Chapter 17
Eli
I note the time automatically and chart everything. Bed three. Female omega, mid-twenties, presenting with a fractured wrist and contusions along her ribs.
Her scent is suppressed. Heavy blockers. The kind that cost money.
The kind that gets used to cover up the scent of omega distress.
She flinches when I approach.
"Hi," I say, keeping my voice soft, my movements slow. "I'm Dr. Elijah, but you can call me Eli. I'm going to examine you, okay?"
She nods but doesn't speak.
"Can you tell me what happened?"
"I fell.” She speaks quietly, practiced. "Down the stairs."
I look at the bruising pattern on her ribs. Distinctly finger-shaped.
"Down the stairs," I repeat neutrally, brushing away a short curl that tickles my forehead.
"Yes."
I don't challenge her. Not yet. I follow protocol. I examine the wrist first. She winces but doesn't pull away.
She arrived with her pack of four alphas hovering around her.
Though her injuries weren't critical, I watched Nurse Marjorie make eye contact with me over their heads when the omega flinched away from an alpha's outstretched hand.
Within minutes, she'd whisked her past triage and directly into my exam room.
"We'll need an X-ray," I tell her. "The wrist is definitely fractured."
She nods again.
"And I need to check your ribs. Is that okay?"
"Okay."
I lift her shirt. The bruising is worse than I thought. Dark purple blooming across her left side. Four distinct marks. Thumb. Three fingers.
Someone grabbed her. Hard.
"Does this hurt?" I press along her ribs.
She gasps. "Yes."
"I'm sorry. Almost done."
I finish the exam. Then step back and give her space.
"The ribs aren't broken," I say. "But they're badly bruised. You'll need to ice them and rest."
"Okay."
"Can I ask you something?"
Her whole body tenses. "What?"
"Are you safe at home?"
Silence.
"I'm fine," she says finally.
"These bruises—" I start.
"I fell down the stairs." She sounds firmer now. Defensive. "That's what happened."
I recognize this. The shutdown. The wall going up. I've seen it a hundred times.
I follow protocol. Document everything. Order the X-ray. Fill out the OPA referral form with careful precision. She's going to get help whether she wants it or not.
My handwriting is perfect.
I do for this stranger everything I failed to do for Vee.
The realization hits the same way it's been hitting me since she disappeared. Hard, sharp, cold. Devastating.
I step out of the exam room and close the curtain behind me. I just stand there in the hallway my hand still on the fabric.
I'm a doctor. I'm trained to recognize shutdown. Trained to see the signs. Flinching, suppressed scent, a story that doesn't match the injuries.
I've seen it a hundred times before.
And I missed it in my own omega.
Her bruises didn't show on the skin, but they were right there in her expressions.
In how she stopped coming to me. How she didn't ask me to purr for her anymore.
The bare bed in her room with no nest. How she'd spend hours in the garden outside just to avoid being around us.
We were ruining her from the inside out.
And I knew it. Deep down I knew. But I still did nothing.
I saw it all and I called it respecting her space, giving her time, letting her adjust… those were Ragon's words. But I listened to them all the same.
The guilt is a precise thing. Itemized. Each failure catalogued with the same clarity I use to read an X-ray.
I remember how it used to be. A specific day plays in my mind as clear as a television screen.
It was her third year with us. Winter. She'd had a bad day. I never asked what happened and she didn't offer. She just appeared in my doorway with a book and those big brown eyes.
"Will you read to me?" she asked.
I put down my medical journal immediately and made space on my bed. She crawled up and snuggled in beside me, her feet tucked under my thigh for warmth.
This was a common thing for her to ask of me. I always read whatever she wanted. That night it was some romance novel she'd picked up at the library. Sappy and predictable and she loved every word of it.
She fell asleep against my shoulder halfway through chapter twelve. I kept reading in a whisper because the vibration of my voice kept her under. Kept her peaceful.
I built my identity on being the one who noticed. The one who saw what others missed. The careful one. The thoughtful one. The one she always ran to for comfort because I never failed to understand what she needed even though we weren't physically bonded or scent matched.
And then I stopped noticing.
I called it giving her time to adjust when really I was just too consumed by Marie to see Vee falling apart.
I shake my head and force myself back to the present.
The omega's X-ray comes back. Clean break. Radius. I set it carefully and apply the cast.
An alpha walks by the exam room. Dr. Stevens, a good guy, competent physician.
The omega jerks back so hard she nearly falls off the table.
"Hey, it's okay," I say quickly. "He's not coming in here. You're safe."
She's breathing hard, eyes wide.
"You're safe," I repeat.
She nods but doesn't relax.
I finish the cast in silence and give her the discharge instructions. Then I hand her own OPA referral.
"This is a resource," I tell her. "If you ever need help. They're good people."
She takes it, folds it carefully and tucks it in her pocket.
"Thank you," she whispers.
"Take care of yourself," I say.
She leaves. I watch her go.
She won't use the referral, I know that. She'll go home and tell herself it's not that bad. That they love her really. That she can fix it.
I'm sending the report to the OPA anyway.
This one latched onto the wrong alphas.
I think Vee did too.
My head hangs.
The evidence doesn't support the claim.
I stare at the chart in my hands. My handwriting is still perfect, every detail documented, every protocol followed.
For a stranger.
Not for Vee.
The shift drags. I move through it on autopilot. See patients, make diagnoses and write prescriptions.
