Chapter 27 – BELLA
CHAPTER 27
BELLA
I wake slowly, drifting up from the depths of sleep like a bubble rising through water. The first thing I register is warmth—solid, comforting warmth wrapped around me. A heartbeat that isn't mine thrums steadily against my ear, and a cool, stony scent that's become increasingly familiar fills my lungs with each breath.
Cole.
My eyes flutter open, and I realize I'm still cradled against his chest, my cheek pressed to his heart. His arms are wrapped around me, one large hand splayed protectively across my back. For a moment, I stay perfectly still, afraid any movement might shatter this fragile peace.
In sleep, I'd expected him to relax, to perhaps loosen his hold. But even now, hours later, he holds me like something precious. Like he's afraid I might slip away if he doesn't keep me anchored.
"You're awake."
His voice is a low rumble I feel as much as hear, vibrating through his chest and into mine. I tilt my head back to look up at him, surprised to find him watching me with an expression I've never seen on his face before. Softer somehow. Less guarded.
"Did you sleep at all?" I ask, my voice still husky from rest.
He shakes his head slightly. "Didn't want to."
The simple honesty in those three words makes something in my chest constrict. He stayed awake all this time, just to watch over me. To keep me safe while I slept through the worst of my unexpected heat.
He is, after all, my scent match. The words echo in my memory, sending a flutter through my stomach that has nothing to do with the lingering effects of heat still burning like embers inside me.
All my life, I've heard stories about scent matches. Every omega grows up on tales of finding that perfect pack whose scent calls to them on a deep and primal level. Whose presence soothes something restless in their soul. Most of us dream of it, secretly or otherwise.
But in our modern world, where suppressants are the norm and arranged marriages still happen, actually finding a scent-matched pack is rare.
Yet here I am, cradled in the arms of an alpha who is my match. My brain should be racing at the implications, at the sudden shift in everything I thought I knew. Instead, I feel oddly calm. Centered in a way I haven't been in years.
"How are you feeling?" Cole asks, his voice still that low, careful rumble. Like he's afraid speaking too loudly might hurt me.
I take mental inventory of my body. The fever has receded, leaving only a pleasant warmth in its wake. The cramping is gone, the restlessness settled. The suppressants did their job, at least for now.
"Better," I murmur. "Much better."
His shoulders relax fractionally at my words, tension I hadn't even noticed easing from his frame. "Good."
We lapse into silence again, but it's not uncomfortable. There's something soothing about simply existing in this moment, in the cocoon of his arms, with no expectations, no performance. Just being.
When was the last time I felt this way?
This peaceful?
This... safe?
I can't remember.
My entire life has been a careful dance of meeting expectations. My family's, Braxley's, society's. Always smiling, always accommodating, always shrinking myself to fit the box others created for me. The perfect omega daughter. The perfect fiancée for an up-and-coming alpha from a good family.
But right now, wrapped in Cole's embrace, I don't feel the need to be anything other than exactly who I am.
"What are you thinking about?" Cole's question breaks through my reverie, his voice low and tentative, like he's not sure he has the right to ask.
I consider deflecting, giving some easy answer that won't expose the chaos in my mind. But Cole has given me honesty—about his scars, about his ex-fiancee, about why he keeps his distance. He deserves the same from me.
"Scent matches," I admit softly. "I used to dream about finding a pack when I was younger."
His body tenses minutely against mine, but he doesn't pull away. "Yeah?"
I nod, my cheek rubbing against the fabric of his shirt. "My grandmother used to tell me stories. She was a beta, but she found her scent-matched pack when she was nineteen. Said the moment she caught their scents, she knew she'd found her home."
Cole makes a noncommittal sound, but I can feel his heartbeat pick up slightly under my ear.
"I remember asking her how she knew. What it felt like." I smile at the memory, at the way my grandmother's eyes would crinkle at the corners when she spoke of my grandfathers. "She said it was like finding a piece of herself she didn't know was missing. Like the world suddenly made more sense, even when nothing had actually changed."
"And you wanted that," Cole says, not a question.
"I think every omega does, deep down." I trace an idle pattern on his chest with my finger, following the line of a seam in his shirt. "No matter how modern we are, how independent, there's something about the idea of that connection that calls to us. That recognition on the most basic level."
"Mmh."
I pause, gathering my thoughts. "Some omegas think it's a fairy tale. As I got older, I became skeptical myself. Knowing it doesn't happen for most of us did make it easier to swallow the idea of arranged matches and political marriages."
Cole says nothing, but his arms tighten around me almost imperceptibly.
