Skyla’s Nest #2
And that’s enough. He looks away and follows Knox, standing awkwardly at the foot of the bed. Tadeo lingers near the door, his sad eyes locked onto my face, but Dakota looks shamed, like he’s not sure whether to beg me for forgiveness or to run from the room and never return.
“You were supposed to be different,” I say loud and clear, the words slicing through the air like a blade.
Knox looks at me with those pained dark green eyes. Alex doesn’t look up. Tadeo’s jaw clenches, and Dakota’s scent turns sour with shame.
“I thought…” My voice cracks, the words catching in my throat before I can stop them. “I thought you’d never hurt me. That I could finally stop being scared.” My hands tremble as I fist handfuls of the blanket. “But you’re just like them.”
No one breathes.
“They said they knew what was best for me.” I choke out, trying like hell not to say my old pack’s name out loud.
“He said that I needed his bond, his claim on my body. He marked me everywhere. All the time. Nonstop!” My voice rises, unable to stop the rush of words.
“He marked me before my first heat, then every day afterwards. During sex. During dinner. In the bedroom, living room, bathroom. Even the fucking kitchen!” Tears blur my vision, hot and humiliating.
I swipe at them, furious that they’re even falling.
“They ripped me apart and left me bleeding every chance they got. And I was stupid enough to think you were different,” I whisper again, suddenly feeling very overwhelmed.
“But you’re not. You just smile more while you take what you want. ”
Tadeo takes a single step closer, but I flinch so hard he stops cold.
Knox’s face twists with pain, guilt, and something else—but I can’t look at him long enough to figure out which it is. Alex looks wrecked, silent, like he’s swallowed every apology before it could form. And Dakota…he looks like he’s about to cry.
“Skyla,” Dakota whispers my name. “We would never—”
“Don’t,” I bite out. “Just—don’t.” I take a deep breath, trying to steady the storm in my chest. “You don’t get it.” My chin quivers, and my hands suddenly feel cold and clammy. “My old pack did this too. They hurt me, because they decided it was best. They thought it would fix me too.”
Knox’s brows furrow, confusion flashing across his face. “Fix you?”
“Yeah,” I spit out. “And it didn’t work. It never worked.”
“What do you mean?” Knox’s voice is soft, careful — like I’m something fragile that might shatter if he breathes too hard. And maybe I am. “Fix what, sweetheart?”
I shouldn’t tell him. I should swallow it down, bury it deep like I always do. But I’m too tired. Too raw to keep it inside anymore.
“Fuck it,” I mutter, my voice shaking. “You want the truth? Fine. I can’t form a mental bond with an alpha. My body and mind are broken. My old pack tried every chance they got, and it never worked. And it won’t work this time either.”
Their faces blur together—shock, disbelief, pity.
I hate all of it.
“So go ahead,” I say, my voice cracking under the weight of it all. “Reject me now and get it over with. Save yourself the heartbreak.”
No one moves. The silence stretches thin, suffocating. I can feel every breath, every heartbeat.
Because I mean it.
I’d rather be rejected right now—ripped to pieces quickly—than wait for another pack to fall apart around me.
“No.” Tadeo steps forward. His voice is soft, but steady. “We aren’t rejecting you. We’d never,” he says firmly. “You belong to us, Sky. That perfect, beautiful body isn’t broken. It’s ours.”
I lift my gaze to him, and the way he’s looking at me—so calm, so sure—makes my throat close.
Dakota nods immediately, stepping closer, his eyes glassy. “He’s right,” he says, voice shaking but fierce. “We’re not leaving you. Not now, not ever.”
Knox straightens, shoulders square, jaw set like a man ready to take whatever punishment I give him. Alex stands beside him, quiet but unflinching, both of them giving the smallest, resolute nods.
I want to believe them. I really do.
But all I can do is stare, my chest tight and aching, because I’ve heard promises before. They always sound the same—beautiful and heavy and full of meaning—until they don’t mean anything at all.
“You say that now…” I trail off. “But alphas need a mental bond. They can’t—”
“No, they don’t.” Dakota moves to the foot of the bed, then slowly sinks down until he’s sitting cross-legged on the floor.
He looks so sweet and nonthreatening. “I’m not marked,” he says as he tilts his head back, showing me his unblemished skin.
“Knox has offered, but I don’t need it.” He shrugs, like it really doesn’t matter.
“We’re all connected—with or without a mating bite. The same goes for you.”
I want to laugh at him and tell him that’s not how it works between alphas and omegas, but I don’t have the heart to be mean to the beta like that.
Then Alex moves. He settles on his knees beside Dakota, big body folding down so we’re at eye level. The movement feels deliberate, like he’s trying to make himself smaller for me.
“I love my pack,” he says quietly, voice roughened with something raw.
“I love them so fucking much. Knox and I have been together for almost fifteen years, and we’ve never shared a mental bond.
” He gives a little shrug. “We don’t need one to know how the other feels.
Sometimes I think that’s what makes it better—having to actually listen, to choose each other every day, instead of some chemical tether doing the work for us. ”
The bitter twist in my chest stirs again, but it’s softer this time.
I so appreciate his attempt to make me feel better, but it’ll only be a matter of time before his biological needs kick in and he’s ripping out my throat too.
Then Tadeo moves closer, lowering himself right beside Alex. “I’ve been with this pack for five years,” he says. “These men love me. They put up with all my bullshit. They support and encourage me every day. And we’ve never had a mental bond.”
I blink, searching his face for any trace of pity, but there isn’t any. Just calm certainty.
“It doesn’t mean we’re not family,” Knox adds simply as he kneels too, like it’s a symbolic gesture. “It doesn’t mean we love each other any less.”
I can’t find the words. My throat feels too tight, my body too small for everything sitting inside it.
They’re all still on the floor—four strong men kneeling like I’m something sacred instead of something broken—and it makes something in me ache so hard I have to look away.
Because I want to believe them.
God help me, I really do.