But my mind is elsewhere.
I was the one Vee came to. When she had nightmares, she came to my room. When she was stressed, I made her tea. When she needed someone to just listen, or if she just needed to hear a purr… she chose me.
She expected me to be there for her.
And then I wasn't.
I didn't stand up for her. I didn't push back when Ragon started pulling away from her. I didn't question the nest violation beyond the minimal. I didn't insist hard enough that we check on her during Marie's heat. I didn't challenge Ragon when he barked at me to stay in that room.
I should have done it.
I should have made the case for Vee. I'm smarter than Ragon and he knows it. He listens when I push. I could have pushed. I could have told him what his obsession with Marie was costing all of us.
But I didn't.
Because I was just as consumed. Just as lost in the scent match pull. Just as useless.
Worse than Drake, maybe. Because Drake wears his heart on his sleeve. Drake's guilt is honest and raw.
Mine is calculated. Intellectual. I can see exactly where I failed and why and that makes it so much worse.
I hope her scent matches take better care of her than we did.
I hope they deserve her.
Because we sure as hell don't.
The drive home is twenty minutes I don't remember making. I pull into the driveway and sit in the car with the engine off, not ready to go in.
The house is dark, Ragon is still at work. He's been doing that a lot lately. Working well into the night with floodlights to see by. I know he's avoiding the house because I've been doing the same. The silence here is too loud with both of them gone.
I let myself in through the front door. The emptiness hits immediately.
No Vee in the kitchen. No smell of whatever she's been baking. No Drake on the couch making too much noise at the TV.
Just silence.
I haven't heard from Drake in days. I've texted him a few times. No response. He hasn't been back at work. I've been covering for him. Told them he was out with the flu.
I rub the raw spot in my chest that's been hollow since Drake broke his bond. It throbs harder when I think about him.
I'm worried. The bond break was brutal. He's out there somewhere, probably sick and alone, and I can't reach him. He's a nurse. He knows he needs help after a break like that. I can only hope he got it.
I drop my bag by the door and head toward the kitchen. Maybe I'll eat something. Maybe I'll just go to bed.
Then I hear a voice.
Jasper.
He's in the kitchen. He's visible through the doorway, slumped over the island with his back to me.
He's on the phone. Speaker. The voice coming through is male, professional.
"The video footage you sent is working wonders," the voice says. "It corroborates the timeline Arden's building."
I freeze in the hallway.
"Good," Jasper says. "What else do you need from me?"
"Just keep documenting. Anything Ragon says about her. Any attempts to contact her or locate her. Deflect them if you can."
"He's been calling lawyers," Jasper says. "Trying to find a way to challenge the scent match claim when he takes it to the registry. How's she doing?"
"According to Arden, she's going through the grieving process. It's rough but she's safe. The cabin is isolated enough that Ragon won't find her and it's not connected to Alex or his pack in any way."
The cabin. Arden. Alex.
The pieces click into place.
"Alex's pack is taking good care of her," the voice continues.
I recognize it now. Chase. The investigator who showed us the zoo footage.
"Malcolm's protective instincts are strong.
Finn keeps things stable. Alex is giving her space to process.
Their fourth is there now, too. Arden says he's good for Vee, and she's good for him. "
"She needs all of them," Jasper says.
"She has them. That's what matters. They've been in her corner from the beginning."
"When do you think the registry will rule?"
"Hard to say. Could be weeks. Could be months. I'm just waiting on them to call the hearing. But with everything we have, I'm confident they'll rule in our favor."
Our favor.
Not Ragon's.
Ours.
"Keep me posted," Chase says. "And Jasper? You're doing the right thing."
"I know," Jasper says. But his voice sounds hollow.
The call ends.
Jasper sets his phone down on the counter.
Then he turns around.
His eyes meet mine.
The blood drains from his face.
"Eli,” he says. "How long have you been standing there?"
"Long enough." I step into the kitchen. "You were a plant this whole time?"
Jasper's jaw works. Then he nods. "Yes."
"Alex's pack has been trying to get to Vee from the beginning?"
"Yes."
"Chase is working with them? Arden too?"
"Yes."
I lean against the counter. Process this. "You know that Vee is safe with them? She's being cared for?"
"Yes,” he says. "She's safe, Eli. She's doing better."
"And you're all trying to keep her away from Ragon. From me and Drake too."
It's not a question but Jasper nods anyway.
Silence falls between us.
I should be angry. I should feel betrayed. Jasper has been in our pack for months, living in our house, pretending to be one of us while secretly working against us.
But all I feel is relief.
"Tell me everything," I say finally. "I want to help."
Jasper's eyes widen. "What?"
"You heard me." I pull out a chair and sit. "Tell me everything. How long have you been working with Chase? What's the plan? What do you need from me?"
"Eli, you're Ragon's pack brother. You can't—"
"I failed her," I cut him off. "I failed Vee in every way that mattered. We all did. Drake knew it enough to leave. I know it. I'm not going to fail her again."
Jasper stares at me.
"If she's safe with them," I continue, "if they're her scent matches and they're treating her right, then I want to make sure she stays there. I want to make sure Ragon can't get to her."
"You'd go against your own pack lead?"
"For her?" I meet his eyes. "Yes."
Jasper looks at me for a long moment. Then he pulls out the chair across from me and sits.
"Okay," he says. "Here's what you need to know."