15. Hailey
Chapter 15
Hailey
E ach step away from the cabin feels like walking through molasses. Like my body is fighting the very idea of leaving the small space that has become my entire world these past few days. That foolish part of me even feels less secure at the thought of abandoning the alpha—St-Stone’s scent, which lingers in the clothes I wear.
But I follow Finn.
He moves with a confidence I’ve never seen in an omega before. His bare chest still rises and falls with slightly labored breaths—aftershocks from his panic attack, I think—but his steps are sure, purposeful.
Every snap of a twig makes me flinch. Every rustle of leaves has me searching for threats. But Finn’s sage scent wraps around me like a shield, keeping the worst of my panic at bay. What’s more is that he doesn’t seem afraid.
Once more, his sense of surety, his rightness in the world, his confidence, his freedom makes me dare to hope.
“Watch your step here,” he says softly, pointing to a raised root. His voice is gentle, but there’s an edge to it that speaks of barely contained emotion. “The path gets trickier in this section. ”
I nod, unable to find my voice. Everything feels too big, too open after the confines of my cell back at the Academy. Even the cabin was too spacious. I try to see ahead, to get a sense of where we’re going, but the forest stretches endlessly in every direction. Every second that passes, my pulse beats harder at the thought of being so exposed.
When a bird calls overhead, I nearly jump out of my skin. It’s just a bird. Just a bird, Hailey!
Finn pauses, glancing back at me with those storm-gray eyes. Something shifts in his expression as he watches me grab a tree trunk with one hand, my fingers digging into the bark. His gaze travels from my white-knuckled grip to my rapid breathing, then up to the canopy above.
“That’s a Hermit Thrush,” he says softly, tilting his head toward the sound. “They’re shy little things, usually hide in the understory.” He points upward, movements slow and careful, like he’s trying not to startle me. “See that brown one with the spotted breast? The way its tail has that reddish tinge?”
I track my gaze to where he’s pointing, squinting against the dappled sunlight. There, on a branch not far above us, sits a small brown bird. Its melody rings out again. Clear, flute-like notes that spiral upward through the trees.
“They’re solitary,” Finn continues, his voice gentle as morning mist. “But their song…it’s one of the most beautiful in the forest. Some people call it the ‘Voice of the Northern Woods.’”
The bird tilts its head, studying us with bright eyes before launching itself into flight, disappearing deeper into the forest. I watch it go, my grip on the tree loosening slightly.
When I look back at Finn, there’s something different in the way he’s watching me now—like he’s seeing more than he’s saying, understanding more than I want him to know.
“Y-you know a lot about birds,” I whisper. It feels weird having a conversation like it’s normal. Actually speaking without being ordered to .
“Stone knows more.” His jaw ticks and he looks away. “He’s the one that taught me.” The moment is broken as he turns and continues picking his way through the trees. “We’re almost there,” he says. “Just a little farther.”
I want to ask where “there” is exactly, but words seem beyond me right now. Instead, I focus on his back, on the way those scars shift with his movements. They tell a story—one of pain, yes, but also survival. Whatever happened to him, he lived through it. He’s still here, still walking tall, still…free.
The thought makes a strange warmth rise in me.
Finally, after several long minutes, the forest starts to thin. Through the trees, I catch glimpses of something large and solid. A house? My steps falter as more details come into view. It’s beautiful—all warm wood and large windows, with a wraparound porch that seems to embrace the building.
Finn stops at the edge of the clearing, and I can see tension ripple through his shoulders. “This is home,” he says, but there’s something in his voice. Pain? Uncertainty? “We’ll go in through the back door. The others won’t be back until late.”
Others. The word makes my stomach clench. “The alpha?” I whisper.
He flinches slightly. “Stone won’t be back until tonight. Neither will…” he swallows hard. “Neither will the others.”
Others. There are more alphas? The revelation makes my heart stutter in my chest, but I force my feet to keep moving as Finn leads me toward the house. His earlier words echo in my mind: “ Stone is one of my alphas .” One of. Plural.
The back door opens into what looks like a utility room. The moment I step inside, I’m hit with a wall of scents that makes my knees weak. Alpha. Multiple alphas. Their combined scents are so potent, so deeply embedded in the space, that I immediately have the urge to drop to my knees. But there’s something else, too. Something that makes my nose twitch and my head spin.
