Chapter 26
Dr. Arden rearranges the living room with quiet efficiency.
The couch is pushed back. Chairs are pulled into a loose circle, spaced carefully—close enough for proximity, far enough to avoid crowding. It feels strange seeing the heart of the house stripped down to something so intentional, so clinical.
Arden stands at the edge of it all with a clipboard tucked under one arm, pen resting between his fingers. He looks more like a researcher than a pack doctor right now, eyes sharp, posture relaxed but alert.
His sleeves pull tight when he moves and drags the coffee table, fabric stretching over his shoulders and biceps.
The top button of his shirt is undone, throat tanned, forearms roped and bare where he's rolled his cuffs.
When he braces one palm on the couch to pivot it, his forearm flexes and the fabric pulls tight over muscle.
Get a grip, Vee. He's an alpha with a clipboard, not a thirst trap. Eyes up. Brain on.
"This isn't about forcing reconnection," he says calmly, straightening up. "Not yet. It's about observing your body's responses. We're gathering information."
I nod, even though my hands are already cold.
I take my seat, spine stiff, feet planted flat on the floor like Arden instructed. My fingers lace together in my lap, knuckles pale. I can feel every alpha in the room without looking at them—the weight of their attention, the careful restraint.
"Jasper first," Arden says.
Jasper straightens immediately.
He approaches slowly, deliberately. He stops a few feet in front of me and extends his hand, palm up, open and nonthreatening.
"May I?"
The question matters more than I expect it to.
I hesitate. My fingers twitch once before I lift my hand and place it in his. There's a faint tremor I can't stop, my pulse racing even though nothing about this feels dangerous.
Jasper's touch is warm but light. No pressure. No claim.
My shoulders ease a fraction without me telling them to.
"Notice that," Arden says quietly, already writing. "Stay with it."
Jasper shifts closer, sitting beside me but leaving space. Our thighs don't touch. His scent is muted, controlled—distance and discipline layered together. It doesn't press at my instincts. It doesn't demand.
We try brief embraces next. Jasper asks before each one, arms careful, withdrawing the moment my breathing changes.
I don't flinch.
Side-by-side proximity is easier than I expect. I can breathe. My heart rate slows.
"Comfort level?" Arden asks.
"Okay," I say, surprised by how steady my voice sounds.
Jasper retreats immediately, giving me a respectful nod before returning to his chair.
Eli goes next.
He hesitates before moving, eyes searching my face like he's afraid to read something wrong. That hesitation sends a sharp ache through my chest.
"Are you sure?" he asks softly.
"Yes," I say, even though my fingers tighten again.
Eli sits beside me, closer than Jasper did. His scent wraps around me—warm, familiar, achingly gentle. Tea and clean linen and him. The alpha who used to be my safe place.
My body reacts anyway.
My shoulders tense. My breath stutters once before I force it steady.
Eli notices immediately and stills. "I can stop."
"No. I'm okay."
Arden's pen pauses mid-stroke. "Vee, that wasn't a question. How does your body feel?"
I swallow. "Confused."
Eli's hand rests lightly on my forearm. The contact is soft, careful—but my muscles lock. A rush of memory surges up unbidden. Hands holding me down while I screamed. Eli's voice in my ear, steady, apologetic, telling me Ragon says it's necessary.
I know he didn't have a choice. He can't stand up against his pack lead. Ragon's too dominant.
But my body doesn't understand.
Eli pulls back, guilt flaring off him in waves. "I'm sorry."
"I know," I whisper.
Arden makes a note. "That tracks."
Drake is next.
He tries to keep it light as he approaches, flashing me a familiar grin. "No pressure, okay?"
I nod, even as my heart picks up speed.
He sits close and slings an arm around my shoulders the way he used to—casual, affectionate, easy.
My body recoils.
Not dramatically. Not consciously.
My shoulders hunch. My breathing turns shallow and fast. Heat flares under my skin like I've been startled.
"I'm fine," I blurt automatically.
Drake freezes, then removes his arm at once. His expression flickers—hurt, confusion, regret.
Arden doesn't look at him. "You don't need to power through discomfort, Vee."
I nod, cheeks burning.
Drake steps back, hands raised slightly like he's been burned. "I didn't mean—"
"I know."
And then—
Ragon.
The room feels heavier the moment he moves.
He approaches slowly, jaw tight, nostrils flaring as if he's already bracing for impact. Instead of sitting beside me, he kneels in front of my chair.
That alone makes my chest ache.
"May I touch you?"
