Chapter 2 #2
Dinner feels almost sacred in its hush, and I can’t help grinning at the silence. That has to mean something good—big, wonderful news is coming.
Our home never clamors with noise—I designed Ragon to be a sanctuary, and Eli always speaks in thoughtful waves instead of bursts.
Drake usually fills the gaps, cracking jokes about the hospital cafeteria, flirting shamelessly with me, spinning wild tales about the other alphas on his unit.
But tonight he simply eats, and the emptiness between bites makes my pulse race with anticipation.
He pushes his mashed potatoes around his plate, eyes flicking up at me and away again so often it feels like waiting for a firework to burst. Eli is equally still, as if he’s deciphering a secret message in his fork tines.
Ragon eats with that familiar, unshakable control, but his scent has shifted—tauter and electric, like energy waiting to release in a spectacular flare.
I take a bite of chicken and catch myself wanting it to taste like celebration. It does taste fine—rosemary and lemon, exactly what I intended—but in my mouth it feels weightless, like it’s dancing with possibility instead of flavor.
“So,” I say, too sweetly, and try to steady my breath, “the nesting store was incredible. Thank you—really, thank you.”
All three heads lift as if I’ve whispered a spell that pulled their strings. Drake’s lips curl into an eager smile that falters at the corners. “You’re welcome. You deserve every perfect thing.”
Eli emits a soft, pleased murmur. Ragon holds my gaze, his bright blue eyes blazing steady, unreadable—and thrilling. My skin prickles with hope.
I press on, voice light. “I can’t stop picturing that moon pillow at the head of my nest.”
“It suits you,” Eli says quietly, and even that small compliment feels like the key clicking in a lock.
I swallow hard, my heart pounding. “Today was so good,” I admit, feeling the words glow on my tongue. “Really good.”
“It was perfect,” Drake agrees softly, eyes down, voice hushed as though he’s saving breath for the big moment.
My heart skips. Perfect means they know how much I need this. Perfect means this is the night.
We glide through the rest of the meal on a current of excitement.
Eli asks about the new bakery down the street I’ve been dying to try.
Drake talks about his next shift, a grin tugging at his voice.
Ragon gently inquires which groceries we should restock for those late-night midnight cravings.
Every question feels like a drumbeat leading to the crescendo I’m longing for.
When the plates are clear, I push back my chair, unable to hide my eagerness. “Let me clean up—”
“No,” Ragon says softly but firmly, and I catch the gleam of resolve in his scent. “We’ll all help.”
In minutes, the kitchen is sparkling. Ragon rinses and stacks with brisk efficiency; Eli arranges everything in the dishwasher with precise satisfaction; Drake hums a victory tune as he dries and puts away pans. Each clink and splash feels like a celebratory percussion.
When the last dish is tucked away, Ragon straightens, his scent humming with certainty. “Living room,” he announces.
My heart leaps so high I almost laugh. Perfect. This is it.
Drake pats the couch beside him with a tentative smile. Eli settles beside me, eyes warm. I sink into the worn leather, inhaling the familiar mix of candle spice and us. It’s like a cozy invitation, and I feel a fluttering thrill beneath my ribs.
We sit, breath caught, like the calm before fireworks erupt. No one needs to speak. I already know what’s coming. My alphas are about to ask me to make it official. A whole month early.
The clock in the hallway ticks. A car drives by outside. Someone a few houses down laughs loud enough to be heard through the window.
"Okay," I finally say, because silence is worse. "So. Talk."
Drake looks at Eli. Eli looks at Ragon.
"Two months ago," Drake says, every word clearly costing him, "I smelled someone at the hospital."
My throat closes.
No.
No, no, no.
"An omega?" My voice sounds thin, far away.
He nods. "She'd been in a minor car wreck. Just bruises and a sprain. She was scared. I went to check on her and… Vee, the second I got close it was like getting hit with a freight train. My whole body just—reacted."
He makes a helpless gesture, like even now he can't quite describe it.
I can. I've heard about it my whole life.
Scent match.
You don't choose them. You just find them. Or you don't. Most don't. But when you do—
The world tilts.
It's happening again.
"How do you know it wasn't just strong compatibility?" My voice breaks. Please let it be compatibility. Please let this be something manageable.
"Because," Drake says softly, "Eli went to see her, too."
My head whips toward Eli. "You did?"
