4. Luca
Luca
Blake has barely let go of me since we left the nest this morning. Our mates thoroughly sated our hunger, Blake letting us maneuver him completely until he all but passed out, his face smushed into his favorite pillow.
And after arguing with him that Ember House was not in the direction of the company, I gave in, Blake now beside me in the back seat instead of taking the front with Maceo, one hand spread over my thigh while his other remains tangled with mine.
Every time the car stops, he turns to press another kiss to my temple, my cheek, or the corner of my mouth.
There’s nothing unusual about him becoming more affectionate after a night when the five of us have been wrapped together, and I’m more than happy to let him keep me close.
Maceo drives without commenting on the way I’m leaning into Blake, though I catch his eyes in the mirror once. His mouth softens before he turns his attention back to the road. Luther and Grayson left for Keller Industries earlier, leaving a few quiet moments for my Delta and me.
When we reach Ember House, Blake follows me out instead of saying goodbye from the car. He keeps his hand at the back of my neck as he straightens my collar, though the fabric doesn’t need his attention.
“You’ve fixed that twice,” I murmur.
“I know.”
He kisses me before I can say anything else, taking his time while Maceo waits beside the car. When Blake finally pulls back, he keeps his forehead against mine. “Eat lunch.”
“I will.”
“Before three, Cupcake.”
I smile and kiss him once more. “You too, Bear. Go help run your company, love.”
His fingers remain against my neck for another few seconds before he releases me.
Maceo opens the passenger door for him, but Blake looks back before getting inside.
I lift my hand, and he answers with a small smile before Maceo drives them toward Keller Industries.
The warmth of Blake’s attention follows me through the front doors.
Blossom is already at the intake desk, her spectacles perched on the end of her nose as she reviews a stack of credentials. There’s a woman standing across from her, dressed in a charcoal blazer that fits perfectly without looking aggressive. She carries a leather messenger bag.
“Luca, this is Josie,” Blossom says, finally looking up. “She’s the candidate from the foundations group. Her references are impeccable. Even the folks at the city outreach program had nothing but praise for her intake work.”
Blossom has already completed the background check, called each reference herself, and verified Josie’s employment with both foundations listed on her application. Nothing in the file has been rushed or waived because we need help.
I offer a small, welcoming smile, and Josie returns it.
“It’s good to meet you,” Josie says. “I’ve read through the intake rules, but I know that isn’t the same as working with the people who live here. I’ll follow your lead until I learn what they need.”
“We’re glad to have the help, Josie,” I say, and for the first time in weeks, the knot in my chest loosens just a fraction.
“Today is mostly observation. Blossom will take you through the building, and then you’ll sit with me while I review closed intake files.
You won’t work with an active resident until you’ve completed the training and one of us is with you. ”
Josie nods, her expression serious. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
Blossom hands her a temporary badge that opens the staff entrance, breakroom, and training office, but none of the resident halls or records rooms. Josie clips it to her blazer before Blossom begins walking her through the confidentiality agreement, emergency procedures, and the rules governing resident contact.
I join them for the tour. We show Josie the common rooms without entering while residents are using them, then take her through the empty intake suite so she can see how the room is arranged.
Blossom explains why the chair nearest the door always belongs to the incoming Omega and why staff members don’t sit between a resident and the exit.
Josie listens without interrupting. When she asks questions, they’re practical: where personal belongings are stored, who may authorize medical transport, and what happens when an Omega refuses to give a legal name.
After the tour, I bring her into the training office and place three redacted files on the table. The cases are closed, every identifying detail removed, and each presents a different problem she’ll eventually encounter during intake.
“You’ll read these and complete the forms as though the residents were sitting with you,” I explain. “You won’t enter anything into the live system. When you’re finished, we’ll go through every section together.”
Josie removes a notebook from her bag and sets it beside the first file. “Am I marking what I would ask, or only what they volunteer?”
“Both, but keep them separate. We need to know what information is missing without making the resident feel as though silence is refusal.”
Her pen pauses over the page before she writes that down. “Understood.”
I create a training account while she begins reading. The account only opens the practice database, which contains fictional residents and completed sample forms. She has no access to active cases, legal records, addresses, or the full resident list.
For the rest of the morning, Josie works through the first file while I remain across from her.
She asks before opening each linked document and stops whenever she reaches information she wouldn’t have permission to request during an initial intake.
When we review her answers, I correct the order of two questions and explain why we never ask an Omega to justify why they returned to an abusive Alpha.
Josie crosses out the question without defending it. “I can see how that would sound like blame.”
“It often does, even when that isn’t what the person asking intends.”
She rewrites the section and continues.
By lunch, she has completed only one of the three practice files.
She doesn’t rush through the others to prove she can finish, and she doesn’t ask when she’ll be allowed to handle a resident alone.
When Blossom takes her to observe an intake that afternoon, Josie sits against the far wall with no paperwork in her hands.
Blossom leads the conversation while Josie watches, and when the resident falls silent, Josie doesn’t shift, speak, or attempt to fill the space.
By the end of the first week, I find myself exhaling every time I see her in the hallway.
She doesn’t crowd the residents in the dining hall, and during one supervised afternoon in the garden, she sits beside Blossom while Maya works on a dandelion chain.
Josie doesn’t interrupt or try to draw Maya into conversation.
She waits until Maya holds out the finished chain before thanking her and asking whether she may touch it.
She remembers that one resident prefers tea with three sugars and that another can’t stand the sound of the industrial dishwasher.
“She’s good, Luca,” Blossom mutters on Friday afternoon, watching one of the senior coordinators walk beside Josie and the new intake toward the quiet suites.
