8. Chapter Eight
Chapter Eight
Ronan
O ur Omega stands there fighting with every bit of herself, a cornered animal with her back arched and claws out, hissing to hide the way her body quakes. The bravado is a mask for the terror running through her veins. She’s convinced herself that kindness is a trap, softness a prelude to torment.
She knows no better than to expect the worst.
Our pack bond floods with rage, uncontrollable and bitter.
We’ve seen survivors react like this before, crouching behind suspicion as their only shield.
It drives home just how alone she thinks she is.
She's had no one on her side. Just monsters digging their claws into her soft underbelly day after day, stripping her of power, poisoning trust.
No wonder she expects every gesture to end in cruelty.
She’s battered and exhausted, drugged heat wringing her dry, but she’s still fighting. Most would have given up. The world tried to break her, but here she is bloodied, bitter, but still standing.
We must be careful. If we push too hard or fast, if we do anything that reminds her of Hardwick or the hell she just escaped, she’ll lump us in with her abusers. Leah has known nothing but abuse from the people who should have taken the best care of her.
She’s only known cruel Alphas, and she can’t trust that we’re different.
But she will learn, because we’ll earn her trust. Every day, every minute, until she knows in her bones we’d never hurt her.
She thinks we’re testing her, but she’s the one testing us.
Our girl will learn we are not her jailers, but her home.
I soothe my tone. Not only is she terrified, but whatever Hardwick did to her is still working through her system, stirring up every trauma and instinct.
Her gaze flickers between us and the bedding in my brothers’ arms. She tries to keep her chin up even though her hands tremble.
Nesting is an Omega’s core instinct. When they’re afraid, the urge to curl up somewhere safe and soft, to disappear into layers and forget the rest of the world, is as strong as hunger or breath.
I crouch a little to gentle my size, "Kitten, there’s no test here, no trap. We don’t play games with something so important. Nesting is your right, not a privilege. You pick the spot. We’ll make it how you want it if you can’t do it for yourself. No other agenda."
I keep my expression open, posture relaxed, watching her for every twitch and flicker, trying to show her this is real. All I want is for her to understand she can claim space, comfort, softness without owing us a damn thing.
She stands her ground, eyes sparking. "I don’t believe you."
I fight the urge to close the gap between us, pick her up and purr for her but that would steal her control when she needs it most. "I won’t trick you. Ever. "
The muscles in her bare thighs jump with the effort it takes not to give into instinct and burrow into a nest. Tension floods our pack bond. Everything about her posture is defiance. She shivers and presses her slicked thighs together.
"Leah, your heat is going to ramp up. I know you don’t trust us, but we’ll show you we mean what we say. You want to fight us? That’s fine. We can take it, but don’t fight your body too. You deserve a nest. Especially when it hurts."
Her cheeks flush. A bead of perspiration drips from her temple. I’d miss the flutter of her eyelids and the way she tenses if I weren’t watching her so closely. She’s locked rigid with fear.
There were no nests in those rooms from the facility she came from.
Not a shred of softness or safety had been allowed.
Not a single comfort an Omega could cling to, especially in the grip of something as brutal as a forced heat.
Denying her the instinct to nest isn’t just cruelty; it’s calculated, mind-altering abuse that reshapes the very wiring of trust and instinct.
Leah doesn’t only distrust the nest in this apartment because of us. She ran from it because she’s been conditioned to dread what every Omega should crave. Her panic and anger at the idea of comfort is proof of how deep her wounds are.
The ache in my chest twists for her. This is dangerous ground. Even the slightest misstep will send her spiraling deeper into distress.
I keep my voice calm and even. "Jax, set the mattress in the corner next to the window. Our Omega likes the light."
Jax nods, moving with measured, deliberate care. He carries the mattress across the room, turning it just the way she might want, laying it in the golden spill of sunlight.
"Gabriel, lay down the blankets for our Omega."
"You got it, brother." He crouches, arms full of every pillow and blanket he hauled from the nest room and sets them in a neat pile on the floor by the mattress, right where she can reach them.
Leah is rigid, every muscle wound tight as she ignores the cramping I guess she’s feeling in her body.