"My family are mostly betas, you know," I continue, the words flowing more freely than I expected. "They don't understand what it's like. The pull, the instincts. It's rare for betas to scent match. When I presented as an omega, it was like I became a different species in their eyes. Something to be managed. Protected. Leveraged."
"Leveraged," Cole repeats, and the edge in his voice makes me look up. His jaw is tight, a muscle ticking in his cheek.
"My family has... financial issues," I explain, feeling the familiar rush of shame curling in my stomach. "When the Worthingtons expressed interest in me as a potential match for Braxley, my parents saw it as the answer to all their problems. A way to solve their debt and secure my future in one fell swoop."
"And you went along with it," he says, no judgment in his tone. Just understanding.
I nod against his chest. "What choice did I have? They're my family. They needed me to do this. And it's not like I had other prospects lined up." I laugh, but it comes out hollow. "Besides, Braxley is wealthy, not a crusty old alpha, and from a good family. On paper, it was the perfect match. What more could a good little omega ask for?"
"Someone who loves you," he replies, as if it's a real question. "Someone who sees you."
The simple truth of his words hits me hard. I've spent so long convincing myself that love is a luxury I can't afford, that security and status are acceptable substitutes. That the emptiness I felt around Braxley was just the natural consequence of growing up, of putting away childish dreams.
But Cole sees through all of that. Has from the beginning, maybe.
"I thought I was doing the right thing," I say quietly.. "The responsible thing. I thought I was being realistic."
"Realistic doesn't mean you have to be miserable," Cole says, surprising me with the fierceness in his usually guarded voice. "It doesn't mean you have to settle for someone who treats you like a fucking accessory."
I blink, taken aback by his vehemence. "I didn't think you cared that much about my relationship with Braxley."
Cole looks away, the first time since I woke that he's broken eye contact. "I care more than I should."
The admission sends a flutter through my chest. I reach up without thinking, my fingers brushing the edge of his scarred jaw, turning his face back to mine. For once, he doesn't recoil from my touch. A flinch is a huge improvement.
"I'm glad," I say softly. "That you care."
His mismatched eyes search mine, one a deep, soulful blue, the other a lighter color that doesn't respond to light. But both hold the same wary hope, the same carefully banked need.
"Why?" he asks, his voice rough. "Why would you want a monster like me to care about you?"
"You're not a monster, Cole." I let my fingers trail along the webbed scars on his jaw, then down the side of his neck, feeling the contrast between smooth skin and scarred tissue when I reach his bone-white hair. He leans into my touch when I run my fingers through it, stroking gently. "You never were."
He looks at me like I'm speaking a language he doesn't understand. Like he can't quite process the idea that I see past his scars to the man underneath. It breaks my heart and fills it at the same time.
"I used to think finding my scent match would solve everything," I say, changing tack slightly. "That it would be this immediate, perfect connection. Love at first sight, but deeper. More inevitable."
Cole goes very still, waiting for me to continue.
"But it wasn't like that with you. With any of you." I smile softly. "I didn't even know what you were to me at first. I just felt drawn to you, even when you were being grumpy and standoffish."
That earns me a slight quirk of his lips, not quite a smile but close.
"I'm glad it happened this way," I continue, my voice stronger now. "That I got to know you—all of you—before I knew what you were to me. It makes it more real somehow. Not just biology, but something we built. Something I chose."
"Chose?" Cole echoes, that single word loaded with disbelief.
"Yes, chose." I meet his gaze steadily. "I chose to let you stay with me tonight. I chose to open up to you. I chose to trust you when you shared your pain with me. Those weren't decisions my omega instincts made. They were mine."
Cole swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. "But your heat?—"
"The suppressants are working," I cut him off gently. "I know my own mind, Cole. And right now, despite everything—finding out about Braxley, going into unexpected heat, discovering I have not one but five scent matches—I feel more real than I have in years."
Cole looks at me with such raw vulnerability that it makes my chest ache. His mismatched eyes search my face for any sign of doubt or confusion, but there's none to find.
Whatever he's looking for, it seems to satisfy him. A soft, shuddering breath escapes him, and some of the tension eases from his broad shoulders. His arms tighten around me, and I settle more comfortably against his chest. The steady rhythm of his heart beneath my ear grounds me, a metronome keeping time in a world that's suddenly spun off its axis.
"I'm sorry," he says after a moment of silence.
I tilt my head back to look at him. "For what?"
"For all of it. For being one more complication in your life when you already had enough to deal with."
A small laugh escapes me. "Cole Beaumont, are you actually apologizing for being my scent match?"
The corner of his mouth twitches, not quite a smile but close. "When you put it like that, it sounds ridiculous."
