60. Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty
T he door swings open, and Lucian's expression transforms from worry to something fiercer, more primal, as he takes in my tear-swollen face and disheveled appearance. His eyes, usually cool and controlled, flash with an emotion that makes my heart stutter against my ribs. He looks like he wants to hunt down whatever has hurt me and tear it to pieces with his bare hands. His scent shifts, the usual amber notes sharpening with protective rage, and I take an instinctive step back, overwhelmed by the intensity radiating from him in almost visible waves.
"Lydia," he says, my name rough around the edges of his controlled voice. "What happened?"
The simple question, laden with genuine concern, threatens to undo me completely. I open my mouth to answer, but no words emerge, just a broken sound that might have been the beginning of an explanation or another sob—I'm not sure which. Lucian doesn't wait for me to find my voice. He steps across the threshold, closing the door behind him with one hand while the other reaches for me, hesitating just short of contact.
"May I?" he asks, and there's something devastating about this powerful Alpha pausing to seek permission when every line of his body screams of the need to protect, to act. I nod, not trusting my voice, and that's all the invitation he needs. His hand lands gently on my shoulder, the warmth of his palm seeping through the fabric of my sweater. The simple touch breaks something loose inside me, and I sway on my feet, exhaustion and emotion conspiring to rob me of balance.
Lucian's arm slides around my shoulders, steadying me. "You look ready to collapse," he murmurs, his voice pitched low and soothing despite the tension evident in the set of his jaw. "Let's sit down."
He guides me back to the couch, his movements carefully measured as if he's handling something impossibly fragile. Perhaps I am. I feel hollowed out, scraped raw by my mother's visit and the doubts it's awakened. The blanket I'd been wrapped in earlier lies in a crumpled heap on the cushions. Lucian reaches for it, unfolding it with a snap of his wrist before settling me onto the couch and tucking it around my legs. The careful attention, the gentle way he treats me without a hint of condescension, cracks open the dam I'd tried to build after hours of crying. Fresh tears well in my already swollen eyes, spilling over before I can stop them. I cover my face with my hands, embarrassed to be falling apart again, especially in front of Lucian, who always seems so composed, so in control.
"I'm sorry," I manage between hitched breaths. "I don't usually—I'm not normally—"
"Shh," Lucian interrupts, his weight settling beside me on the couch. "You have nothing to apologize for." His arm slides around my shoulders again, and the solid warmth of him beside me is both an anchor and a permission—to let go, to be vulnerable, to accept comfort rather than struggling alone. I find myself leaning into him, my head dropping to rest against his chest. His heartbeat is strong and steady beneath my ear, a rhythmic counterpoint to my ragged breathing.
"Whatever this is," he says, his voice a low rumble I can feel as much as hear, "we'll face it together. You're not alone anymore, Lydia."
The simple truth of his words—I'm not alone—unleashes the tears I've been trying to hold back. They come in a torrent, soaking into the fabric of his shirt as I clutch at him, seeking an anchor in the storm of my emotions. I should be mortified, crying all over this composed, dignified Alpha. But Lucian doesn't seem to mind. His arms tighten around me, one large hand coming up to cradle the back of my head, fingers tangling gently in my disheveled hair.
"That's it," he murmurs, his breath warm against the crown of my head. "Let it out. I've got you." A sound emerges from his chest, starting so low I feel it before I hear it—a rumbling growl that isn't threatening but protective, soothing. It's an Alpha's instinctive response to an Omega in distress, a sound designed by nature to comfort, to reassure. The vibration of it resonates through me, and I find my breathing beginning to synchronize with its steady rhythm.
We sit like that for what could be minutes or hours, my tears gradually subsiding as Lucian's growl continues, a constant reassurance that I'm safe, that I'm protected. His hand moves in slow circles on my back, each pass a gentle affirmation of his presence.
"My mother found me," I whisper finally, the words muffled against his chest.
His hand stills for a fraction of a second before resuming its soothing pattern. "When?" he asks, his voice careful, controlled.
"This morning. At the shop." I swallow hard, the memory still raw. "She wants me to go back. To mate with the Alpha they arranged for me before I left."
The growl deepens, taking on a harder edge that speaks of territoriality, of possessiveness. Lucian's arm tightens around me fractionally, and when he speaks, there's a dangerous undertone to his words that would frighten me if I didn't know it wasn't directed at me.
"And what do you want, Lydia?"
The question catches me off guard. So simple, so direct, yet no one in my family had ever bothered to ask it. What do I want? Not what's expected of me, not what's proper for an Omega of my background, not what would benefit the family's standing. Just... what I want.
"I don't want to go back," I say, the words emerging stronger than I expected. "I don't want to be mated to an Alpha who sees me as breeding stock. I don't want to be hidden away in some traditional pack where my art is just a quaint hobby to be tolerated."
Lucian nods, the movement slight but perceptible. "Then you won't go back. It's as simple as that."
