Chapter 26 – COLE
CHAPTER 26
COLE
I 'm gonna lose my fucking mind.
Every instinct in my body is screaming at me to cross the room, to sweep Bella into my arms, to bury my face in her neck and breathe in that caramel coffee scent that's been driving me insane since the moment we met.
But I can't move. Won't move. My back is pressed so hard against the doorframe I can feel the wood digging into my spine through my jacket.
It's the only thing keeping me grounded.
The only thing stopping me from doing something I'll regret.
The others are no better off. They all look like they're about to snap in half from the tension. Even Savva, who moves like a panther, is rigid. All of us, every alpha in the Vanguard Pack, brought to our knees by a single omega's scent.
Not just any omega. Our omega.
Our scent match.
The term echoes in my head, mocking me. Scent match. Like the universe has some sick fucking sense of humor, binding me—this scarred, broken shell of a man—to someone as bright and whole as Bella.
I'd laugh if I wasn't fighting the urge to snarl.
Bella whimpers from the bed, curling tighter around herself as another wave of heat hits her. The sound cuts through me like a blade, my alpha instincts roaring to soothe, to protect, to claim.
I take a step back, nearly stumbling into the hallway. Need to get away. Need to put distance between us before I do something unforgivable.
But my feet won't move. Won't carry me any further than the doorway. It's like there's an invisible tether binding me to this room, to her. Every cell in my body rebels at the thought of leaving her when she's vulnerable.
When she needs me.
Needs us.
Probably the only fucking reason she tolerates me. Because I'm her scent match, and on a biological level, her omega heart understands that. If she could see me clearly, without rose-colored glasses, she'd run screaming. Just like everyone else.
The memory hits me like a punch to the gut. My fiancée. My omega. The woman who swore she'd love me forever, only to look at my ruined face with horror in her eyes when she finally saw me.
"I can't," she'd whispered, backing away from my hospital bed. "I'm sorry, Cole. I just... I can't."
And that was it. Years together, a future planned, all of it gone in an instant because half my face and body were burned and irreparably scarred in an explosion that should have killed me.
Sometimes I wish it had.
The thought slips in before I can stop it, bitter and familiar. I push it away, focusing instead on the present danger. On Bella, writhing on the bed in the grip of a heat she wasn't prepared for. On the four other alphas in the room, all fighting the same battle I am.
A battle we're all going to lose if something doesn't change soon.
"We need to get out," I rasp, forcing the words past the growl building in my throat. My voice sounds like it's been dragged over gravel, rough and raw. "All of us."
Troy shakes his head, a jerky movement. "Can't leave her alone. Not like this. And we can't leave the penthouse with a threat still out there."
He's right. Fuck, I know he's right. But my control is slipping by the second, and I'm not the only one. The air is thick with pheromones. Bella's sweet heat scent mingling with the rum-like scent of alpha arousal from five different sources.
It's a powderkeg waiting for a spark.
And I've seen what happens when things explode.
"One of us," I manage. "One stays. The rest go."
Roman nods tightly, his jaw working as he struggles to maintain his alpha composure. "I'll stay," he says, the words clipped and strained. "The rest of you, out. Now."
Liam growls, low in his throat. "Like hell. Of course you would choose?—"
"That's an order," Roman snaps, and alpha authority rings in his voice, silencing Liam mid-sentence. "I'm still the pack leader. And I'm telling you to go."
For a moment, no one moves. Then Savva straightens, his usual graceful movement stilted by the effort it takes. "Roman is right," he says, his accent thicker than usual. "We can't all stay. It's not safe. We'll turn on each other."
Troy nods, already backing toward the door. "I'll be right outside," he says, his voice rough, too. "If anything happens?—"
"Nothing's going to happen," Roman cuts him off. "I'm just going to make sure she's safe until the suppressants kick in. That's all."
He doesn't sound convinced.
None of us are.
But what choice do we have?
I force myself to take another step back, then another. Each one feels like tearing off a piece of my own skin, the alpha in me howling in protest at leaving our omega.
Our omega.
I need to stop thinking like that. She's not ours. Not mine. Even if the universe has decided otherwise.
The universe doesn't know shit about what's best for Bella. If it did, it wouldn't have stuck her with a pack of broken ex-soldiers, one of whom looks like he crawled out of a fucking horror movie.
I back into the hallway, nearly colliding with Troy. He steadies me with a hand on my shoulder, and I have to fight the urge to snarl at the contact. Every nerve ending is raw, my temper a living thing clawing at my insides.
"Wait. Cole..."
