Chapter 4 #3
His jaw works. "That's a fact. It's not a value judgment. They were wrong. You know that. I know that. I will not stand here and let you twist my words into something cruel so you can justify pushing us all away."
His voice is low but full of alpha command, each word wrapping around my ribs like bands.
My instincts whimper. Literally.
A high, helpless sound escapes my throat. Omega, submissive, desperate.
Humiliation floods me.
I hate this. I hate that my body yields when I don't want it to. I hate that Marie is sitting right there watching me lose a dominance battle in my own living room. I hate that part of me wants this—wants someone solid enough to push back against the chaos.
"Stop," I breathe.
His expression softens a fraction, but the dominance stays.
"We're done with you talking like that. You can be angry.
You can tell me I hurt you by sharing. You can drag me into the bedroom later and yell until your throat is raw.
But you do not stand in the middle of this room and call yourself a cast-off toy and accuse me of being the one throwing you away. "
Tears spill over, hot and fast. I hate him. I love him. I hate that he's right.
"Do you understand?"
The words are a command.
My whole body trembles. My scent is a mess—fear, shame, fury. My tongue feels glued to the roof of my mouth.
Eli murmurs something behind me. "Breathe."
"Do you understand?" Drake repeats, more gently but no less firm.
"Yes." I choke on the word.
It tastes like defeat.
His scent eases. The pressure loosens. My knees go weak with the sudden flood of relief and humiliation.
"I need—" I don't even know what I need. Space. Air. A hole to crawl into.
I turn and crash directly into Eli's chest.
He's already there, arms open.
I fold into him without thinking, burying my face in his shirt, hands fisting fabric. His arms wrap around me, one broad hand cradling the back of my head, the other splayed between my shoulder blades.
His scent washes over me, pushing back some of the jagged edges. "I've got you. You're okay."
I am not okay. I cling anyway.
Somewhere to my left, Marie makes a noise.
Small and low, but my instincts hear it clearly.
A growl.
Possessive. Unhappy. Omega instincts flaring at the sight of another omega plastered against one of "her" alphas right after a dominance display.
I feel Eli's chest stiffen under my cheek.
Drake's scent, which had just started to settle, spikes again—this time with anger. Ragon's dominance slams into the room like a shockwave.
He says her name. Just her name, but the warning in it is unmistakable.
"What? I didn't— I just—"
"You do not growl at her for seeking comfort," Drake says, and his voice has lost all the gentleness it had with me a moment ago. "Not now. Not ever."
"I didn't mean— It was instinct. I—she—he's mine."
Ragon steps closer, looming. Even with my face buried in Eli's shirt, I can feel the shift.
"Instinct is not an excuse. Not in this house. You will not treat her as a rival. She is part of this pack. She needs us. You will not begrudge her that."
Marie's breath hitches. "I'm not trying to begrudge— I just... he was being alpha with her. It's confusing. My instincts don't know where to land."
"Land them away from attacking the other omega," Drake snaps.
Eli's hand strokes my hair, trying to soothe even as the air crackles around us.
"I'm sorry," Marie blurts, voice high and strained. "I wasn't— I didn't mean to— It just came out."
"Then you'll learn to swallow it," Ragon says. "Or you will spend a lot of time in your room until you can be in the same space without treating her like an intruder."
Silence.
Then a soft, strangled noise from Marie. Submission. My instincts recognize it. The way her scent goes low and small. The way the hairs on the back of my neck settle.
"I'm sorry."
I don't answer. I can't. I'm too busy trying not to dissolve completely in Eli's arms.
He shifts, adjusting me more fully onto his lap as he sits back in the armchair. My legs drape over one side, my torso curled against his chest. His heartbeat thuds steadily under my ear.
"You're okay. Let it out."
I do.
I cry. Ugly, gasping sobs that soak his shirt and make my whole body shake. He doesn't flinch. Just holds me tighter, one hand rubbing slow circles on my back, the other cupping the back of my head like he's shielding me from the world.
Through the blur of tears and scent, I catch a glimpse of movement.
Marie sits on the couch, shoulders hunched, hands in her lap, tears tracking down her own cheeks. Ragon stands in front of her for a long moment, then sighs and sits beside her, the couch creaking under his weight.
He doesn't pull her close the way Eli holds me. Not yet. But he rests a hand on her shoulder, thumb stroking once in a brief, almost clumsy attempt at comfort.
She leans toward him, just a little, like a plant toward sun.
The sight is a twisting knife.
It's not that I want her miserable. Not really. Not in the rational part of me.
But watching Ragon offer her comfort—after snapping at me, after punishing me, after throwing boundaries around me like a cage—hurts in a way I don't have words for.
I press my face deeper into Eli's chest, as if I can hide from it.
Drake sinks back onto the couch on Marie's other side, running both hands through his hair. His scent is a storm—guilt over me, protectiveness over her, frustration with himself.
"This is a mess."
"That's an understatement," Eli says dryly, still stroking my back.
Ragon exhales, long and slow. "No one said integrating a second omega would be easy. We knew there would be challenges."
"Challenges," I echo weakly, voice muffled by Eli's shirt. "That what we're calling this?"
Ragon looks at me.
For once, there's no judgment in his eyes. No anger. Just tiredness. Worry. A flicker of something like regret.
"That's what we're calling the start of it. We've got one hell of a battle ahead of us."
I squeeze my eyes shut.
He's right.
And I have no idea if we're going to survive it.