"But it's not simple," I protest, pulling back slightly to look up at him. "She's here until Sunday. Staying at the Grand Haven Hotel. Expecting me to 'come to my senses' and agree to the arrangement. And she said... she implied..."
The words stick in my throat, my mother's pointed comments about my lack of blockers suddenly too painful to repeat. Lucian waits patiently, his grey eyes steady on mine, no judgment in their depths.
"She said I was being naive," I manage finally, dropping my gaze to where my fingers twist in the fabric of the blanket. "That an unmated Omega needs proper pack protection. That I'm vulnerable without it."
A low sound rumbles in Lucian's chest again, but it's not the soothing growl from before. This is sharper, edged with something that might be anger or offense.
"Look at me, Lydia," he says, his voice gentle despite the tension evident in his jaw. When I hesitate, his fingers brush my chin, tilting my face up until our eyes meet. "You are not unprotected. You are not unclaimed. You are ours, and we are yours."
The conviction in his voice, the absolute certainty with which he claims me as part of their pack, steals my breath. His thumb brushes my cheek, wiping away the wetness left by my tears.
"But we're not... I haven't..." I stammer, unable to articulate the fact that we haven't completed any formal pack bonding, haven't discussed mating or marking or any of the traditional steps that would make me officially theirs.
"Formal rituals can come in time, if and when you're ready," Lucian says, somehow understanding my unspoken concern. "But make no mistake—you became part of us the moment Elias scented you in that nest. The moment you stopped using blockers and trusted us with your true scent. The moment you stayed."
His words wash over me, a balm to the wounds my mother's visit had reopened. Could it be that simple? Not a matter of formal ceremonies or traditional pack structures, but of choice and trust and mutual claiming?
"May I?" Lucian asks, his head dipping slightly toward my neck, his intention clear in the gesture. I nod, my heart racing at the intimacy of what he's asking. Scenting is personal, significant—a way for pack members to mark each other, to carry each other's essence as both protection and declaration of belonging. It's something I've shared with Elias, in the safety of his nest, but not yet with the others.
Lucian leans in slowly, giving me every opportunity to change my mind. His nose brushes against the sensitive skin of my neck where my scent gland pulses with a heady mix of anxiety and something warmer, more anticipatory. He inhales deeply, taking in my natural lavender fragrance, now tinged with the remnants of distress and the newer notes of comfort beginning to emerge.
Then he mimics my motion, allowing his own scent gland to brush against my skin, deliberately marking me with his distinctive amber essence. The sensation sends a shiver through me, not unpleasant but startlingly intimate. He repeats the motion on the other side of my neck, ensuring his scent melds thoroughly with mine.
When he pulls back, his eyes have darkened, pupils expanded with something that might be satisfaction or possession or both.
"There," he says, his voice pitched low. "Now you carry my scent as well as Elias's. Anyone with a nose will know you're pack-claimed, protected."
The significance of what he's done—the public declaration it represents—settles over me like a warm blanket. My mother's accusations about flaunting my unblocked scent seem toothless now. I'm not just an unmated Omega vulnerable to any passing Alpha. I'm claimed, protected, chosen by a pack that sees me as more than my designation.
"Thank you," I whisper, the words inadequate for the emotion welling in my chest.
Lucian's expression softens, his usual composed mask giving way to something warmer, more open. "The others were worried too," he says. "They wanted to come, but we thought it might be overwhelming."
"Will you tell them I'm okay?" I ask, realizing how my sudden disappearance must have frightened them. "I didn't mean to worry everyone. I just... couldn't face anyone after she left."
Lucian nods, his hand finding mine atop the blanket. Our fingers intertwine, his larger ones curling protectively around mine. The contact sends a spark through me—part comfort, part connection, part something deeper that I'm not ready to name yet.
"I'll let them know," he promises. "But they'll want to see for themselves. And I think..." he pauses, seeming to choose his words carefully, "I think it might be good for you to be surrounded by pack right now. To be reminded that you belong with us, not with the life your mother wants to drag you back to."
The suggestion should frighten me—the idea of being surrounded by all four of them when I'm still so emotionally raw, so vulnerable. But instead, I find myself nodding, a quiet longing unfurling in my chest at the thought of being held in the circle of their protection, their care.
"I'd like that," I admit softly. "If they're not too angry with me for disappearing."
Lucian's expression softens further, his thumb tracing gentle circles on the back of my hand. "They're not angry, Lydia. Just concerned. They care about you. We all do."
The simple statement settles something restless inside me, a piece shifting into place with a rightness I can feel in my bones. Whatever my mother might think, whatever the Greene pack might offer, it can't compare to this—to being truly seen, truly known, truly chosen. Not for my breeding potential or family connections, but for myself.
I lean into Lucian's solid warmth, letting my head rest against his shoulder as his arm comes around me again, protective and sure. His scent surrounds me now, mingling with my own, a tangible reminder that I'm not facing this alone.
That I don't have to run anymore.
That I had a home with them.
For as long as I wanted.
Forever.