Her voice stops me dead, my hand frozen on the doorframe. I don't turn around, can't turn around. If I look at her now, with that sweet caramel coffee scent filling every corner of the room, I'll be lost.
"Please stay. Not Roman. You."
The words don't make sense at first. They're just random sounds, jumbled together in a fever dream. Because there's no fucking way Bella just asked for me over Roman. Over any of the others.
"What?" The word comes out like gravel, scraped raw from my throat.
"I want you to stay." Her voice is soft but steady, even through the heat. "Please."
I risk a glance over my shoulder and immediately regret it. She's sitting up on the bed now, those green eyes locked on me with an intensity that pins me in place. Sweat gleams on her forehead, her cheeks flushed pink. Beautiful and vulnerable and everything I don't deserve to touch.
Roman's standing beside the bed, his expression caught between confusion and jealousy. "Bella, are you sure? Cole isn't..." He trails off, but I hear the unspoken words anyway.
Cole isn't stable.
Cole isn't safe.
Cole is fucking broken.
But Bella just nods, her eyes never leaving mine. "I'm sure."
The silence stretches, thick and heavy. I can feel the others watching me, waiting for my response.
"Okay," Roman says finally, wariness still bleeding into his voice. "If that's what you want."
He backs toward the door and the others follow, Troy throwing me one last concerned glance before slipping out. The door clicks shut behind them, and suddenly it's just me and Bella in a room that feels too small and too big all at once.
I shouldn't be here. Should be the last fucking person in the world entrusted with this.
Bella shifts on the bed, a small whimper escaping her lips as another wave of heat crashes over her. The sound slices through me. Before I can stop myself, I'm moving toward her, my feet carrying me to the edge of the bed.
I keep my distance, though. Arms rigid at my sides, hands clenched into fists to keep from reaching out. "What do you need?" I ask, the words rough and awkward on my tongue.
She looks up at me through a curtain of dark hair. "Hold me?" The request is so small, so hesitant, it makes my chest ache. "The suppressants aren't working yet. Everything hurts."
I swallow hard, fear and longing warring inside me. "I don't think that's a good idea."
"Please." Her voice breaks on the word, and with it, my resolve.
Carefully, moving as if approaching a wounded animal, I lower myself to sit on the edge of the bed. The mattress dips under my weight, and Bella slides toward me slightly. Her scent surrounds me, stronger and more intoxicating than ever.
"Why me?" I have to ask, the question clawing its way out before I can stop it. "Any of them would be better at... this."
At comfort.
At gentle touches.
At being what an omega needs.
Bella's eyes meet mine, clear despite the fever of her heat. "Because I trust you."
Trust.
She trusts me?
Such a small word for such an impossible concept.
"You shouldn't," I warn her, but I don't move away.
"Too late." The ghost of a smile touches her lips. "I already do."
Another cramp hits her, and she curls forward with a gasp. Without thinking, I reach out, my hand hovering awkwardly over her back. She leans into my touch, and the contact sends electricity shooting up my arm.
"What can I do?" I ask, desperate and out of my depth.
"Just hold me." She scoots closer, her body radiating heat. "Please."
I hesitate, fighting every alpha instinct screaming at me to gather her up and never let go. This is dangerous territory. Touch isn't something I do anymore.
But Bella is waiting, watching me with those green eyes that somehow see past all my sharp edges. And I'm too weak, too selfish to deny her.
Awkwardly, I shift on the bed, my back against the headboard. "Come here," I murmur, opening my arms.
She doesn't hesitate. In one smooth motion, she's nestled against my chest, her head tucked under my chin, her body fitting against mine like she was made to be there.
And maybe she was.
Bella sighs, some of the tension leaving her body as I wrap my arms around her. "Thank you," she whispers against my neck.
I grunt in response, not trusting myself to speak. Her scent is overwhelming this close, seeping into my pores, becoming part of me. My heart pounds a desperate rhythm against my ribs, so loud I'm sure she can hear it.
But this isn't about me. It's about her. About getting her through this unexpected heat with her dignity intact. About being what she needs right now, even if that's the last thing in the world I thought I could be.
"This doesn't hurt, right?" she whispers into my neck, her breath fanning over the scars there.
"The scars don't hurt anymore," I find myself saying, the words slipping out. "Most of them, anyway. There are places where the nerve endings are dead. Can't feel anything. Other spots where everything's too sensitive. Like my skin's on inside out."
I don't know why I'm telling her this. Maybe because her fevered body is pressed against the worst of the damage, and I need her to understand what she's touching. What kind of alpha she's asked to hold her.
"Does it bother you?" she asks softly. "When I touch them?"
