Lily #3
“And then you showed up. This perfect little omega, exactly what everyone hopes for, with your scent match to my alphas and those big eyes and soft voice. You’re everything I’m not.
And all I could see was my replacement. The one Gabriel actually wanted.
The person who could give them a normal bond, a normal omega, a normal pack.
An omega that would let them mark her. And I hated you for it because hating you was easier than being so scared. ”
I reach back, grab his arm. I don’t say anything, just hold on. Like how he gripped Gabriel’s shirt. Steadying himself.
“I’m scared, Lily.” That’s where I hear it—the break.
“I’m so fucking scared of losing them. They’re the only good thing I’ve ever had and I won’t let them mark me because if I do, if I make it real, I’m terrified they’ll realize what a mistake it was and want to leave.
They’ll feel the real me through the bond.
They’ll know I don’t even want to be what I am.
That I’m too much like them. So I keep them at arm’s length and I keep you away and I ruin everything around me because it’s the only way I know how to survive. ”
He’s crying. I feel his tears leaking down my neck.
“I’ll probably be different tomorrow,” he warns.
The words come thick. “I’ll probably wake up and hate you again, because that’s how I am.
I’m not fixed. I’m not even close. But right now, I’m just…
” He breathes hard. “I’m sorry. For all of it.
For today and every day since you got here. I’m sorry.”
I turn, still in his grip. Look at him. He’s a mess, honestly. Red-eyed, blotchy, tears all over his cheeks, mouth clamped tight like if he lets go for even a second he’ll fall apart. He looks like a kid who tried so hard to be a monster and couldn’t keep up the act.
“I know,” I say. Because I do. Not the exact shape of his pain, or how his old pack carved him up inside, but I know what it’s like to not be wanted. To wait six years in the registry while people pick everyone else over you, and you start to wonder if you’re invisible or fundamentally wrong.
“I know what it’s like to hate what you are,” I tell him. “To wish you could change it. I’m the omega who got rejected by her own scent matches. You’re an omega who should have been alpha. We’re both stuck with something we never asked for.”
We’re in different cages with the same lock.
His eyes go wide—not at the words, but the way I mean them. Like he’s been screaming underwater and someone finally pulled him up.
I put my arms around him.
He freezes. Completely. I think he’s expecting pain, or a trap, or at the very least, a price. Every cell in his body is braced for the catch. Like nobody’s ever held him without wanting something back.
I hold on anyway, breathing him in. Burnt sugar and iron, but softer now. The iron’s almost gone, replaced by something warmer, something that might be Miles without all the armor.
Three seconds. Five. Ten.
Then he breaks.
His arms tighten around me and he clings like I’m the only thing keeping him from falling through the floor. He buries his face in my hair and he cries quietly, like it’s been waiting in him for years.
I cry too. For different reasons, but from the same place. The deep-down pain of being alone, of being passed over, of wanting someone to see you and knowing how hard it is to keep going.
We hold each other, in a bed that isn’t mine, in a house that isn’t mine, and we cry until it’s all wrung out and then we just breathe. His breath goes calm first. Then mine. Afternoon light pours in, bright and soft, and the house is quiet.
I don’t let go. He doesn’t either.
We fall asleep like that, tangled up, two omegas who spent weeks dancing around each other, now holding on because there’s nothing else left.
We sleep for a while. I don’t even know what time it is when I hear the door open. There’s no knock, only the click of the handle and the whisper of hinges.
I open my eyes.
Gabriel’s in the doorway.
Still in his coat, keys in hand, like he just walked in. Probably came straight here—to check up on me, give me another rule, or see what damage I’d done this time.
He sees us. Miles curled up against my chest, my arms tight around him, faces close, tear tracks everywhere. All the evidence right out in the open.
I brace for it. The cold voice, the clipped order, the “let go of my omega” that’s so familiar I almost expect it to be written on the walls.
Gabriel stands there. His face flickers through shock, confusion, pain, and then… awe. Like he’s watching the laws of physics change in front of him and he can’t decide if it’s a miracle or a disaster. Maybe both.
He doesn’t say a word.
Miles stirs. Sees Gabriel and freezes. He looks as if he’s waiting for punishment.
But Gabriel only stands there. He doesn’t order us apart. He doesn’t even move.
He just looks.
Then, slow and careful, he grabs the doorknob and pulls the door shut.
The latch clicks. Footsteps walk away, solid and slow.
Miles lets out a breath, nose pressed to my shirt.
For the first time since I got here, I don’t feel alone.
Neither of us says anything.
We close our eyes and stay there.