Chapter 11
KELLAN
The knock on our door at seven in the evening was unexpected. We didn't get visitors. Ever. Our home was private, a converted brownstone in Grand Park Aisles that we'd meticulously kept off any public records. The address wasn't listed anywhere. Not even our employees knew where we lived.
So when I opened the door to find Kira standing there looking exhausted and desperate, my first instinct was alarm.
"How did you find us?" I asked.
"I called in a favor," she said quickly. "I know I shouldn't be here. I know this is a violation of privacy. But there's an emergency and I didn't know who else to turn to." She stopped, took a breath. "If you don't want to help, just say so and I'll leave. But I had to try."
That's when I smelled it. Loud. But unmistakable.
The scent that had haunted us for twenty-nine years.
Sweet and warm with undertones of honey and something uniquely hers.
Our mate. The baby we'd lost. But it wasn't coming from Kira.
It was on Kira. Clinging to her clothes, her skin, like she'd been in close contact with her.
"Get to the point," I said, my voice sharper than intended. "What's the emergency?"
"It's Naomi. She's in breakthrough heat. Has been for three days. She's in pain, she won't eat, she's barely conscious, and I…" Kira's voice cracked. "I need to know if you'll service her. Help her through it. She's going to die if someone doesn't."
Rowan appeared behind me so fast I didn't hear him coming.
"Where is she?" he demanded.
"In my car. She's not doing well. She fought me the whole way here."
Rowan was already moving, pushing past Kira and down the steps to where an old sedan was parked at the curb. I followed, my heart hammering. He wrenched open the back door and the scent hit us both like a physical blow.
Her.
Not just a scent. Not just any Omega in heat.
Her.
Our mate and missing Omega. The baby stolen on her first birthday—Valentine's Day—twenty-nine years ago.
She was wrapped in a blanket, curled into a ball, shaking and whimpering.
Sweat plastered her hair to her forehead.
Her golden brown skin was flushed with fever.
And she was producing that scent. The one we'd been chasing for nearly three decades. It was her.
"Naomi," Rowan said, his voice rough.
She didn't respond. Didn't even seem to hear him. He reached in carefully and lifted her out of the car. She made a sound of protest but didn't fight, too weak to resist.
"I'm coming inside," Kira said from behind us.
"You should go home," I managed, still reeling from the revelation. "We'll take care of her."
"No." Kira's voice was firm. "I'm her Beta. We're bonded. I'm not leaving her alone with two Alphas she barely knows while she's vulnerable."
I turned to look at her. "Bonded?"
"Not romantically. But we've lived together for three years. We're pack. Family. She saved my life and I'm not abandoning her now." Kira crossed her arms. "So either I come in and make sure she's safe, or I take her to a hospital and let them deal with it."
Rowan was already carrying Naomi up the steps. "Let her in."
I stepped aside.
Kira followed us into the house, looking around with sharp, assessing eyes. Making sure this was a safe space. Making sure we weren't a threat.
Smart. I respected that.
"I need a key," she said as we reached the second floor.
"What?"
"A key to your house. I'm going to get some of Naomi's things, favorite foods, her own blankets, stuff that smells like home. This place is unfamiliar and it's going to make the heat worse. She needs familiar scents to feel safe enough to nest properly."
She was right. I hated that she was right, but she was.
I pulled out my phone and disabled the alarm, then handed her a spare key from the bowl by the door. "Be quick. She's getting worse."
"I will. And I'm staying until her heat breaks." Kira's expression was fierce. "I'm not negotiating on this."
"Fine. Just go."
She left, and I turned to follow Rowan up to the third floor. To the room we'd been preparing since we got this place. The Omega suite took up half of the third floor. We'd designed it ourselves. Commissioned it. Furnished it with things we hoped our mate would love.
Soft, oversized pillows in jewel tones. Blankets made from the finest materials, cashmere, silk, Egyptian cotton.
A massive bed that could easily fit three people.
Everything an Omega could want for nesting.
None of it had ever been opened. We'd kept it pristine, waiting for her.
Rowan laid Naomi on the bed carefully. She immediately curled into a ball, whimpering.
"We need to help her nest," I said.
"I know."
But when we tried to arrange the pillows around her, she pushed them away with a weak growl.
"No. Wrong. All wrong."
"What's wrong, sweetheart?" I asked gently.
"Not yours." Her eyes were glazed with heat, barely focused. "Need yours."
Understanding hit me. "She needs our scent. These are all new. They don't smell like us."
"Our rooms," Rowan said.
"Our rooms," I agreed.
We went to retrieve blankets from our beds, shirts from our closets, anything that carried our scent. Brought them back to her. The moment she smelled them, she made a sound of relief and started grabbing, pulling, arranging them around herself with desperate, jerky movements.
"Help her," I said. "Open packages. Get rid of the tags and plastic. Make it easier."
We worked together, tearing open the new pillows and blankets, removing anything that didn't belong, letting her take what she needed.
She built her nest with single-minded focus—high walls, a deep center, everything arranged just so. Our shirts went in the middle, right where her head would rest. When she was finally satisfied, she looked up at us with eyes that were more Omega than human.
"Shower," she rasped. "Need shower."