I consider lying. It would be easier, cleaner. But something about her quiet question demands honesty. "No," I admit. "Not when it's you."
She shifts slightly, her hand finding mine. Her fingers brush over my knuckles, tracing the scarred ridges and valleys. "Good."
We fall silent after that, the only sounds our breathing and the distant hum of the air conditioning. Minutes tick by, measured in the steady beat of her heart against my chest. Gradually, her breathing evens out, her body relaxing further into mine as the suppressants begin to take effect.
I should feel relieved. Should be counting the seconds until I can escape this dangerous intimacy. Instead, I find myself memorizing the weight of her in my arms, the exact shade of her dark hair spread across my chest, the feeling of being needed instead of feared.
"Cole?" Her voice is drowsy now, the worst of the heat fever receding.
"Hmm?"
"Will you tell me what happened?"
The question freezes me, muscles locking up with the instinct to run, to hide, to protect what little is left of me from prying eyes.
But Bella just waits, patient and still in my arms. Not demanding, not pushing. Just asking. And somehow, that makes all the difference.
"It was an incendiary grenade," I say finally, the words feeling strange in my mouth. I never talk about this. Never. "We were on a mission. Hostage extraction. Everything went to shit." I swallow hard, the memory razor-sharp despite the years that have passed. "Didn't have time to think. Just threw myself on it. Was wearing tactical armor, but it wasn't enough. My hair went white after that. The debridement, skin grafts, and reconstructive surgeries were… extreme."
I expect horror. Shock. Pity. The usual reactions.
Instead, Bella's hand tightens around mine. "You saved them."
It wasn't a question, but I answer anyway. "Yeah. Guess so."
Bella sits up slightly, just enough to look me in the face. For once, I don't turn away, don't hide my scars from her gaze. Her eyes are clear now, the fever almost gone. She studies me with an intensity that should make me squirm, but doesn't.
"You're a hero, Cole."
The word lands like a blow. I flinch away from it, from the weight of expectation it carries. "I'm not. I'm just a guy who was in the wrong place at the wrong time."
"You threw yourself on a grenade." Her voice is gentle but firm. "That's the definition of heroism."
I look away, unable to bear the admiration in her eyes. She doesn't understand. Doesn't know that one act of courage doesn't erase all the darkness inside me. Doesn't negate the monster I've become.
"My fiancée didn't think so," the words slip out before I can stop them, bitter and jagged. "She took one look at what was left of me after the last surgery failed and walked out."
Bella goes very still in my arms. "What?"
Too late to take it back now. "Sarah. We were engaged before my deployment. She said she'd wait for me. Said nothing could change how she felt." My laugh is a harsh, broken sound. "Turns out getting half your face melted off was the exception to that promise."
"Cole." The way she says my name, soft and aching, makes me want to curl into myself. "I'm so sorry."
"Don't be," I say, my voice coming out rougher than I mean to sound. "She showed her true colors. Better to know before than after."
Bella's quiet for a long moment, her fingers still laced with mine. When she speaks again, her voice is steady. "She was wrong."
Three simple words. They shouldn't mean anything. Shouldn't pierce through years of rage and bitterness. But they do.
"The scars don't define you," she continues. "They're part of you, but they're not all of you. Anyone who can't see that doesn't deserve you."
I want to laugh at the irony. This sweet, perfect omega defending me. Telling me I deserve better, when I'm the one who should be grateful for any scrap of kindness thrown my way.
But the certainty in her voice makes it hard to breathe.
"We should check if those suppressants are working," I mutter, desperate to change the subject before she breaks through any more of my walls. "How are you feeling?"
She allows the diversion, settling back against my chest. "Better. Still warm, but not... burning anymore. Not like before."
"Good." I don't move, though. Don't loosen my hold on her. Not yet. "That's good."
Another silence falls, but it's different now. Comfortable, almost. My thumb moves in small circles on the back of her hand, a gesture so automatic I don't realize I'm doing it until she sighs contentedly.
"I thought you hated me," she says suddenly. "When you first arrived."
The statement is so absurd I almost laugh. "Why? I never hated you."
"You avoided me. Barely spoke to me. Looked at me like I was something dangerous."
Because you are, I think but don't say. Instead, I sigh, my breath stirring her hair. "It wasn't you. I don't... I'm not good with people anymore. Especially not omegas."
"Because of Sarah?"
The name still stings, but less than it used to. "Partly. And partly because people tend to react badly to… this." I gesture vaguely at my face, though she can't see the movement where her face is nuzzling into my neck. "I figured it was easier to keep my distance. Safer."
"Safer for who?"
"Both of us."
