Chapter 4 #2
It didn't help. His scent clung to me anyway, embedded somewhere deeper than skin. Embedded in the bond itself.
Ours, my omega insisted. He's ours, and we're his, and this is how it's supposed to be. Why are you fighting so hard? Why won't you just let yourself want this?
I sank down to the floor of the shower, letting the hot water pound against my back, and finally let myself cry.
I cried for my mother, for the woman who had loved so fiercely that she'd torn herself apart to choose my father, and then spent twelve years fading because of it.
I cried for myself, for the girl who had watched her mother die and learned that love was a trap, that bonds were chains, that the only way to survive was to stay small and safe and alone.
I cried because I could feel the bond in my chest, warm and wanting, and some part of me wanted to let it in. That was the most terrifying thing of all.
I stayed in the shower until the water ran cold, until my fingers pruned and my tears ran dry and the bone-deep exhaustion set in. Then I dragged myself out, wrapped myself in the biggest, softest towel I owned, and shuffled toward my bedroom on unsteady legs.
I intended to collapse on my bed and sleep for approximately one thousand years. I stopped dead in the doorway.
My bed looked different.
It took me a moment to figure out what had changed, and when I did, a cold chill ran down my spine despite the warmth still clinging to my skin from the shower.
The pillows—I had four of them usually, lined up neatly against the headboard—had been rearranged into a loose circle in the center of the mattress.
The extra blanket I kept folded at the foot of the bed was bunched up inside that circle, creating a soft barrier.
The throw pillows from my living room couch were tucked into the gaps, and the fuzzy cardigan I'd tossed over my desk chair last week was wadded up in the middle like a centerpiece.
It was a nest. An actual, honest-to-god omega nest. I had built it without even realizing.
"No," I breathed, stumbling backward until my shoulder blades hit the doorframe. "No, no, I didn't—I wouldn't—"
But I had. I could remember it now, in hazy fragments—getting up in the middle of the night last night, unable to sleep, padding around my apartment and gathering soft things.
I'd thought I was just restless. Anxious about the upcoming project, stressed about the mark and what it might mean… anxious about talking to Jeni…
I hadn't realized my omega was taking over.
Overriding my conscious decisions. Acting on instincts I'd spent years trying to suppress. Nesting was what omegas did when they were stressed. When they were scared. When they were preparing for heat or seeking security or craving the comfort of their alpha's scent.
I hadn't nested since I was sixteen, right after I'd presented. Our maid had found me building a fort out of blankets in my closet, and she'd sat with me for hours, stroking my hair and explaining what it meant in her soft, patient voice.
"It's nothing to be ashamed of," she'd said. "It's just biology. It's how omegas cope."
I had been ashamed. Ashamed of my designation, of my instincts, of the way my body wanted things I'd never asked for. I'd started taking suppressants the next week, and I hadn't nested since.
Until now.
Until him, my omega corrected, and I could hear the smugness in her inner voice. Until our alpha triggered our bond and woke us up properly. Now you need soft things and safe spaces because your body knows what's coming. Your body is preparing.
"Nothing is coming," I said out loud, my voice echoing in the quiet apartment. "There's nothing—this doesn't mean anything—"
I couldn't tear my eyes away from the nest. Every instinct screamed at me to destroy it—to tear apart the pillows, untangle the blankets, erase the evidence of my weakness. To prove that I was still in control.
I was so tired… and the nest looked so soft.
I could still smell him on my skin despite the shower, and maybe, maybe if I just lay down for a little while, surrounded by soft things, I could pretend that everything was fine.
That I hadn't just had my entire world turned upside down.
That I wasn't falling apart at the seams.
I crossed the room on unsteady legs and climbed into the nest.
It was good. Really good. The blankets were perfectly arranged to cradle my body, and the pillows formed a protective barrier around me, and the fuzzy cardigan was impossibly soft against my cheek.
I curled into a ball in the center, pulling the throw blanket over myself, and let out a breath I felt like I'd been holding for hours.
Safe, my omega hummed, settling down inside me for the first time since the collision. Den. Nest. Safe.
