.”
“Welcome.” She steps aside, inviting us in. “The Safe Harbor House never closes.”
Inside, the hallway glows with soft lamplight. Landscape photographs line the walls, and fresh flowers sit in a vase on a small table, their fragrance gentle beneath the stronger scent of cinnamon and cloves from a simmering pot somewhere deeper in the house.
The air is clean here, filtered through pheromone neutralizers that hum from discreet wall units.
“You must be Auren.” Maria turns to him, her posture open. “We have a room ready for you upstairs. You’ll be sharing it with one other Omega. The room has a private bath, and we have fresh clothes for you to use if needed.”
Auren curls inward, his chin dropping until lavender strands swing forward like a curtain. “I don’t belong here. This place is for Omegas with no one to care for them.”
Maria’s stance doesn’t change, hands loosely folded in front of her. “This place is for anyone who needs a safe transition. Whether that’s escaping an unhealthy situation or simply taking time to consider their next steps.”
The radiator in the corner clicks, heat rising to fight the chill we brought in with us. Murmured voices drift from a common room further in the house, and someone laughs, the sound bright and unexpected.
“We’ll go over house expectations in the morning, when you’ve had some rest,” Maria continues. “There’s no rush. Right now, we focus on getting you settled.”
Auren shakes his head, droplets flying from his damp hair. “No, I’m not staying here.”
Trained to respond to the pull of his need, my heart clenches. “You need people who know how to help.”
His fingers twist in the blanket, knuckles white. “I need you.”
Maria takes a step back. “I’ll give you two a moment. There’s some paperwork we’ll need to complete, but it can wait a few minutes.”
Her footsteps fade down the hallway, rubber soles silent on the polished wood.
Auren’s mask slips a fraction, irritation flashing beneath the fragility. “You can’t leave me here.”
I bend my knees, bringing us eye-to-eye. “I’m not your Alpha, and this is the last time I will take care of you. After tonight, I never want to see you again.”
His pupils contract, amethyst swallowed by black. “Are you punishing me? Is that why you’re doing this?”
“No.” I steady my breathing, keeping my posture relaxed even as my stomach knots. “This is about boundaries.”
The blanket slips from his shoulder to puddle on the ground, leaving him shivering in the hospital gown he’d refused to change out of. “What about our history? What about everything I gave you?”
My palms flatten on my thighs. “What about everything you took?”
Auren straightens in a sudden motion, the softness from before wiped clean. “You’re doing this because you’re weak. You couldn’t keep me safe, and now you’re proving you never could.”
The words slice into old wounds, practiced strikes at weak points he’s spent years mapping.
“You’ll never be a real Alpha,” he continues, violet eyes narrowing. “You’ll never have a real pack or pups. You’ll be alone in the end.”
My stomach contracts, acid burning up my throat. I swallow, moisture evaporating from my mouth.
“Maybe.” The admission costs me, scraped from a place deep inside, still convinced he might be right. “But I’m still not taking you home.”
His face twists, beautiful even in his cruelty. “Your new pet Alpha won’t last. He’ll see the same lack in you I did. And when he leaves, you’ll have nothing.”
I straighten to my full height. “I can live with that. I hope you can find it in yourself to do the same.”
His lip curls with disgust, and he holds out his hand. “Give me your phone. I’m calling Mark. When he finds out where you’ve put me—”
“He already knows,” I tell him. “We spoke while you were giving your police statement. His law firm will be in contact with you in the morning.”
Mark and Jacob had eventually returned after they left Auren’s hospital room the first time, but they never went inside.
Auren’s decision to push the abuse narrative had been the final straw.
Mark now plans to file a defamation suit and pursue a false-report claim with the police.
The mix of civil and criminal complaints will keep Auren tied up in court for months.
Footsteps approach from the hallway, rubber soles squeaking on the wood. Maria comes back down the hallway with a clipboard, her professional calm offering no hint of whether she caught any part of the conversation.
“I have some intake forms,” she says, offering a pen. “Basic information, emergency contacts.”
Auren turns away, arms crossed.
I take the clipboard, the plastic cool beneath my fingertips. The form blurs as I try to read it, black type swimming on the white background. I force my hand to remain steady as I fill in the boxes. Name. Date of birth. Relation to client.
When I reach Emergency Contact, I hesitate.
“You can list yourself if you want,” Maria suggests, “or we can leave it blank for now.”
With a deep breath, I leave it blank. There will be no doors left open this time.
Auren keeps his back to me as I complete the form, his body language rigid with rejection. The overhead light catches in his lavender hair, turning the damp strands to silver where they curve along his neck.
“All set.” I hand the clipboard back to Maria.
She takes it. “We’ll take good care of him.”
The warnings I want to give about his tactics, explanations of his triggers, stick in my throat. Instead, I simply say, “Thank you.”
Auren doesn’t turn when I say goodbye. I leave the emergency blanket on the floor, not wanting any trace of him to return with me.
My footsteps echo on the hardwood as I walk toward the door, the weight of Auren’s prediction settling into my bones.
The night air hits me hard as I step onto the porch, cold after the heated interior. Behind me, the door closes with a soft click, severing the last physical connection between us.
I stand alone under the shelter of the porch roof, rain sprinkling around me, before I stiffen my spine.
I have an Alpha to return home to.
As I pull into my driveway, the lights are still on inside, and relief sweeps through me knowing Jared waited up for me. I need to get inside and apologize for running out on him earlier.
Mixie appears at the living room window, her green eyes flashing red in the headlights. I can’t wait to cuddle her, then maybe pick back up where I left things with Jared. Despite exhaustion tugging at my body, I need to be close to him. To reassure myself I’m not alone, no matter what Auren said.
Cutting off the engine, I hop out of the truck and hurry to the front porch. The key slides into the lock, metal scraping metal.
Inside, warmth welcomes me home, but the silence raises alarm bells. The house sits too quiet, too still. My boots thud on the hardwood as I step into the foyer, the sound echoing in a way it never does when Jared is home.
Mixie appears in the hallway, her black coat gleaming in the low light. She trills a greeting, weaving figure-eights around my ankles, as if she’s lonely.
“Jared?” I call out, breaking the silence.
No answer comes.
I shed my jacket, draping it over the hook by the door. My boots should sit beside Jared’s, paired like bookends on the mat. Instead, his side is empty, and unease slithers through me.
“Jared?” I call again, moving deeper into the house.
The living room sits undisturbed. The book he was reading earlier still lies open on the coffee table, with a bookmark holding his place. The blanket on the couch bears the imprint of where he sat, but the cushion has cooled.
He’s been gone for a while.
The kitchen gleams clean in the overhead light when I flip the switch. No dishes in the sink. No note on the counter. The chairs are tucked beneath the table, their wooden legs casting long shadows across the floor.
Cold panic rises as my feet carry me down the hall to where the guest room door stands ajar, darkness spilling from within.
I push it open, the hinges creaking softly. The bed sits undisturbed, covers pulled tight across the mattress.
The realization settles cold and heavy in the pit of my stomach.
Jared is gone.