13. Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Thirteen
Jax
L eah’s perfume saturates the apartment.
Roses and dew and heated with a touch of spice that is uniquely hers but edged with bitterness and exhaustion.
I make it my mission to rid her of those bitter notes.
The fury at what put them there gets shoved down, locked away until it’s time to unleash it on the people who deserve to pay.
I move quietly, gathering what I need. A fluffy robe, a soft towel, a bowl of warm water. Anything to wipe away the sweat and the ache clinging to her skin.
I pad back into the living room, the low light catching on the curve of her shoulder where she’s nestled in Ronan’s lap, as limp as something wrung dry.
He sleeps lighter than I do, head tipped against her temple, arms holding her in a cage of muscle and patience.
Even asleep, his hands are gentle on her.
I’ve never seen him like this.
He cares for the hostages we rescue and the people we’re paid to protect, but this is different, instinctual. Our Omega has unlocked the door to his deeper caring side.
I know how he feels.
We separate ourselves from our jobs. We have to, or we can’t do them properly. It’s not that we don’t care, but a degree of separation keeps us sharp, prevents mistakes based on emotion. I can’t be like that now.
Leah isn’t a target on a briefing sheet or an asset to extract. In every mission, there’s scope, priorities, fallback plans. We keep the mark at a distance, compartmentalize the chaos, trust the training, move fast, get out clean.
But Leah isn’t a mission. This is highly fucking personal. There’s no debrief, no cold detachment. Leah isn’t just someone we’re charged to protect. She’s ours . She’s the Omega fate dropped into our hands, shredded, angry, half-wild, but tougher than anyone I’ve ever pulled from hell.
No training teaches what it means to want someone safe like this. To see her flinch and shake, to watch her fight herself harder than she’s ever fought anyone else is agony. Every muscle is braced to act, but I can only keep still, stay patient, and prove I’m not the enemy.
Leah is my Omega. Our mate. And if I have to tear down every wall she puts up, wade through hell itself for her to trust this bond, I will. I refuse to fail her. Not when fate finally gave us something worth living and dying for.
Ronan stirs as I crouch beside the sofa, his eyes flickering open, instinct sharp even through exhaustion.
"Just going to wash her," I murmur, keeping my voice low, as soothing as I can. "She’ll rest easier."
"Good idea, brother." Ronan shifts to give me room.
I kneel on the plush rug, dipping the clean cloth into the bowl and wringing it out. My hands shake a little, but I move slowly, careful not to disrupt her peace.
I press the warm cloth along her hairline, then down behind her ear, sweeping away sweat beading at her temples and the sides of her neck.
I work down to her shoulders, brushing my fingers lightly over her skin so nothing feels sudden.
She doesn’t wake, only sighs, pressing subconsciously into my touch.
I sweep the cloth over her chest, her hips, and the insides of her thighs, wiping away the slick and ache that still clings to her.
My jaw tightens as I work. The bruises are older, faded to yellow and green, but I see each one. Thin lines at her wrists and ankles where restraints bit deep. Faint welts, small scars, landscapes of abuse mapped across skin that should have known only safety.
I reach for the soft robe I brought. Moving carefully, I slip her arms through the sleeves and wrap the terrycloth around her, making sure she's covered and warm. She sighs softly as the fabric settles against her skin.
When I reach her knees with the cloth, something sharp pricks at my nose.
A chemical, scorched smell, bitter and artificial, is woven into her natural scent.
The taint is burned and sterile. Wrong. I pause, cloth limp in my grip, and glance up at Ronan where he sits guard over our Omega, his eyes tracking everything.
He catches the tension in my shoulders, his gaze sharpening as I pause. I keep my voice low, barely disturbing the hush. "Do you smell that? There’s something…chemical in her scent. Burned. It’s mixed right in, under her heat."
Ronan frowns and drags in a lungful of air before his brows rise, concern darkening his eyes. "It wasn't there before. I’m sure of it."
I run the cloth along Leah’s thigh and shake my head. I didn’t notice it in her either, so this is a new development. "It doesn’t smell natural. I’m guessing it's from whatever Hardwick did to her."
His nostrils flare as he takes in another hit of her perfume. "Why do you think it’s there now?"
"She could be metabolizing the drug, or her forced heat triggered it. Without full bloodwork, it’ll be hard to tell."
Her chest rises in shallow breaths under the towel, and I sit back on my haunches as exhaustion presses down on my shoulders .
"Whatever it is, I just hope it won’t escalate. I don’t know if she’ll crash, spike a fever, seize up or if it’ll just pass." The admission tastes bitter, each possibility tightening a cold knot of dread in my gut.
I twist the cloth in my fist, staring at my hands because it’s easier than looking at the grief carved on Ronan’s face or feeling the uncertainty in my own. "I hate not knowing. I hate standing on the side and not being able to fix her. She should never have to hurt like this."
"I know, brother. I know," Ronan says.