It was a pale imitation of what I really needed, I knew that. What my omega really wanted was to be surrounded by alpha scent, to be held and protected and claimed. But it would have to do.
It was all I was going to allow. I closed my eyes and let the exhaustion drag me under.
My dreams were dark and confusing, water closing over my head, hands reaching from the depths, five sets of hands pulling me in different directions while I struggled to breathe.
I woke gasping sometime in the middle of the night, my heart pounding and my sheets tangled around my legs, and it took me several long minutes to remember where I was.
My nest. My apartment. Alone.
I was still alone.
My omega whimpered softly in the back of my mind, and I realized my cheeks were wet with tears I didn't remember crying. I pulled the cardigan closer, buried my face in its softness, and forced myself back to sleep.
Morning came too soon and not soon enough.
I woke to grey light filtering through my curtains and a persistent buzzing from my phone, which I'd apparently brought into the nest with me at some point during the night. My head ached. My mark ached. Everything ached, like I was coming down with the flu.
Soul sickness, some distant part of my brain supplied. Incomplete bonds cause soul sickness. You know this. You researched it.
I pushed the thought away and grabbed my phone, squinting at the screen through sleep-blurred eyes.
MINA (3 missed calls)
MINA: SIREN requested a meeting with you today. They want to meet you before they fully agree to the collaboration. Eleven am. Conference Room 3A.
MINA: You know how they are, they usually write their own stuff. Jin-ho wants to vet you personally before signing off on the company's decision.
MINA: Keira? Please confirm you received this.
I stared at the messages, my brain struggling to process the words.
Jin-ho. SIREN's lead vocalist and chief lyricist. The one with the silver-grey hair and the amber eyes that looked almost golden in photographs. He wanted to meet me before agreeing to let me work on their comeback.
It made sense. SIREN was known for writing their own music, it was part of their brand, part of what made them respected in an industry full of manufactured pop.
They brought in outside help occasionally when schedules got too demanding, but they were notoriously selective about who they worked with.
The company could suggest a collaborator, but SIREN had final say.
Now their chief lyricist wanted to decide if I was good enough.
I'd spent years working behind the scenes, communicating through emails and file transfers, never meeting the artists whose voices brought my words to life.
It was safer that way. Easier. No faces to remember, no connections to form, no risk of anyone looking too closely at the omega who preferred to stay invisible.
Now SIREN wanted to meet me. And if I wanted this project, if I wanted to keep the career I'd carefully built, I couldn't exactly refuse.
Hwan.
The name rose up unbidden, and with it came the flood of memory. Platinum blonde hair glowing in the afternoon light. A smile that could stop traffic. Wide brown eyes with flecks of gold going even wider as our eyes met. Sunshine and citrus wrapping around me like a warm embrace.
The bond snapping into place like a key turning in a lock.
I pressed my hand against my chest, where the golden thread of that bond hummed beneath my skin. It was quieter now, after sleep, but still there. Still present. Still wanting.
My omega stretched lazily, waking up alongside me.
Are we going to see him today? that inner voice asked, perking up with hope. Our alpha? Are we going to let him scent us properly this time? Maybe he'll hold us again. Maybe he'll—
"We're not going anywhere near him," I muttered, throwing off the covers and climbing out of my nest. The movement sent a wave of dizziness through me, and I had to grab the bedpost to steady myself.
My head throbbed. My mark throbbed. Everything throbbed in time with my heartbeat, like my entire body was one giant bruise.
The scent hit me the moment I moved, sweeter than it had been last night, more distinct. Lilies and rain, no longer a faint undertone but an actual presence. If I could smell it this clearly, other people would be able to smell it too.
Alphas would be able to smell it.
Good, my omega purred. Let them smell us. Let them know we're available. Let them—
"Absolutely not." I practically ran to the bathroom, yanking open the cabinet and grabbing my scent blockers.
I applied them liberally, way more than the recommended amount, enough that my skin felt tacky with it, and prayed it would be enough to mask the omega scent breaking through my failing suppressants.