I’ve seen the same in the field when injured soldiers carry on, wound or not, so jacked up with adrenaline they don’t feel the wounds.
Until they stop. Then they crash bad. The same will happen to Leah.
She’s not healthy, inside or out. The thirst of her heat is consuming her, but anxiety outweighs the burn of her body. Her gaze darts between us and the mattress. Her scent is bitter, but the sweet edge tells me there’s longing flickering behind the panic.
"Gabe, spread that fluffy blanket across the mattress," I suggest.
"Sure thing. Tell me if this is what you want, Sweetheart." Gabriel picks up the lilac blanket and fluffs it over the mattress.
Her gaze locks on the blanket and stays there.
Sweat traces down her cheek and soaks her hairline, the trembling in her limbs growing worse, but she doesn’t move.
Her luscious essence churns and twists through the air, tainted with fear someone else gave her.
This abuse is an open wound purposefully given in the name of control, but underneath it is a flash of sharp need.
She’s aching and terrified but she’s so thirsty for relief. For something soft to sink into. To let herself be who she truly is. Omega. Our Godsdamned scent-matched mate. My gut twists watching her fight her own instincts.
At this stage I’m not sure what’s going to win out.
Her abuse or her craving.
I’m desperate to give her what her body craves, but I don’t move. I don’t even twitch. I won’t risk her mistaking my arousal for another threat.
"Kitten, if you want it different, just say."
Anger snaps through her. Her eyes spark luminous and dark. "If you think I want anything to do with that nest, think again." Her voice breaks, anger riding on panic, demand buried beneath shame. "Just stay away from me!"
She snatches one of the big cushions off the couch and bolts on unsteady legs for the hallway. She makes it to the bathroom and slams the door behind her hard enough for the crack to echo through the living room.
Gabriel sinks to the ground, a lavender pillow clutched in his big hand. "Well…fuck. "
Jax levels a look at me, all the light gone from his eyes, gutted. "She’s the worst I’ve seen, Ronan."
He doesn’t have to say more. In all our careers, we’ve seen many broken Omegas. Leah’s actions stem from layered trauma so woven into her that I don’t know if she’ll ever untangle herself completely.
She needs time she doesn’t have.
We need time she doesn’t have.
We’ve handled Omegas fresh out of trafficking rings, ones who flinched at shadows. I’ve seen the aftermath of black-site interrogations, the way the body remembers what the mind tries to forget.
This isn’t just trauma. She’s been rewired.
Every instinct in me screams to fix it, but combat taught me that when someone’s been broken systematically, you can’t rush them to change. You don’t crowd. You sure as hell don’t force.
But her heat doesn’t give a damn about patience.
Gabriel gets to his feet, drops the cushion he’s holding on the mattress, and looks at the closed bathroom door, thoughtful. "She bolted with a couch cushion."
Jax crosses his arms, making his biceps bulge and strain the material of his t-shirt.
"If she took the cushion, it’s because she doesn’t have trauma attached to stuff like that.
Traditional nesting materials were used against her, but the couch cushion might be the one comfort that didn’t come with punishment. "
Probably because there were no couches or throw pillows in the hell she escaped. Still, it’s something we can work with.
"She’ll still need something to help her. Anything," Gabriel says, the edge of panic in his voice matching what I feel in my own chest. The urge to provide for Leah is a physical ache that wants to trample all sense, if I let it.
I scrub a hand through my hair, "She will. So, we stop pushing anything that looks or feels like what she had in that place. No mattresses, no special Omega bedding, nothing that might trigger her trauma." She’s had plenty of trauma. Too much handed to her from too many people .
Jax’s eyes clear, sharp with resolve. "Right then. We get couch cushions, throw rugs, towels. Anything soft that doesn’t look like traditional nesting material."
Gabriel is already halfway to the door, keys in hand.
"I’ll hit the stores, grab whatever looks harmless, and stock some food.
What do you think she’d like?" He shakes his head. "Never mind. She won’t know. I’ll get everything she might want and more.
You two hold the fort while I get what our Omega needs. "
"Don’t be long," I warn.
His grin is quick but worried. "Nothing can keep me away."
As the door clicks shut, Jax and I look at each other, knowing this is a different type of war.
Time is our enemy, and our Omega is on the line.