Chapter 7
Miraya
Iwas a little… territorial over the nest. But it was fine.
I was still days away from my heat, and no one knew.
Not Tybalt who hovered outside the door multiple times a day, not the two women who now tried to check on me, getting too close to the door, to my nest. It was my nest. No one else was allowed in it.
“No one’s going to take the nest from you,” a young woman called through the door. She sounded nice, sweet even, and she had no reason to come check on me. That didn’t stop me throwing my bruised body at the door, ripping it open, and snarling in her face.
“Everly, give her space,” said the other woman—around the same age, but with fair hair in a messy bun compared to the other woman’s glossy brown hair.
Both young, both with a quiet kind of strength to them, and a glowing kind of beauty and contentment that only came from an omega-alpha pairing.
I narrowed my eyes. Whatever they were selling, I had no intention of buying it.
The blonde’s expression softened, as if she recognised my hostility.
“We won’t get too close,” she told me, a deep understanding in her soft blue eyes, in her tentative smile.
“I’m Vienna, and this is Everly. We live here, in the clubhouse, and we—well, if you need someone to talk to, who understands how you’re feeling, you know who to come to. ”
My smile was nothing like hers. “I don’t need to talk, and I don’t need friends. Thanks, but no thanks.”
Everly pulled on Vienna’s sleeve, a devious look in her eyes. “She’s giving Lynn vibes. Maybe we should send the snarlier girls round.”
“Send anyone to my nest, and I’ll rip their fucking hair out,” I warned.
My own scalp decided to throb where I’d lost hair. It matched all the other throbbing, stabbing points on my body, which refused to be fully silenced even with pain relief.
The blonde, Vienna, gave her friend a pointed look.
“Ah,” Everly said, biting her lip. “Right. Not all the girls. That would be a bad idea. But we should still—”
I closed the door in their faces, my skin itching, instincts as jagged as the mess I’d made of the huge mattress.
The nest was beautiful. The walls were strung with fairy lights, and matching gold twinkles wrapped around the gold posters of the giant, low-slung bed I’d found piled with fresh, clean nesting materials two days ago when Tybalt ushered me into the room.
No windows to make me twitchy. Sound-proofed walls to keep me peaceful (in theory.) Gauzy curtains hung from the bed’s rails to make it even more closed-in and cosy.
A wardrobe full of clothes. An en-suite bathroom with baskets of toiletries.
It was the nicest nest I’d ever been in, and I couldn’t appreciate any of it because I was in pain twenty-four-seven.
I shuffled back to the bed, moving the sheets, the cushions, the silk dress I’d pilfered from the wardrobe, but it was a mess. It was wrong. And I hated the part of me that knew what was missing. Leather and vanilla. The scent of my mate.
I wanted to scratch those instincts out of myself, but instead I snarled and got into the nest, straightening it as much as I could. And then I laid there, staring at the ceiling, for hours.
By the third day, I was fighting the urge to scratch my skin off as it itched, heat pulsing just beneath the surface.
I still had a couple days left, and I could manage these symptoms with the right medication, but I was going stir-crazy.
I was bored, and under-stimulated, and I could only stare at the white walls for so long.
It took me an hour to psych myself up, but by nine at night, I wrapped myself in a fluffy champagne-gold robe from the wardrobe, needing the extra fuzziness of comfort to propel me out of the room.
It helped that there was some sort of social thing happening in the garden behind the clubhouse, and I could sense them through the wall. Could sense him out there.
So I hauled my ass out of my room, snapped my teeth at the tall, muscular woman who gave me a wide-eyed look of surprise to see me emerge, and slunk down the hall into the space they called the sanctuary.
It was a vast conservatory-like space, warm and humid and, honestly, unpleasant.
I liked cool spaces with crisp air that I could make warm with a dozen different blankets and throws, but I knew some omegas lived for this hot, cloying shit.
It just made my skin burn worse, so I quickened my steps, canvassing the place with rapid, sweeping glances.
There was a collection of corner sofas and well-stuffed chairs arranged around a mammoth TV currently displaying a tranquil rainforest, complete with trickling water sounds.
Annoyingly, my shoulders dropped from around my ears, and my lungs let in more air.
Huh. Maybe I needed rainforest noises in my nest. Not that knowing that helped me much; I doubted the biker gang took requests.
To my right, a kitchen hugged the wall, managing to be clean and modern while very clearly lived-in.
Someone had left a box of cereal on the side, a few cornflakes littering the counter, and the sink was piled with dishes.
The urge to clean them itched at me, but I ignored it.
This wasn’t like I was a normal guest, where I’d offer to help with chores. I’d been brought here against my will.
I left the dishes where they were and began opening cupboards at random, grinning through the pain cramping my stomach when I found five tubes of Pringles.
I grabbed them all—after shaking them to ensure they weren’t empty—and then scanned the rest of the sanctuary for something to do.
