Chapter 26 #2
Marie opens her mouth, then closes it when his growl deepens a fraction.
"You are both my omegas," Ragon says. "And that is not going to change."
Marie's shoulders slump. The fight drains out of her all at once.
Arden steps in before the silence can fracture again.
"If you want to remain in shared spaces while Vee heals, you will need to work on your behavior. That includes how you speak to her, how you frame her actions, and how you manage your own insecurity."
Marie stiffens. "I'm not insecure."
Arden meets her gaze calmly. "You are."
He turns then, addressing the alphas as a whole.
"This responsibility doesn't rest solely on Marie. You failed both omegas by not establishing security and clarity from the beginning."
His eyes settle on Ragon.
"Marie is lashing out because her integration into your pack was handled poorly. That does not excuse her behavior—but it does explain it."
Ragon bristles, scent flaring sharp and defensive, but he doesn't argue.
"Neither omega should feel secondary. Neither should feel less valued. Equal footing is not optional. If one omega feels disposable, the entire structure is unstable."
Ragon's jaw tightens.
His gaze drops first.
Arden exhales and glances at his clipboard. "You'll all be given specific exercises to practice. Communication check-ins. Individual reassurance without comparison. No physical contact without explicit consent."
No one interrupts.
Nothing has been fixed, but something has been said out loud.
The room empties slowly when Arden dismisses everyone else.
Chairs scrape softly against the floor as the alphas file out, tension trailing behind them. Marie leaves last, shoulders tight, eyes fixed straight ahead. When the door finally closes, the silence that settles feels different from before.
Quieter. Contained.
It's just me and Arden now.
I'm still sitting where I was, hands folded in my lap, body buzzing with the leftover aftermath of everything we just did.
Arden sets his clipboard aside and reaches for his bag.
I watch him absently as he unzips it and rummages inside. He pulls out a folded shirt—dark, soft-looking, familiar in a way that makes my chest tighten.
It's like the last one he gave me.
He doesn't say anything. He just holds it out.
I take it automatically.
Before I can stop myself, I lift it to my face and inhale.
Fresh detergent hits first—clean and neutral—but underneath there's something else. Subtle, but stronger than the scent on the last shirt. Deeper. Warmer. It makes my breath catch slightly as I draw in another breath.
Then another.
I frown faintly, concentrating as I try to separate the notes. There's something grounding there, something that settles low in my chest instead of flaring hot and sharp. Masculine, yes—but not overwhelming. Not demanding.
Arden watches me.
I don't look up, but I can feel his attention—curious, clinical, thoughtful.
"How does that make you feel?"
I lower the shirt to my lap, considering. "It's nice. Like the other one you gave me. But different."
"Different how?"
"I don't know. Stronger. But not in a bad way."
He nods once. "Does it make you uncomfortable at all?"
I shake my head immediately. "No. I actually like it."
The admission slips out easier than I expect.
I glance up at him. "Why do you keep giving me these shirts? I can tell they aren't yours."
He doesn't smile. Doesn't deflect. He just answers plainly. "It's an experiment."
"Oh." I pause. "What kind?"
"I'll explain later."
I don't push.
Instead, I pull the shirt over my head and slip it on over my own without thinking twice. The fabric settles against my skin, warm from his hands, loose and comfortable.
I don't care what he thinks of that.
If he has a reaction, he doesn't show it. He just notes something on his pad, eyes flicking briefly over the way the shirt hangs on me.
"Come sit," he says, gesturing to the chair beside his.
I do.
I take the seat next to him, leaving space like I've been trained to—but not as much as before. Close enough that I can feel the heat of his body through the air between us.
I breathe it in again, slower this time.
Calming. Steady.
There's a masculine edge to it that makes something stir low and quiet inside me, not urgent or needy, just aware. I realize, distantly, that if my omega instincts weren't suppressed, this is the kind of scent they would have leaned toward.
Not for claiming.
For comfort.
Arden scribbles something on his notepad, angling it away so I can't read it.
Minutes pass.
Neither of us speaks.
The silence stretches, but it doesn't feel heavy. My shoulders drop. My breathing evens out. My eyelids start to feel heavy.
I don't realize I'm drifting until—
"How are you feeling?" Arden asks suddenly.
I startle, blinking as I pull myself back. My heart jumps, then settles again.
I think about it.
Actually think.
"Good. I feel comfortable. Safe."
The words surprise me with how true they feel.
Arden nods once, satisfied. "That's good."
