Florence whines. I growl.
Further down the line Isadora lets out a distressed sound that I can tell is one hundred percent fake. It doesn’t make my alpha scratch at me with the need to protect, soothe, care for, destroy, the way the desperate noises Florence is making are.
“We’re coming, little bird,” Piers reassures her. “Almost there.”
“Fucking open it, mate,” Thayer growls.
I take a deep inhale through my nose and force myself to focus, concentrate. Florence needs me to be as calm as I can be. There’s paint under my fingernails, and I focus on that, it helps to think of the canvas set up in my room, the image that had finally started to take shape. I don’t know why.
No, that's a lie. I know why.
Because the image is Florence, even if it's not her directly. It's that feeling of the moment of calm in the eye of the storm, her sitting in complete stillness as the chaos that is the other omegas rages around her.
The lock opens. I toss it aside and yank open the cage. I drop to my knees in front of her. She cries out and flinches when I touch her knee, shrinking away from me. Her breathing is even more ragged and I’m worried she’s on the verge of passing out.
“Breathe, Pixie. Please,” I reach up and yank off the blindfold. Her frantic eyes fall on me, tears streaming freely over her cheeks.
I try to touch her again, run a soothing hand over her thighs, while Thayer and Piers work on the ropes binding her, but she jerks. “Don’t. Don’t touch my legs,” she gasps out. “Please.”
I give a slow nod, even as my heart clenches and my alpha roars at me to fix whatever has her so fucking terrified. “Okay, Pixie. I won’t touch your legs.” I can’t look too hard at what that means. What might have happened to her when being tied to a chair and someone touching her thighs might frighten her this much. If I spend too long thinking about it, I’ll probably tear the whole world apart. “Can I touch your face?” I ask softly.
She gives a jerky nod. “Yes.”
“Good girl,” Thayer praises her when she lets me cup her face, stroke my thumbs over her wet cheeks. “You’re doing so good, killer.”
“I-I’m sorry,” she whimpers. “I shouldn’t- The others-”
“Shh,” I murmur, leaning my forehead against hers. “It's okay. We’ll help them. But we need to help you first, okay, Pix?”
“Can you take a breath for us, sunshine?" Piers asks, then curses when her binds release. I want to look and see what caused that reaction, but I also don't want to look away from the terrified omega in front of me.
“I’m trying,” she pants.
“Nice and deep, Ren.” I mimic what I want her to do. “We’ve got you. You’re safe. Yeah? We need you to breathe.”
She wheezes instead.
Thayer swears. “Please, killer. My alpha is about thirty seconds away from obliterating every fucking arsehole in here who let you sit here in the middle of a panic attack without doing anything to help.”
A low growl pulls from my chest, at the reminder but I morph it into a purr. Florence’s eyes flutter closed. Her now free hands are clutching at my shirt. Piers and Thayer kneel next to me. Movement by my knees tells me they’re undoing the ropes around her ankles.
“Almost,” I tell her. “We’re almost done. You’re doing so good, baby.”
She whines and clutches at me harder. Breath puffing over my face in frantic little pants. I want to snap at them to hurry the fuck up, but I’m working on keeping myself calm for Ren’s sake. Only soft praise will fall from my lips, gentle words, soothing vibes.
“Okay, killer,” Thay murmurs. “All untied. Up you go.”
Before I can protest he’s looped a hand under her knees and another around her back, hefting her out of the chair and against his chest. She nuzzles into his neck, taking deep inhales like she’s trying to scent him. It's in our nature to use scent to calm each other down, and that’s what she’s looking for, that steady reassurance from her alpha.
A little whine pulls from her chest when she doesn’t find what she’s looking for.
“Give her to me,” Piers says, holding out his arms.
Thayer hesitates, but then does as our beta asks, handing her over with the greatest of care, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead before stepping back. It's a good call. He’s the only oneout of all of us that isn’t on scent blockers, and while a beta’s scent doesn’t have the same effect on an omega as an alpha’s, it will help.
Florence melts into Piers, her nose buried against his neck. “That’s a good girl,” I murmur to her. “Nice deep breaths. Piers smells so good, doesn’t he, omega?”
A little whimper that sounds a lot more content than distressed pulls from her. “You should help the other omegas,” she says softly, barely lifting her head from my beta’s shoulder. “They need you too.”
