8. Wally
Ilean against the smooth, finished wood of the shed wall, watching Vayda.
Three hours have passed since we got here and found her writhing on the mattress.
Something in her shifted after our first round. The uninhibited, confident Omega who took charge is gone, replaced by a tense, quiet distance.
She has kept her mouth shut for hours, staring at the wood paneling with a guarded look. Her thoughts remain locked away behind that defensive stare.
Her spontaneous heat still demands a relentless cycle, keeping us in motion. Her body still craves the touch.
We took a short break to let her recover from taking both Kel and Simon at the same time, but the fever flared again. Now, Simon has her.
Kel sits on the swept floorboards a few feet away, chest rising and falling as he catches his breath from his last turn. He watches the mattress with dark, intense eyes, his muscles tense to jump back in.
Her back arches off the mattress, fingers twisting into the bare fabric. A frantic moan tears from her throat, though she bites her lip, swallowing the sound.
The noise hits me in the chest, feeding the deep Alpha instinct to keep her safe. She shifts and writhes, her pale skin flushed with the intense fever. Even with the new wall she's put up between us, the pleasure takes over.
Simon hovers over her, gripping her hips with his large hands to hold her steady while he sets a blistering pace.
His speed on the ice translates to the mattress.
He drives into her wet core with rapid, hard thrusts.
Every frantic gasp she takes is cut short by another pump of his hips, drowning out the lingering ache of her bond rejection.
I slide closer across the wood floor, my patience wearing thin. Her spiking lavender and honeysuckle scent fills the workshop, creating a thick, sweet cloud that draws me back to the mattress.
I reach out and grip Simon's sweaty shoulder. "Switch. Let me in before you lock."
Simon nods and pulls out, his dripping cock sliding from her slick core. Vayda lets out a desperate, empty whine at the sudden loss of friction.
Simon slides back, bracing his bare shoulder against the wooden wall. Reaching for Vayda's hips, he pulls her up to straddle his thighs. He guides his length back inside her.
I move in behind her, grabbing the lube to coat my thick shaft. Aligning my tip with her tight back entrance, I press forward with a slow, deliberate thrust, keeping the movement gentle.
She takes me deep. Her muscles clamp down tight around my girth, stretching to accommodate me until the swelling knot at my base stops my progress.
I grip her hips, pulling her back against me. "Fuck, you feel so good, sweetheart."
Simon and I find a punishing, synchronized rhythm. He thrusts up from the bottom while I drive forward from behind. Vayda moans, her nails digging into Simon's shoulders.
The sour edge of pain vanishes from her scent, replaced by sweet lavender. I bury my face in the crook of her neck, sucking a dark bruise into her skin as we move together. The taste of her sweat and the sweet scent sinks into my pores, anchoring me to her.
Hours blur as we rotate to keep her satisfied. The spontaneous heat demands incredible stamina, but our training pays off. We take turns keeping her filled, flooding her system with our pheromones and the constant pressure of our knots to break the rejection sickness.
By the second day, the constant exertion and sleepless hours drain our strength. We need real food to keep going; her protein bars make a small dent.
Kel slips out on the second night. He pulls on his sweatpants and a dark hoodie, stepping into the cool spring air to grab a delivery at the end of the driveway. He returns with grease-stained bags from a local burger joint.
We sit cross-legged on the bare mattress, passing foil wrappers and fries. The fever backs off just enough to give us a quiet break. Vayda holds a cheeseburger in both hands, taking slow, mechanical bites. She stares at the floorboards, keeping her gaze blank to block us out.
I bump my knee against hers to bring her back. "You doing okay, sweetheart?"
Vayda blinks, her shoulders stiffening before she nods. "Yeah. I'm fine."
Her scent tells a different story. The sweet lavender carries a bitter edge of guilt. She chews her food, eyes locked on the floorboards.
Simon leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees. "We want to help. Whatever is going on in that head of yours, you can tell us."
Vayda sets her half-eaten burger on a foil wrapper. She pulls her knees to her chest and wraps her arms around her shins, shrinking into herself. "There's nothing to tell."
She shuts down, burying her face against her knees. I catch Kel's eye over her head. His jaw ticks with frustration. He keeps quiet. We finish our meal, letting her keep her secrets.
During her quiet moments, I keep her hydrated. I grab one of the plastic water bottles Kristy left by the door and hold it out to her.
She stares at the clear plastic, her gaze remaining vacant.
I nudge her hand with the cold bottle. "Drink some water, sweetheart. You need to stay hydrated."
She blinks, focusing on the bottle before taking it from my grip. She gulps it down, letting drops spill over her chin and collarbone. I wipe the moisture away with my thumb. She rests her head against the wall, her eyes closing as the fever spikes again, dragging her back under.
The heat burns through us for three days.
We stay confined to the carpenter's shed, the air thick with the smell of sex and sweat.
The hockey season, the playoffs, and our buzzing phones fade into the background.
My entire universe narrows down to the four walls of this workshop and the Omega on the mattress.
I take my turn on the afternoon of the third day, her skin flushed as her body works through the final push.
Crawling over her, I spread her thighs wide.
I align my tip with her slick entrance and bury myself deep inside her with a single thrust. Vayda screams, her nails digging into my shoulders.
I lean down and claim her mouth, swallowing her cries in a bruising kiss.
The fast pace pushes her over the edge, breaking the rejection sickness for now.
An intense pressure builds at the base of my shaft. I drive my hips forward, forcing my thick knot past her opening. It locks us together, stretching her inner walls. I groan against her lips, pumping deep inside her.