"Because it is ridiculous." I prop myself up on one elbow, wanting to look him in the eye properly. "None of this is your fault. Not Braxley's cheating, not my unexpected heat, and certainly not the fact that the universe decided we're compatible on a biological level."
He makes a noncommittal sound, his thumb absently tracing circles on my lower back. The simple touch sends pleasant shivers up my spine, even with the suppressants dampening my body's responses.
"Besides," I continue, unable to resist teasing him a little, "if anyone should be apologizing, it's me. I'm pretty sure I've completely destroyed your reputation as the scary, unapproachable alpha of the Vanguard Pack."
That earns me something that's almost a smile, a slight curve of his lips that makes my heart trip over itself.
"You think I'm scary?" he asks, his voice rough and husky, but with a hint of playfulness I've never heard from him before.
"Terrifying," I confirm solemnly. "The scariest alpha I've ever met. I'm shaking in my boots right now."
Cole actually laughs at that—a short, startled sound like he's surprised it came out of him. The sound warms me from the inside out. I want to hear it again. Want to be the one who makes him laugh more often.
"You're not wearing boots," he points out, his tone lighter than I've ever heard it. But he checks.
"Details," I dismiss with a wave of my hand. "The point stands."
We fall silent again, but it's comfortable. Easy in a way I never would have expected with Cole of all people. His hand continues its slow, soothing path up and down my back, and I find myself relaxing further into his embrace. The lingering heat in my blood has cooled to a manageable warmth, present but not overwhelming.
Outside our little bubble, I hear footsteps pacing the hallway. Heavy, purposeful strides that can only belong to one of the alphas. Probably Troy, judging by the restless energy I can sense even through the closed door.
A moment later, there's a muffled thump and a muttered curse that confirms my suspicion. I laugh quietly, picturing Troy stubbing his toe on the decorative table in the hallway. The one with the sharp edges I've banged my hip against more times than I can count.
"I think Troy just discovered Braxley's terrible taste in furniture the hard way," I say.
Cole makes a sound that might be amusement. "He's been pacing out there since he checked on us earlier. Driving everyone crazy, probably."
I sigh, reluctantly acknowledging what we both know. "We should probably let them know we're okay. That I'm okay."
"Probably," Cole agrees, but he makes no move to release me. If anything, his arms tighten around my waist even more.
"Or we could stay here and cuddle forever," I offer, equally reluctant to move. It feels too good being here, nestled against him.
Cole doesn't respond right away. Instead, he shifts slightly, burying his face in the crook of my neck and inhaling deeply. The feeling of his breath against my skin sends a pleasant shiver down my spine.
"You smell like home," he murmurs, the words so quiet I almost miss them.
My heart does a complicated flip in my chest. "Is that a good thing?" I ask softly.
He pulls back just enough to meet my eyes. "The best."
The raw honesty in his voice makes my breath catch. For a moment, I think he might kiss me, and I want him to. But then he sighs, resting his forehead against mine briefly before pulling away.
"You're right," he says, sounding as reluctant as I feel. "We should go out there before Troy wears a hole in the million-dollar carpeting."
As if on cue, there's another muffled thump from the hallway, followed by what sounds suspiciously like a string of creative curses. I can't help but laugh again, feeling lighter than I ever have.
"I think that's our cue." I sigh, slowly disentangling myself from Cole's embrace.
The moment I pull away, I feel the loss of his warmth like a physical thing. It takes actual effort not to immediately crawl back into his arms. Instead, I drag my fingers through my hair, trying to restore some semblance of order to the tangled mess.
"How bad do I look?" I ask, half-joking.
Cole's eyes roam over my face, his expression softening. "Beautiful," he says simply.
The word steals the air from my lungs. There's no artifice in his tone, no agenda behind the compliment. Just stark, unvarnished truth as he sees it.
When was the last time someone looked at me—really looked at me—and saw beauty beyond the carefully curated image? When was the last time a compliment didn't feel like it came with strings attached?
I can't remember.
"Cole..." I start, not even sure what I want to say.
"We should go," he interrupts gently, as if sensing my sudden emotional overload. "Before they break down the door."
I nod, grateful for the momentary reprieve. There's too much to process, too many revelations and emotions swirling through me. I need time to sort through it all.
Cole slides off the bed first, and I can't help but notice the careful way he moves, like he's trying not to startle me. It's so different from how he was when we first met, all harsh and abrupt movements. With me, he's nothing but gentle.
He hesitantly extends his scarred hand to help me up, and I take it without hesitation. I'm struck by the realization that I've touched Cole more in the past few hours than in all the time since he arrived. That something important has shifted between us. A door has opened that I'm not sure can ever be closed again.
And I don't want it to be.