It’s like what Stone’s scent does to my head only compounded .
Finn’s scent is here too, woven through the alpha scents in a way that speaks of belonging. Of claiming. Of…pack.
They’re a pack.
“You okay?” Finn asks, noticing my pause. His nostrils flare slightly as he takes in the scents, and something pained crosses his expression.
I nod, though I’m not sure if I am. The intensity of the combined scents makes my skin prickle with awareness. A whine keeps trying to rise to the surface, wanting to respond to the clear markers of strong alphas, but there’s something else. Something that makes me want to gather everything soft and everything that smells like them and put it all in a nice big…nest?
My breaths pick up.
I’ve never wanted to nest like this before.
It’s forbidden. At least, at the Academy it was. That’s why we only had a hard cot and nothing else in the room apart from a toilet. To discourage this urge. That and the suppressants we were given were to ensure we didn’t go into heat until we were with our masters.
Finn moves past me out the room and down the corridor. I follow on shaky legs but find myself slowing with each step. This isn’t just a place they live—it’s a home. The kind I’ve only seen in magazines or through windows during my childhood.
The hallway walls are a warm cream color, dotted with art and photographs. My eyes catch on a large painting that makes me stop in my tracks—sweeping strokes of deep blues and purples, creating what looks like a night sky over mountains. Something about it pulls at me, makes me want to reach out and touch the textured canvas.
“Ren painted that,” Finn says softly from beside me. There’s a tremor in his voice that makes me glance up at him. His arms are wrapped around his bare torso, fingers pressing into the scars there. “One winter. He said the northern lights inspired him, but…” He swallows hard. “He mo stly painted it because I mentioned once that I’d never seen them.”
The care in that gesture—an alpha painting something just because an omega mentioned wanting to see it—seems like something I’d read in a book or a dream that wasn’t real.
We continue down the hall, passing more signs of life. A jacket thrown over a chair, well-worn boots lined up against the wall. A stack of papers on a side table, post-it notes sticking out from between pages. The air smells like coffee and fried eggs, though it must be left over from breakfast.
The living room opens up before us, and I have to bite back a gasp. Huge windows let in streams of natural light, illuminating a space that looks lived in and loved. There’s a massive sectional couch covered in throws and pillows, some of which have clearly been arranged with purpose. It’s his nest, I realize, glancing up at the omega beside me. His nest, integrated so naturally into the room’s decor that it doesn’t seem out of place at all.
It’s…breathtaking.
Something inside me crinkles and pulls in at the edges.
I wonder what it would feel like to have a nest .
When the alpha brought me a blanket, brand new from the scent of it, it felt like another trick—even after he left it and I snuggled in under the soft warm fibers clutching his jacket to my chest.
I swallow hard, pulling my gaze from the pillows on the sofa.
Bookshelves line one wall, stuffed with everything from novels to encyclopedias to what looks like comic books. A guitar leans in one corner next to a sophisticated sound system. More art covers these walls too—some abstract like the one in the hall, others realistic landscapes that take my breath away. And one that makes me pause—a portrait of Finn caught in a moment of pure joy, his head thrown back in laughter, eyes crinkled at the corners. The artist captured something raw and real in the way light plays across his features, in the subtle flush of his cheeks, in the natural fall of his honey-gold hair. It was longer at the time the canvas was painted. Looked like some kind of halo. Even in paint, he radiates that same fierce freedom I’ve been watching all morning.
I want to look away and not stare at everything. This is their home and I’m a stranger. An intruder. Even before I revealed, there were whispers that reached my ears from betas who would gossip about packs and how territorial they are.
The thought alone makes me nervous.
What catches my attention next are the plants. Some sitting on stands at the corners, small succulents growing on shelves. I want to stop looking, but something else catches my focus.
There are photos. Many of them.
They’re everywhere—clustered on shelves, arranged on walls, sitting in frames on various surfaces. In them, I see glimpses of a life I never knew existed. Four men in various combinations: laughing, hanging out together, living . Finn features in many of them—as a matter of fact, he seems to be the constant in all of them. Sometimes it’s a shot with him alone with one alpha, sometimes with all three. The love in those images is palpable, radiating from genuine smiles and casual touches.