His eyes are full of apology. "We had to be sure. It's not common. But with how unsettled Drake was, we needed more data."
Data.
"What happened?" The question comes out as a whisper.
"I approached her. Introduced myself, checked her chart. And when I came within a few feet, her scent locked. My instincts responded in the same way Drake's did. Not as intense, maybe, but unmistakable."
My ears ring. "And Ragon?"
Ragon's jaw tightens. His scent flares—irritation, reluctance, something jagged. "I met her later. Her scent hit me like a blunt force."
Oh god.
Oh god.
All three of them.
It's their scent match. All three.
The room spins. My chest constricts. I can't breathe. I can't—
"Her name is Marie," Drake says, and the name lands like a stone in my stomach. "She's at the registry now. We've been seeing her. Talking to her."
It's happening again.
The registry. They're talking about the registry. Where omegas get returned. Where I got returned.
"For two months." My voice sounds hollow. "You've been seeing her for two months."
My first pack waited three weeks after finding their scent match before they told me. These three waited two months. Two months of secret meetings, of getting to know her, of falling for her while I baked cookies and folded laundry and thought I was safe.
"Oh god, it's happening again." The words burst out. "Almost five years together and now you don't want me anymore."
"Vee—" Drake starts, reaching for me.
I pull back. "You found your scent match.
Your real omega. The one you're biologically meant to have.
Now that you're getting the real thing, you don't need me anymore.
" My voice is rising, panic clawing up my throat.
"I should have known. I should have fucking known when you bought all those blankets today.
That was a goodbye gift, wasn't it? Make sure the defective omega has nice things before you send her back—"
"Stop," Ragon says, voice sharp. "Stop right there."
"Why?" Tears are streaming down my face now.
"So you can break it to me gently? Tell me how I'll find another pack someday?
How it's not me, it's just biology? I've heard it before, Ragon. I lived it before. I don’t get another pack. It just happens all over again. They all just use me and throw me away. I’m never enough.
And I can't—I can't go back there. I can't go back to that fucking registry and wait in those cold rooms for someone else to pick me up and use me until they find something better—"
"We are not sending you back," Ragon says, and the command in his voice finally breaks through my spiral.
I stare at him, gasping for air.
"We are not sending you anywhere," he repeats, slower, deliberate. "You are staying here."
"But you found—"
"Yes," he interrupts. "We found a scent match. And yes, we're going to bring her into this pack."
The confirmation is a knife between my ribs.
"But you are not leaving," he continues, voice steady and sure. "You are not being replaced. You are staying. Both of you will be here."
I blink through tears. "Both?"
"Two omegas," Eli says quietly, his hand still on my back. "One pack."
My brain struggles to process. The panic starts to recede, but something sharper rushes in to fill the space.
Anger.
"You want to keep me." My voice flattens. "Even though you have her. Your scent match. You want both of us."
"Yes," Ragon says simply.
"You want me to stay here and watch you bond her. Mark her. Smell like her. Watch you give her everything I've been waiting five years for."
Silence.
"You've been seeing her for two months," I continue, and the anger is building now, hot and bitter.
"Two months. You've been hiding her from me for two months while you figured out if you wanted to keep your scent match.
And now you're telling me I should what—be grateful you're not throwing me away?
That I should welcome her with open arms and smile while you give her everything I wanted? "
Drake's face crumples. "Vee—"
"Shut up. Just—shut up for a second."
Eli's hand hasn't moved from my back, but I can feel the tension in his fingers.
"We didn't tell you right away because we wanted to have answers first," he says carefully. "We didn't want to come to you with this half-formed—"
"It would've been honest."
"It would've terrified you," Ragon says flatly. "For no reason, if it turned out to be a fluke."
"But it wasn't a fluke, was it?" My laugh is bitter. "So instead I get the concentrated version. Surprise, we've found the miracle omega, and by the way we've already had two months to get used to the idea. Two months to fall for her."
"We haven't fallen for her," Drake says desperately. "We barely know her. We've been trying to figure out what the hell to do—"
"While I what? Hummed in the kitchen and made you dinner and thought everything was fine? While I slept in your beds and thought I was safe?"
"You are safe," Eli says fiercely.
"Am I?" I demand. "Because this sure feels like you picked her, and now you're trying to figure out how to handle me without feeling guilty."