Chapter Nine #2
A strained breath came from inside the room. The scent grew stronger again, honey and warmth and something underneath that carried a steady pulse—a call to her alphas.
“Make it stop,” she whispered.
My chest tightened.
“If I could,” I said quietly, “I would make it easier. But it wouldn’t work. This is natural. It’s part of being an omega.”
Silence.
Then, sharper, “I’ve never had this before. You have to leave. I don’t want to hurt you.”
The instinct to break the door open and gather her against me hit hard and fast. I kept my palm flat against the wood instead, grounding myself in its coolness.
“We can’t leave,” I said.
There was a pause—brittle and confused.
“What do you mean, you can’t?”
“The tower hasn’t allowed us an exit,” I said. “It opened for us, then sealed us with you. It’s responding to you—and to us. It wants us here.”
“Why?” Her voice wavered. The heat in the air pulsed in response, as if answering for her.
Footsteps approached from the corridor behind me.
“For you,” Malric said.
His voice carried differently than mine—precise, controlled, cutting straight through confusion to the core of it. He stopped a few paces back, not crowding but present.
“The tower recognizes what you are,” he continued. “An omega without a mate. Suppressed for too long. That imbalance cannot remain forever, no matter what your father does to keep you in stasis.”
Inside the room, something struck stone—not violently, but hard enough to echo.
“You don’t get to decide what I am,” she said. Anger sharpened her tone, and her scent shifted with it, edged now with something fierce and defensive.
“I’m not deciding,” Malric replied evenly. “I’m stating a fact. You’re an omega without an alpha.”
“You’re making decisions for me. Like everyone else.”
The accusation landed harder than she probably meant it to. I stepped away from the door and turned slightly, lowering my voice.
“That’s enough,” I said to Malric.
He met my gaze. His jaw was tight, not with anger at her but with the strain of holding too many implications at once.
“She needs the truth,” he said.
“She needs stability first.”
For a moment, we stood in that narrow corridor, the tower humming around us like a held breath.
Malric exhaled slowly. “Fine.”
He stepped back, boots quiet against stone, though I could feel the restraint in him—feel how much he wanted to press forward, to solve, to stabilize through structure.
When he disappeared around the curve of the hall, I turned back to the door.
“Aveline,” I said softly. “He’s not trying to control you. He’s trying to help you.”
“Then he can do it somewhere else,” she replied, but the heat in her voice had softened, thinned into something closer to strain.
Her scent rolled through the cracks of the door again, stronger than before. It wrapped around my lungs and pulled at something deep and instinctive. I forced my breathing slower, careful, so she wouldn’t feel my response spike through the bond.
“What does it mean?” she asked after a moment. “Being denied my nature.”
“It means your body hasn’t been allowed to complete its cycles,” I said. “Omegas regulate through connection. Through bonding. Through presence. If that’s suppressed for too long, when it finally breaks through, it doesn’t come quietly.”
“And how do I make it quiet?”
“You don’t,” I said gently. “You can’t. You have to ride it out.”
There was movement inside—pacing now. I could hear the faint shift of her steps against the nest’s layered furs.
“I don’t know how,” she admitted.
“You’re not supposed to. Not alone.”
The word lingered between us.
“I can help you,” I continued. “Not by taking anything from you. Not by forcing anything. Just by anchoring you. Letting your body learn that this isn’t a threat.”
“And if I lose control?” she asked, and this time the fear beneath it was unmistakable.
“You didn’t lose control before. You were overwhelmed. That’s not the same thing.”
Silence again.
Then, she whispered, “I don’t want to hurt you.”
The vulnerability in that confession cut deeper than any anger she’d thrown at us.
“You won’t,” I said.
“You can’t promise that.”
“I can because this isn’t destruction. It’s biology. It’s instinct. It’s your system finally being allowed to function.”
The heat in the air shifted again—not diminishing, but steadying.
“What do I have to do?” she asked at last.
“Let me in.”
She sucked in a breath.
“I won’t touch you unless you ask,” I added quickly. “We’ll go slowly. If you tell me to stop, I stop.”
The latch turned.
The door opened a fraction, then wider.
She stood there, framed by the dim light of her chamber. Silver hair loose around her shoulders. Cheeks flushed high. Eyes too bright.
The scent hit me fully now—rich and intoxicating, threaded with uncertainty. It would have driven most alphas to impatience. I felt an urge and instinct to get closer and take possession, so I deliberately advanced as slowly as possible.
Her nest was warm. Softer than the rest of the tower. Layers of fabric and fur muffled sound, turned the room into something intimate and insulated.
She took a step back as I entered, not retreating so much as making space for me.
Her hands trembled slightly at her sides. “Don’t let me hurt you,” she said again.
I stopped an arm’s length away. “You’re not a weapon,” I said quietly. “Your body is waking up, that’s all.”
Her breath hitched.
“Tell me what to do,” she whispered.
I sank down slowly onto the edge of the nest so I wouldn’t tower over her. “First,” I said gently, “you breathe.”
Her chest rose and fell unevenly.
“Match me,” I continued, keeping my voice steady, unhurried. “Slow. In. Hold. Out.”
She tried. Failed. Tried again.
The heat rolled between us in slow waves, no longer frantic but heavy and building. The air was heavy with it.
“You don’t have to fight it. Fighting makes it sharper.”
“What if it gets worse?” she asked.
“It might,” I admitted. “Heats can crest before they settle. But I’ll stay. We’ll keep you grounded. I won’t let you drown in it.”
Her gaze searched mine, as if looking for any crack in that assurance.
“And Malric?” she asked.
“He’s angry,” I said honestly. “Not at you. At what was done to you. He forgets sometimes that not everything needs to be confronted head-on.”
A faint, shaky exhale left her. The heat pulsed again, stronger now. Her fingers curled into the fabric of the nest, knuckles whitening.
“It hurts,” she said softly.
“I know,” I murmured. “Let it crest. I’m here.”
And as the warmth surged higher, as her body leaned toward mine without conscious permission, I kept my movements deliberate and slow, anchoring her with presence rather than possession—because this wasn’t about claiming.
It was about teaching her that she could survive her own awakening.