“She takes corrections once and doesn’t repeat them, and she handled that Alpha advocate on the phone this morning without giving him access to anything he wasn’t entitled to. ”
On Friday, Blossom places the final intake call of the afternoon on speaker and lets Josie guide the standard questions while we both remain in the office.
Josie gives the Omega time to answer, marks the sections they aren’t ready to discuss, and looks to Blossom before arranging transportation.
When the call ends, she drafts the intake record and leaves it open for my review.
I find only one field that needs correcting.
My phone buzzes with a message from Blake. He’s sent me the newest render of the intake wing, the harsh overhead lights replaced with warm lamps set along the walls.
Better?
I study the image before answering.
Much. It feels like somewhere people can breathe.
His reply comes almost at once.
Then it’s right. Eat lunch, love.
I smile despite myself and reach for the food I’ve ignored beside the ledger.
During the second week, Josie starts joining me in the small breakroom for coffee when the house goes still in the mid-afternoon.
“I was reviewing the separation documents attached to the Thompson intake,” Josie says, tracing the rim of her mug.
The steam curls around her face, softening her sharp features.
“There’s a note that the Alpha is contesting the separation as a coerced bond break.
I want to make sure I understand what that could mean for the Omega before I speak with her again. ”
I nod. “It’s designed to protect property, not people. If an Alpha can prove the Omega was ‘influenced’ to leave, they can trigger a Welfare Board audit.”
Josie looks down at her hands, her voice dropping a register.
“What about the more permanent solutions? I’ve heard whispers about Omegas who’ve had their bites removed entirely.
The legal danger for them must be astronomical.
If an Alpha found out, couldn’t they charge the new pack with theft? Or worse?”
The question is clinical, the kind of hypothetical a dedicated intake coordinator should ask. I think about the weight of the bite I carried for years, the way Hudson’s mark felt like a brand of ownership that reached all the way into my bones.
“The danger is real,” I say quietly, my fingers subconsciously drifting to the scar on my neck, hidden beneath the high collar of my shirt. “But for some of us, the danger of staying was higher.”
Josie leans in, her eyes fixed on mine. “And the packs? The ones who help? Do they understand what they’re signing up for? To knowingly participate in a bond violation?”
I remember Luther staying close enough that I could feel the heat of him without being crowded, Grayson pressing a cool cloth to the back of my neck, Blake stopping every conversation that treated me like I wasn’t in the room, and Maceo reading each form aloud before I signed it.
“They knew,” I say. “They supported me through all of it. None of them cared more about the rule than they cared about getting me out.”
Josie’s gaze doesn’t waver. “To have that kind of support... did it make the pain easier to bear?”
“No,” I say. My fingers settle over the scar beneath my collar. “It hurt more than I knew anything could hurt. But when it was over, the bond was gone.”
Josie looks down at her wrist and rubs her thumb across the skin once. The movement is small enough that I might have missed it if she hadn’t gone so quiet.
“Are you in trouble?” I ask.
Her head lifts quickly. “No.”
The answer comes too fast, but the fear behind it feels familiar. I’ve heard the same refusal from Omegas sitting on the other side of the intake desk, even when the bruises were still visible.
I keep my voice gentle. “You don’t have to tell me anything. I only need to know whether someone can reach you here.”
Josie glances toward the open breakroom door before shaking her head. “No one is coming after me. I worked with someone once who considered having her bite removed. She never went through with it, but I remember how afraid she was of what might happen if she did.”
Her thumb moves across her wrist again before she curls her fingers around her mug.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I shouldn’t have made this personal.”
“Most people don’t choose this work because none of it is personal.”
Some of the tension leaves her shoulders, though she still doesn’t look entirely comfortable. I don’t press. If there is more behind the question, she can share it when she decides she is ready.
I stand and collect both mugs. “Come with me. There are a few people I’d like you to meet before we finish the training files.”
Josie follows me from the breakroom, leaving her messenger bag in the locked training office where Blossom told her to keep it. Her temporary badge still limits her to the staff areas, so I open each secured door and remain beside her as we move through the house.
Maya is in the sunroom watering the herbs she planted along the windows. She arrived six months ago without speaking to anyone unless she absolutely had to. Now she manages the greenhouse schedule and has started taking evening classes through the community college.
She looks up when we enter, her attention moving from me to Josie.
“You saw Josie in the garden earlier this week,” I tell Maya. “She’s training with us, and I thought the two of you could meet properly.”
Josie stays near the doorway instead of approaching. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Maya studies her for a moment before pointing toward the tray beside the basil. “Those need water, but not too much.”
Josie waits until Maya nods toward the spare watering can before picking it up. I remain with them while Maya explains which plants belong to which residents and why one of the mint pots has been moved away from the others.
From there, I take Josie to the sewing room, where two Omegas are repairing donated clothes for the next group of arrivals.
Blossom joins us before we enter, carrying the rest of Josie’s orientation forms beneath one arm.
She makes the introductions while I explain how residents can volunteer around the house without the work becoming a condition of staying.
Josie listens more than she speaks. She waits for each Omega to choose whether to answer her questions, and when one of them changes the subject, she follows without trying to pull the conversation back.
By the time we return to the training office, the guarded look has faded from her face. Blossom settles beside her with the second practice file while I take the chair across from them.
Josie opens the folder but pauses before reading. “The women we met today seemed happy.”
“Some days,” I say. “Other days are harder. Being safe doesn’t fix everything at once.”
She nods and looks down at the first page. “But they get the chance to become something besides what happened to them.”
Maya’s voice carries faintly from the sunroom as she laughs at something one of the other residents says. I glance through the glass before returning to the file in front of us.
“That’s the idea.”
Blossom begins walking Josie through the next intake exercise, and I listen as she asks the first question in a softer voice than before. A smile creeps onto my face as I watch Josie relax a little.