My eyes linger on one photo where Finn is sandwiched between two alphas on the couch, all three of them asleep. A fourth person—presumably the third alpha—must have taken the picture. They look so peaceful, so…normal. And their faces. God, I never knew alphas could be so beautiful.
One has sharp cheekbones and full lips, dark hair falling across his forehead as he sleeps. The other’s jawline could cut glass, his muscled arm wrapped protectively around Finn’s waist. Both of them are huge, making Finn look small between them despite his own impressive height. Their bodies speak of strength—broad shoulders, defined muscles visible even through their clothes. These aren’t the bloated, aging alphas that would come to inspect us at the Academy. They’re young, fit, gorgeous .
My hand drifts self-consciously to my soft middle, to the curves that have always made me feel too big, too much. Even at my healthiest, I never looked like Finn—all lean muscle and graceful lines. The omega in the photo fits perfectly between these beautiful alphas like he belongs there.
I hear Finn’s breath hitch and turn to find him staring at the same photo, his eyes bright with unshed tears. When he notices me watching, he quickly looks away, but not before I catch the flash of pain across his features.
“The kitchen’s through here,” he says roughly, moving past me. “You must be hungry.”
The kitchen is just as warm and welcoming as the rest of the house—all warm woods and gleaming countertops, with herbs growing in pots along the windowsill. Everything is immaculate.
“Sit,” Finn says, gesturing to a barstool at the counter. “When’s the last time you ate? Really ate, not just…” He trails off, jaw tightening.
I perch carefully on the edge of the stool, hyperaware of how my borrowed clothes match the scent in this space. “The alpha—” I swallow down the lump forming in my throat. “The alpha brought food this morning.”
Finn’s movements are sure as he begins pulling things from the fridge. “But did you eat it?”
I look down at my hands. Truth is, I couldn’t. The food he brought looked amazing, but my stomach was too tied in knots. Just like all the other times he’d brought food.
“That’s what I thought.” Finn’s voice is gentle as he sets a pan on the stove. “How do you feel about eggs? I can make something else if?—”
“Eggs are fine,” I whisper quickly. Just the thought of someone cooking for me, caring about what I want to eat…it makes my chest tight.
He works with efficient movements, cracking eggs into a bowl and whisking them with practiced ease. The domesticity of it all feels surreal after the cabin. After the Academy .
“The herbs,” I say suddenly, looking at the windowsill garden. “You grow them yourself?”
Something softens in his expression. “Yeah. The basil’s new—just sprouted last week. And the thyme…” He stops, that pained look crossing his face again. “Stone helped me plant the thyme.”
The mention of the alpha makes us both fall silent. I watch as Finn adds butter to the pan, the soft sizzle filling the quiet kitchen. I grip my belly, willing it not to growl as I watch the omega. His movements are so sure, so comfortable in this space. But there’s tension in his shoulders, in the way he keeps his back partially turned to me like he’s protecting himself.
“How long…” I start, then stop. How do I ask? How long has he been here? How long has he been…free?
He glances at me, those storm-gray eyes understanding. “How long have I been with them?”
I nod, grateful he caught my meaning.
“Three years,” he says softly, turning back to the stove. “Well, with Ren first. Then Jax. Then…” He swallows hard. “Then Stone.” Finn’s gaze shifts to the window, and I can’t help but watch him as he stares at the forest beyond, almost like he’s looking but not really seeing anything out there. “I still remember how overwhelmed I felt when Ren first approached me at that benefit gala. Most alphas ignored male omegas, but he…he saw me. Wouldn’t take his eyes off me all night. When he introduced me to Jax the following week, it felt like destiny. Like everything was falling perfectly into place.”
His throat works and he seems to come back to himself, like he’s suddenly aware of how much he’s revealed. His scent shifts, tinged with something that might be embarrassment or vulnerability—or both. The wooden spoon in his hand stills for just a moment before he returns to stirring with renewed focus. There’s something about the way his shoulders hunch slightly, the quick dart of his eyes toward me and away again, that makes me wonder if he’s been holding these words inside for a long time, waiting for someone who might understand.