Helplessness comes with not having answers for our Omega. Right now, I can only clean her skin and pray that whatever’s working through her blood doesn’t take anything else from her.
Leah stirs, lashes fluttering against her cheeks. For a second, I think she’s still deep under her heat haze but then she blinks, and her gaze lands on me. She’s looking right at me. Not through me. At me.
She’s cognizant .
That can’t be right. Omegas in full heat drift for days lost to instinct, barely lucid enough to drink water. But Leah’s gaze is sharp, despite the fever in her too frail body and…shit. We haven’t even fed her. Maybe that’s why she’s woken. Her body can’t sustain the heat and she’s fractured.
Guilt crawls in my gut. She’s been denied more than anyone else we’ve rescued, so thin every rib casts shadows, hunger baked into the way she curls up and tenses her shoulders. Food should have been our priority.
I school my voice low and even, past the nerves and regret. "Hey, Leah. You with us?" I crouch closer, make myself small and less threatening. "How are you feeling?"
Ronan goes stone-still, shock plain on his face. He expected Leah to be lost to her heat too. His brows jump, mouth parting in surprise. "She’s lucid? Actually here with us?"
I hold his gaze for a beat and nod, trying not to betray how much I’m scrambling. "Full heat and she’s aware. We’re off the map now. ”
Leah takes in where she’s perched on Ronan’s lap and jolts up with a wordless cry, only for her legs to buckle. Instinct has me moving fast. I lunge, hands catching her elbows and lowering her to the floor.
"Let me go!" Her voice is brittle with fear.
I bring my palms up and back off, giving her plenty of space. "It’s all right, Leah. I don’t want you to get hurt, that’s all."
She scrambles away from us until her back hits the other couch, watching us with wary eyes, every muscle ready to bolt.
The urge to help battles with my fear of driving her deeper into panic.
She might be cognizant but she’s not fully back in her right mind, let alone dealing with the trauma she’s suffered.
"Hey, just…" I clear my throat and pitch my tone lower. "I made food. If you want something to eat, it’s ready whenever you’re hungry."
Her eyes track me, silent and mistrustful, lips pressed tight.
Gabriel’s footsteps coming back into the living room after a shower breaks the taut silence.
Leah’s head jerks around, back pressed so hard into the couch I half expect stuffing to come out. Her eyes dart over Gabriel, sizing him up as a fresh threat.
He freezes when he sees her huddled on the floor against the second couch, taking in her rigid frame before looking to me for explanation.
"Leah is awake, brother." I make my voice as easy as I can manage. "There’s soup in the pot on the stove, Gabe. Mind making up a bowl for our girl?"
He gets my unspoken message, flicking a look at her before turning away.
Instead of bombarding her with questions, he runs a smooth commentary.
"Of course. I picked up real bakery rye while I was out.
This place near the corner throws flour on the loaves right when they come out. Smells like home in there."
He retreats to the kitchen and returns with a generous bowl of beef and vegetable stew. It’s hearty, exactly what she needs.
I nod to the coffee table. "Set it there so she can reach it easily."
Gabriel places the bowl down and backs away. "Ronan, you want some too?"
Ronan nods. "Of course. Can’t beat Jax’s soup. "
Gabe walks back into the kitchen where he clunks around dishing up more bowls. Ronan probably isn’t hungry, but we’ll all eat if she does.
Leah doesn’t move. She stares at the steam, unblinking, as if soup might be a trick. Her hand curls over her stomach, jaw working, hunger warring with suspicion. I bite back the urge to urge or coax. There’s nothing I can do but give her space and hope she finds enough trust to reach for it.
Gabriel brings in more bowls, his movements measured and easy. He slides them onto the table one by one, sets down the bread, thick-cut and glossy with melted butter. Salt and herbs wind through the room. It smells damn good.
Ronan gives Gabriel a grateful clap on the shoulder before reaching for his bowl and spoon. We all know the trick, act like it’s just a meal, nothing more, don’t hover or push, don’t let the desperation show on your face even if all you want is to see her eat something, anything.
Leah’s gaze flicks between the bowls and our faces. I can imagine what’s clawing through her head. Old tricks, drugged meals, consequences for every mouthful. She stays locked against the couch, a storm in her eyes, not reaching for anything.
I cross my legs like it’s the most normal thing in the world. I set my bowl in my lap and pick up my spoon. The soup is hot, salty, thick with tender vegetables and chunks of beef. I blow on the edge, then take a bite and let out a low hum.
Gabriel shoots me a crooked grin, shoving a wedge of bread into his own bowl, then pops a bit in his mouth before glancing at Leah. "Yeah, this’ll warm all of us from the inside out," he says, his tone casual and light.
Ronan takes a slow spoonful, glancing at Leah as if he’s just checking the curtains for a draft. We all dig in, pretending this is a normal night and the air isn’t strung so tight you could pluck a note from it.