She shifts again, turning to face me fully. Her heat scent has faded to something milder, still sweet but not so overwhelming. Her eyes search mine, looking for something I'm not sure I have to give.
"I'm not afraid of you, Cole."
"Maybe you should be." The words come out rough, almost a growl.
She shakes her head, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "No. I don't think so."
Before I can respond, she reaches up, her hand hovering near my face. I freeze, every muscle going rigid. "Can I?" she asks softly.
I should say no. Should pull away, put distance between us. But I find myself nodding, a sharp, jerky movement.
Her fingers are gentle as they trace the edge of the scars on my right cheek. I close my eyes, unable to watch her explore the ruin of my face. Her touch moves higher, skimming over my temple, across my right eye.
"I should warn you," I mutter, the words scraping out of my throat. "The right eye isn't real. Lost it in the explosion. What you're touching is a prosthetic. I take it out at night and wear a patch."
Her fingers pause for just a heartbeat before continuing their gentle exploration. "That's why it doesn't dilate like your left one," she says softly. "I noticed, but wasn't sure."
My eyes snap open in shock. "You noticed? When?"
"That first day, when you all arrived. I saw how your left pupil reacted to the light when you moved from the hallway into the living room, but the right one stayed fixed."
I stare at her, stunned. She'd noticed that detail from the very beginning and never said a word, never stared, never showed disgust. And now she's chosen to have me here, instead of any of the others.
"You knew... and still wanted me to stay?"
She smiles, her fingers continuing their gentle journey across my face. "Of course. It's part of you, just like everything else."
Something tight in my chest loosens, a knot I didn't even know was there. Her fingers trace the ridges of scar tissue down to my jaw, where the damage pulls my lip into a permanent snarl.
"Does this hurt?" she whispers.
"No," I manage, my voice strangled. "It's... no one's touched me at all. Not since..."
Not since the doctors who put me back together. Not since I decided the world didn't deserve to look at the monster I'd become.
"Thank you," she says, withdrawing her hand, trailing it down my neck and chest. "For letting me."
I open my eyes, baffled by her gratitude. "I don't understand you."
Her smile widens, a real one this time. "That's okay. You don't have to."
She settles back against me, her head finding that spot under my chin that feels like it was carved out just for her. Like we're puzzle pieces that were always meant to fit together.
"You should rest," I tell her, suddenly aware of how exhausted she must be. Heat takes a toll, even with suppressants to dull the edge. "The worst is over for now, but you'll still feel drained."
Will still need her energy to get through her heat when the suppressants wear off. But I don't say that part.
"Mmm," she hums in agreement, her eyes already drifting closed. "Will you stay?"
I should say no. Should extract myself from this dangerous intimacy before I get too comfortable, too used to the feeling of her in my arms. But the thought of leaving her alone feels like tearing off my own arm.
"Yeah," I murmur. "I'll stay."
Her breath evens out as she drifts toward sleep, her body going soft and pliant against mine. I hold her carefully, like something precious and breakable, though I know she's stronger than she looks.
Strong enough to face down Braxley and his bullshit, strong enough to stand up to the Vanguard alphas when she needs to. Strong enough to touch my scars without flinching.
I don't know what this means. Don't know where we go from here, or if there's even a "we" to worry about. All I know is that right now, in this moment, an omega who could have chosen any alpha in our pack chose me.
Chose the broken one.
And for the first time since the explosion that should have killed me, I'm glad it didn't.
The door creaks open slightly, and I tense, ready to growl a warning at whoever's intruding. But it's just Troy, poking his head in cautiously. He takes in the scene before him—Bella asleep against my chest, my arms wrapped protectively around her—and raises his eyebrows in surprise.
"She okay?" he mouths silently.
I nod. "Suppressants working," I whisper, low enough not to disturb her. "Fever's down."
Relief washes over Troy's face. "Good. That's good." He hesitates, then adds, "And you? You okay, brother?"
The question catches me off guard. Am I okay? Sitting here holding our omega, her scent mingling with mine, her trust a weight both terrifying and precious?
"Yeah," I say under my breath, surprising myself with the truth of it. "I'm good."
A slow grin spreads across Troy's face. He gives me a thumbs up before ducking back out, closing the door softly behind him.
Bella stirs slightly at the sound, nestling closer. I tighten my arms around her instinctively, suddenly afraid to let her go. Afraid this moment will shatter like glass once she wakes, once reality reasserts itself.
But for now, I let myself have this. Let myself believe, just for a little while, that I could be worthy of her trust.
Her touch.
Her choice.
And when she wakes, I'll still be here. Still holding her. Still guarding her sleep like it's the most important duty I've ever been given.
Because it is.