I lift my head to watch her face. Her eyes roll back, the tension draining from her limbs until she goes boneless beneath me. Her sweet lavender and honeysuckle scent blooms in the small space, settling in my chest.
By the end of the third day, the frantic energy in the shed evaporates.
Vayda falls into a deep sleep against my chest. I sit with my back against the wall, my legs stretched out on the mattress while she curls into my side, her head resting in the crook of my neck. Her breathing turns slow and steady.
I wrap my arm around her bare shoulders, pulling her closer. Reaching up, I brush the damp red hair away from her forehead and trace the silver-gray roots with my thumb.
She survived a condition that kills most Omegas, fighting a war inside her own body. The thought of walking away from her makes my chest tight.
Kel and Simon sleep on the other side of the mattress, sprawling across the space. The silence in the shed is peaceful for the first time in days.
She shifts against my chest, her blue eyes fluttering open. She blinks a few times, staring at the wood paneling across from us.
Her breath catches. She scrambles backward, pushing out of my grip. Spotting her oversized t-shirt and yoga pants crumpled near the metal cabinet, she lunges across the mattress and snatches them with shaking hands.
She turns her back to us, shoving the shirt over her head and pulling the pants up her legs, struggling with the fabric in her rush to cover up.
The sudden movement wakes Kel and Simon. Kel sits up, rubbing a hand down his face, while Simon blinks the sleep out of his green eyes.
Vayda turns to face us near the door of the shed. Clutching the hem of her oversized shirt, she stares at us with wide, terrified eyes. "I'm thankful for your help. You saved my life. I know that. But this can't happen again."
The words hit me like a puck to the chest. I stand up and step off the mattress, keeping my hands open and visible to show I'm giving her space.
I take a slow step forward. "We're a match, sweetheart. We spent the last three days pulling you out of bond rejection. Whatever your situation is, whatever is going on inside that house, we can figure out a plan together. We can fix it."
Vayda shakes her head, backing up until her shoulders hit the wooden door. "You can't fix this. You are all still so young. If there was a second match for me, there's another Omega out there for you. One who fits your lives."
Kel stands up, his dark eyes flashing with frustration. "You're the only Omega we want. We found you."
Vayda points a shaking finger at us. "I'll ruin you.
You are star players in your prime. You're the faces of a massive franchise.
The second the tabloids get wind you found a broken, older Omega with my kind of baggage, they'll tear you apart.
The media will ruin your careers. I won't be the reason you lose everything you worked for. "
Simon steps up beside me, the usual humor in his face gone. "Hockey means nothing compared to this. The tabloids and the franchise can go to hell. We can retire tomorrow. You're our mate."
Vayda backs out the door, her eyes wide. "No. I'm not. I can't be."
She turns around, grabs the brass handle, and tugs the door open.
The cool spring wind rushes into the workshop. Vayda steps out into the gray afternoon light, running across the dead grass of the backyard.
Kel snaps a curse, scrambling for his discarded pants and yanking them up his legs.
I snatch my jeans from the floor, shoving my legs into them. Skipping my shirt and underwear, I grab my boots and rush out the door. Simon follows right behind me, pulling his gray t-shirt over his head. The cold spring air bites my bare chest, but the adrenaline masks the chill.
Vayda reaches the back door of her yellow house. Stopping on the small concrete stoop, she turns to face us. We halt a few feet away in the dead grass.
"Stop following me. My life is a disaster. I have nothing left to give you. My heart is broken, and that's unfair to you. You deserve an Omega who can be yours. I'm grateful for the help, but Kristy made a mistake calling you."
She turns to shove the back door open, stepping inside to shut it behind her.
A low growl rips from Kel's chest, his scent spiking as his rugged leather aroma turns dark. He lunges forward, catching the edge of the door before the latch can click.
I grab for Kel's arm. "Kel, don't." My grip slips right off his bare bicep.
Kel shoves the door open and marches into the house.
I mutter a curse and follow him inside to get him under control, Simon trailing right behind us.
The small, outdated kitchen smells like clinical antiseptic wipes mixed with the faint scent of rain and driftwood.
The linoleum floor is scuffed, and the cabinets look old.
Vayda spins around, backing up against the kitchen counter with a furious look. "Get out! I told you to stay outside!"
Kel stands his ground, his massive frame dominating the small kitchen space. "We're staying right here until you talk to us. You expect us to just walk away after three days? To go find someone else?"
A voice calling out from the front of the house cuts her off. The sound is loud and uncoordinated, a single, strained syllable.
Footsteps approach from the hallway. A man wearing medical scrubs walks into the kitchen, stopping dead in his tracks when he sees three half-naked professional hockey players standing in the room.
The nurse holds his hands up, his eyes darting between us and Vayda. "Whoa. Everything okay in here? I heard shouting. Brendan was getting upset."
I look past the nurse. The hallway opens up into a small living room, and my breath catches.
A man sits in the center of the room in a customized medical wheelchair. He has messy blonde hair and bright blue eyes, the left side of his face drooping. His head lolls to the side against a padded headrest. His hands curl inward on the armrests, his body showing the strain of his injuries.
The scent of rain and driftwood rolls off him. He is an Alpha.
Vayda steps sideways, blocking our view of the man in the wheelchair.
Her posture shifts as she squares her shoulders and lifts her chin, her eyes flashing with a fierce, protective glare.
"As you can see, I already have an Alpha. You should leave. I know how territorial Alphas are. Better for you to see now I’m no good for you. Go find a younger Omega."
She stares me dead in the eye. "If you force me to choose between you three and the mate I have left, I'll pick Brendan every single time, even if the rejection sickness kills me."