I’d take a damn board game at this point, or a sudoku book, a magazine, or—
“Thank you, thank you,” I groaned to the gods, hustling over to the small bookcase on the other side of the space, my Pringles clutched to my chest. I balanced them in one arm as I pulled all five books from the shelves, hissing when I almost dropped a book about a sexy dragon shifter.
I needed that one, it was essential. And the sci-fi book about space battles.
And the crime book about a murdered nun.
And the non-fiction book about animals native to East Asia. Don’t ask questions; I needed them all.
“Uh,” a female voice said behind me.
I whirled around with a throaty hiss and my teeth bared to find a curvy woman with wavy brown hair, a pretty oval face, and wide eyes fixed on me. She stood a few paces away and didn’t come closer, but it was clear she was confused by the sight of me. Or by my haul.
“Back the fuck off,” I growled. “These are mine.”
She held up her hands, palms towards me. “It’s okay, I don’t want to take them from you. But… are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Mind your own business.” I took slow, careful steps around her, keeping one eye on her as I approached the door, my ankle throbbing even with the painkillers.
“You know there’s real food here, too, right?” she asked in a quiet voice that somehow carried strength, plus a little judgy amusement. “Sure you wouldn’t rather have mac n’ cheese, or a chicken burger?”
I scoffed. She called that real food? I might have been tempted if she offered mutton stew. I reached the door and stared at it, my nostrils flaring. My arms were so full, if I moved even my pinky, I’d drop a book or my Pringles.
Behind me, the woman sighed. Beta, I thought judging by her scent and the soft, neutral energy rolling from her.
Not the perfect omega sweetness that made my teeth clench, not the omega fury that I’d only witnessed once, and definitely not the overbearing aura of an alpha.
Thinking of that brought Tybalt to mind, the stubborn, infuriating, busybody alpha who refused to leave me alone and insisted on checking on me three times a day.
I flipped around, my hackles rising at the sound of cupboards opening and closing, and I frowned at the woman as she threw energy bars and chocolate and dried peanuts into a tote bag, whirling through the kitchen like a storm.
The fridge opened, and then a two-litre bottle of orange juice joined the bag, followed by cheese, ham, and what looked like a Tupperware of salad.
“I’ll get the door for you,” she offered, giving me an innocuous look that still managed to call me on my bullshit.
I bared my teeth again, and she just smiled and shook her head.
“You remind me of two of my friends,” she told me, throwing the bag over her shoulder and opening the door, sweeping her arm out at the hallway beyond it, suddenly accessible.
“They’re a little defensive and snarly, too. ”
“I am not snarly,” I snarled.
She laughed, soft and tentative, as raspy as her voice when she spoke like she’d blown her vocal cords. I slid a glance at her, wondering why she was being so helpful, wondering why she was following me into the hallway towards my nest.
“What’s your name, snarly girl?” she asked, watching me watch her.
“Ignatius,” I bit out.
She laughed. Her eyes crinkled. “Bullshit.”
I blinked. I thought she’d be too prim and proper to swear; she gave me primary school teacher vibes. “Fine. It’s Miraya.”
“Nice to meet you, Miraya. I’m Jessia. And I’m always down the hall if you need anything.”
“What is it with people here?” I demanded, reaching my nest door and unable to open that, either. “You’re all so generous and helpful and bleeding-fucking-heart.”
When I glared at her, Jessia smiled with her whole face. “What?” I barked.
“Everyone here has either experienced assault or abuse, or witnessed the destruction it wreaks on someone they love. We all have trust issues, every last one of us. We struggle to let people in, to accept help without being suspicious of the motives. So yeah, we’re bleeding-fucking-heart around here.
If you’re going to stick around, you’d better get used to it. ”
“I’m not.” I scowled at the door, my skin burning, itching until I wanted to scream.
“Thanks,” I bit out when Jessia opened this door for me, too, but wisely didn’t cross the threshold.
She wordlessly slid the bag from her shoulder and placed it on the floor just inside my nest, watching me with all-seeing eyes.
I wasn’t staying. I was going home. And yet—I was still here. And I was possessive of the nest.
“There’s a pizza night on Saturday if you want to come. It might be good for you to get some fresh air, and I’ll keep you company.”
“No.”
“They won’t be there. Sweetie and ChaCha.”
“I don’t care.” I did. Far too much. The acid eating away at my soul spread, burned, scalded, and I clenched my jaw, locked my teeth, and tried to breathe through it.
“Just think about it,” Jessia urged, stepping back. “You’ll be a hundred percent safe, even with the other women and the Knights. Not hurting people is kind of their thing.”
“Fine, I’ll think about it,” I relented just to get rid of her, my stomach cramping viciously and the pain gouging through my chest even worse. Sweetie and ChaCha wouldn’t be there because they had better things to do, together, with each other. My mate and the woman he rejected me for.
No amount of telling myself they didn’t mean to hurt me erased the spikes digging into my chest, stealing all my breath.
I closed the door while Jessia was still saying goodbye, and left all the books and food on the floor, crawling into the nest and wrapping myself in its many sheets.