He closes his notepad and packs his things away with unhurried movements.
"I'll see you at our next session."
"Okay," I reply softly.
He leaves me there, wrapped in the shirt, the echo of safety lingering long after the door closes.
And for the first time all day, my body doesn't feel like it's bracing for the next impact.
***
Later that afternoon, I change into my gym clothes with slow, deliberate movements.
Leggings first. Soft, worn thin at the knees. Then the tank top I always wear to class. I tie my hair back, pausing in front of the mirror longer than necessary.
My phone buzzes on the dresser.
Drake: Not going to get off work in time tonight. I'm sorry, baby. I can't drive you today.
I stare at the message for a few seconds before typing back a quick It's okay and setting the phone down again.
I grab my gym bag and head down the hall toward Ragon's office.
His door is open. He's seated behind his desk, papers spread out in neat stacks.
I stop just inside the doorway.
"Ragon?"
He looks up immediately. "What is it?"
"I... Drake can't take me to the gym. I was wondering if I could take the bus. I know you guys are all busy tonight. And I know omegas aren’t supposed to go out alone, but I’ll be really careful and you can track my location."
He doesn't answer right away.
His gaze settles on me, steady and assessing. The silence stretches, and I fight the urge to fill it with apologies.
"I really don't want to miss it," I add quietly. "It makes me happy."
Something in his expression shifts. He exhales slowly through his nose, jaw tightening, then loosens his grip on the folder.
"Hold on."
He reaches for his phone and taps the screen, switching it to speaker.
"Alex," he says when the call connects.
"Hey, Ragon," Alex answers easily. "What's up?"
Ragon's fingers curl around the edge of the desk. "Is Finn available to drive Vee to her gym class? We've kind of run out of options over here tonight."
There's a pause on the line. "Finn's out of town. Business trip. Won't be back for a couple days."
Ragon's jaw tightens.
"I can drive her," Alex offers. "And I can wait until she's done."
My pulse jumps.
Ragon's grip on the phone tightens enough that his knuckles pale. I can almost feel the internal battle in him.
There's a beat of silence.
Then Alex laughs softly. "Don't worry. I'm not going to steal your omega."
Ragon's nostrils flare. His eyes flick to me, sharp and conflicted.
"...Fine. As long as she checks in when she gets there. And when she leaves."
"Of course. I'll be there in ten."
Ragon ends the call and sets the phone down with more force than necessary.
He looks at me then, really looks at me.
"Stay in contact. Text when you arrive. Don't wander off. If anything feels wrong, you call. You tell me immediately if Alex makes even the tiniest wrong move."
"I will," I promise.
He nods once, turning back to his paperwork, but the tension in his shoulders doesn't ease.
I linger in the doorway a second longer.
Then I leave, the weight of his concern following me down the hall.
Alex's car is already waiting when I step outside, sleek and dark.
He gets out to open the passenger door before I can protest. The gesture catches me off guard—not dramatic, not performative. Just polite. Considerate.
"Hey. Ready?"
I nod and climb in, tucking my bag at my feet.
The door closes with a soft sound, sealing me into an interior that smells like leather and faint cedar. It's clean. Warm. There's a subtle undertone beneath it—something sharper, something distinctly him—muted by blockers but not erased.
It settles over me like a blanket.
Alex pulls away smoothly, one hand on the wheel, the other resting along the center console. His forearm lies close enough to mine that I can feel the heat of his body.
He doesn't touch me.
He doesn't need to.
"So," he says lightly, glancing at me. "Gym day."
"Yeah. I almost didn't make it."
"Ragon sounded like he was wrestling a bear internally," Alex says with a grin.
I huff a laugh before I can stop myself. "That sounds about right."
Conversation flows easier than I expect. He asks about my class, about what I like and don't like. He listens—really listens—in a way that doesn't feel evaluative.
My shoulders loosen.
My breathing evens out.
Somewhere along the drive, I realize I'm relaxed.
The thought startles me enough that I shift in my seat. My instincts aren't flaring. I'm not bracing. I'm not measuring every word.
I glance at Alex's arm again, thick and close and warm, and feel an unexpected ache bloom in my chest.
I wonder what he smells like without blockers.
The thought slips in uninvited and lingers longer than it should.
We pull into the gym parking lot. Alex parks close to the entrance and turns off the engine.
"You don't have to wait. I can take the bus home."
His head snaps toward me. "Absolutely not."
"It's really not a big deal."