"Okay," Rowan said. "Can you walk?"
"No."
He lifted her again and carried her to the ensuite bathroom. I followed, already turning on the water, adjusting the temperature.
When we undressed her, we realized she wasn't just covered in sweat. She was soaked in slick. It coated her thighs, her underwear, everything. Three days of heat with no relief. No wonder she was in agony.
"Jesus," I muttered.
"In," Rowan instructed, guiding her into the shower.
She stood under the spray, shaking, while we cleaned her. Our hands were gentle, clinical, this wasn't about pleasure. This was about care. But I felt her body responding anyway. Felt the fresh wave of slick that followed our touch.
"Hurts," she whimpered. "Everything hurts."
"I know. We're going to fix it."
We dried her carefully and she stumbled back to her nest, crawling into the center and curling up with our shirts pressed to her face. Then she started to cry. Not heat-driven tears. Real, broken, defeated tears. Rowan and I exchanged a look. Something was very wrong.
We'd both cleaned up quickly, showered in our own bathrooms, dressed in loose pants and nothing else. Standard protocol for helping an Omega through heat. But when we approached the nest, she didn't look relieved. She looked destroyed.
"Naomi?" I said gently.
She looked up at us, tears streaming down her face. "I need help." Her voice was so quiet I almost missed it. "Please. I need you to help me."
"That's why we're here," Rowan said.
"I know." Her breath hitched. "I didn't want this. I didn't want to need you. I didn't want to be in heat." She broke off, sobbing.
Understanding crashed into me. She didn't want our help. She felt forced into accepting it. Forced into vulnerability. This wasn't relief. This was defeat. And that knowledge hit me harder than any physical blow could have.
"Naomi," I said carefully. "Do you want us to call a heat service? We can have someone here in twenty minutes."
"No." She shook her head violently. "No strangers. I can't do strangers. Just you. Please."
"Okay," Rowan said quietly. "Just us."
But neither of us moved. Because approaching an Omega who didn't want to be here, who felt trapped, that was a line we wouldn't cross. Even if she was our mate. Even if we'd searched and prayed for this moment. Consent mattered more than anything.
"We need to talk first," I said.
"No talking. Just help me. Please. It hurts so much."
"I know it hurts. And we will help you. But first, we need to pull back the heat a little. Get you clearheaded enough to communicate properly."
She looked at me with desperate, glazed eyes. "How?"
"Alpha saliva can help," I explained. "It won't stop the heat, but it might ease it enough that you can think. Enough that you can tell us what you really want."
"I want the pain to stop."
"I know. But sweetheart," I moved closer to the edge of the nest, staying outside until she gave permission. "If we do this and you regret it later, we'll never forgive ourselves. So we need you lucid. We need you to be able to choose this."
She stared at me for a long moment, then slowly nodded. "Okay. Help me think."
"May I come into your nest?" I asked.
Another nod.
I climbed in carefully, moving to where she lay curled up. "This is going to feel good. It's going to ease the pain temporarily. But it's not sex. It's just relief. Okay?"
"Okay."
I settled between her legs, gently pushing them apart.
She was still slick, her body desperate for attention.
It called to my instincts to fuck her until my knot was so deep inside her that it’d hurt us both.
Her scent was loud, aggressive, and desperate for us.
I had to will those instincts to shut the hell up, so we could care for our mate.
Even my wolf was helping to hold back the instincts because something was wrong.
"Tell me if it's too much," I said.
Then I put my mouth on her. She cried out, not in pain, but in relief.
Her hands fisted in my hair as I worked her slowly, letting my saliva mix with her slick, letting the Alpha hormones in it soothe her overheated system.
It took several minutes, but I felt the change.
Felt her body relaxing slightly. Felt the desperation easing into something more manageable.
When I finally pulled back, her eyes were clearer. Not completely lucid, but better.
"How do you feel?" Rowan asked.
"Less crazy." She looked between us. "But I still need help."
"We know," I said gently. "But now we need you to tell us the truth. Do you want our help? Or do you just need it?"
She closed her eyes. "I don't know the difference anymore."
"Then we're not doing this." Rowan's voice was firm. "Not until you do."
Her eyes snapped open. "But the heat could kill me."
"We'll manage the heat," I said. "We'll use our mouths, our hands, whatever you need to stay comfortable. But we're not knotting you. We're not claiming you. Not until you can honestly say you want us here."
"Why?" The question came out broken. "Why do you care? You're Alphas. You could just take what you want. You don’t need me to agree."
"Because we're not those Alphas," Rowan said quietly. "And we never will be."
She stared at us for a long moment, tears still streaming down her face.
Then, so quietly I almost missed it, "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For caring. For asking and being kind." Her voice cracked. "For not being him."
Him. The monster who'd taught her that Alphas only took, whomever he was. My chest tightened.
"Never," I said fiercely. "We will never be him."
She nodded, then curled back into her nest, clutching our shirts.
And Rowan and I settled outside it, close enough to help if she needed us, far enough to give her space.
We had to talk. Had to figure out what to do.
Because this wasn't just any Omega in heat.
This was our mate. Our missing piece. The one who would make us whole.
And she didn't even know.