My throat tightens.
"Yes," I say. Because some part of me still believes this is what I'm supposed to do. Because what's left of my omega instincts hum insistently, urging compliance, urging peace, urging me to please the alphas watching—including Arden himself.
Ragon lifts his hand and slides his fingers into my hair.
It's the same motion he used to make. Slow. Grounding. Possessive in the way that once made me feel safe.
My body jerks away violently.
A sharp, involuntary recoil. My scalp prickles. My stomach twists.
Ragon freezes.
Then he pulls his hand back like he's been burned.
His jaw clenches hard enough that I hear his teeth grind. His scent spikes—shock first, then something darker and more painful.
"I did this," he says quietly.
The words hang in the air.
Arden exhales slowly. "That's enough."
The room is thick with overlapping alpha scents now—Jasper's controlled distance, Eli's aching warmth, Drake's unsettled charm, Ragon's coiled intensity—all pressing against my blocked omega notes like static.
I feel overwhelmed. Exposed.
And still, when Arden asks if I want to stop, I shake my head.
Because some part of me still wants to please. Still wants to be good. Still believes endurance equals worth.
Arden makes several notes before finally looking up.
"Observations. Vee shows the highest comfort response with Jasper. Minimal threat association. With Eli—there's significant confusion. He was your primary comfort source, but also the one who physically restrained you during extreme emotional pain. Your body hasn't reconciled those two truths yet."
Eli closes his eyes.
"With Drake, the familiarity triggers unease rather than safety. And with Ragon—" he pauses, meeting Ragon's gaze, "—there's a strong trauma response."
Silence settles over the room.
"And Vee, your willingness to continue despite visible distress is important data. Your omega instincts are still driving appeasement behaviors—even extending toward alphas you aren't bonded to in any way."
He gestures briefly to himself.
I look down at my hands, shame and confusion twisting together.
"We'll try this again later. After you've had some more time. Remember this isn't a race back to normalcy. Healing takes time and it's best not to rush it."
No one argues.
And for the first time since the session began, I realize how exhausted I am—how much of myself I've been holding together with sheer willpower alone.
"Let's bring Marie in," Arden says calmly.
The words alone change the air.
Drake goes to her room to retrieve her, returning quickly.
When she enters, the space feels smaller—walls closer, ceiling lower, the room suddenly crowded. Every alpha in the room shifts, attention recalibrating, scents tightening.
Arden gestures to the chair directly across from me.
"Sit here."
Marie hesitates, eyes flicking to Ragon first. Whatever reassurance she expects doesn't come. His posture is rigid, arms crossed, expression closed off.
She sits.
The distance between us isn't far, but it feels exposed. I fold inward automatically, shoulders drawing in, hands clasping together.
"Marie," Arden says evenly, "we need to address your behavior toward Vee."
Marie's eyes widen. "What?"
"You've engaged in repeated cruel teasing.
Public accusations. Hostile framing of events.
Including your statements about what happened at the zoo, during the poker game, and ongoing comments suggesting Vee is unstable or dangerous.
And statements that you have a stronger hold on your pack than she does. "
"That's ridiculous," Marie snaps.
Her posture goes defensive instantly—spine straightening, chin lifting, arms crossing tight. "Everything I've done has been in response to her jealousy."
She gestures sharply at me.
"She tried to kill me at the zoo. Everyone keeps pretending that didn't happen. She's dangerous, and you all know it."
My stomach drops.
"She should be the one kicked out," Marie presses, emboldened now. "But my alphas feel so sorry for her that they keep her around anyway. Even though she's a threat."
The words are harsh, but she doesn’t stop.
"For everyone's well-being, she needs to go. You need to send her away."
I shrink further into myself, heat flooding my face.
"I didn't push her," I say quietly.
My voice sounds far away.
"But..." I swallow. My hands tighten together until my fingers ache. "Maybe she's right."
Every head snaps toward me.
"Maybe everyone would be better off if I just went back to the registry," I whisper. "If I wasn't... here."
The silence is brutal.
A low growl rolls through the room.
It's not loud. It doesn't need to be.
Marie freezes instantly, shoulders dropping, eyes snapping to Ragon.
Ragon uncrosses his arms and steps forward, his presence filling the space like a wall.
"That's enough," he says, voice low and final.
He doesn't look at Marie when he speaks next. His gaze stays on me.
"Vee is still part of my pack. She belongs here."
My chest tightens painfully.
"She isn't going anywhere," Ragon continues, finally turning his attention to Marie. "You need to accept that."