As I watch him move around the kitchen, the way he knows exactly where everything is, how naturally he speaks of multiple alphas in his life, a realization hits me. They really are a pack. The concept makes my head spin. At the Academy, they taught us that alphas were possessive, territorial. That they would never share an omega and that when we leave, we were to be completely devoted to our one master. But here’s Finn, clearly part of a pack with multiple alphas, moving through their shared space with the confidence of someone who belongs.
I should probably be more shocked, more scandalized by all of this. But after everything that’s happened, I’m starting to wonder how many other lies I’ve been told. How much of what I think I know about the world is just what others wanted me to believe?
Even before I revealed, my parents kept me isolated because they “didn’t want me to get into trouble”. The Academy took me because they said it was for my own good, that they were protecting me. Everyone in my life who claimed to want what was best for me kept me in the dark, kept me afraid, kept me small.
And now here I am, sitting in a sunlit kitchen with an omega who moves through the world like he owns it, who lives with three alphas in what seems to be a loving pack, who looks at me like he sees past all the careful walls I’ve built around myself.
The eggs smell amazing as he slides them onto a plate, adding toast and what looks like fresh fruit. He sets it in front of me with a glass of water, then leans against the counter, giving me space.
“Eat,” he says gently. “We can talk after.”
I stare at the plate, at the care put into its preparation. The eggs are perfectly scrambled, seasoned with what looks like fresh herbs. The toast is golden brown, buttered just right. The fruit is arranged with artistic carefulness. My stomach clenches with hunger, but I hesitate. Don’t eat unless fed by your Master. Never complain about being hungry .
But Finn’s scent wraps around me like a warm blanket—omega, safe, familiar, even though it shouldn’t be. There’s something about having another omega cook for me, care for me, that bypasses all those ingrained warnings. His designation speaks to something deeper than fear, something that recognizes pack, family, protection.
“Thank you,” I whisper, picking up the fork with trembling fingers.
He just nods, moving to make himself a cup of tea. I notice he positions himself where he can see both the door and the windows while still giving me clear sight lines to all exits. It’s subtle, but deliberate.
The first bite of food nearly makes me cry. The eggs are creamy, and as perfectly seasoned as they look. The toast crunches just right.
“Good?” Finn asks, and there’s something pleased in his scent despite the lingering distress.
I nod, taking another bite. I preen at his approval, wanting to make this other omega happy. It’s strange—I’ve never felt this way around another omega before. But there’s something about Finn that makes me want to trust, want to please, want to…belong?
The thought makes me pause, fork halfway to my mouth. That’s what this feeling is, isn’t it? This pull? Something primal in me recognizes this as a pack space, responds to the complex web of scents that speak of safety and belonging and that part of me wants it.
Except…after what I’ve been through, trusting an alpha, any alpha will be like splintering my nails through wood.
“The others…” I say carefully, setting down my fork.
Finn’s hands tighten around his mug. “Yes. You already met Stone. Then there’s Jax and Ren.” He takes a careful breath. “They’re alphas, too.”
Three strong alpha scents woven through this house, through Finn’s sage-and-rain scent, creating something I’ve never encountered before. No wonder I’m so confused, so drawn to this space.
“And they’re…” I hesitate, not sure how to ask. Are they kind? Safe? Like Stone, who brings food and clothes but never demands?
“They’re good men,” Finn says quietly, but there’s that pain in his voice again. “Or at least, I thought…” He stops, shakes his head, then smiles. “Eat your eggs before they get cold.”
I take another bite, watching as he moves to the sink to wash his mug. His shoulders are rigid now, scent sharp again with distress. Whatever’s happening between him and his alphas, it’s clearly causing him suffering. Or maybe it’s all because I turned up here.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, though I’m not sure what exactly I’m apologizing for.
He turns, leaning against the sink. “Don’t be. None of this is your fault.” His gaze drops to my wrists, to the bandages Stone wrapped so carefully. “Whatever’s happening here, I’ll figure it out. You and me together.”
Together. The word makes something warm unfurl in my chest. How long has it been since I’ve had anyone on my side? Since anyone has looked at me and seen someone worth helping?
“Now,” Finn says, his voice gentle but firm. “Think you can tell me how you really ended up in that cabin?”