Silence.
Then a soft, strangled noise from Marie. Submission. My instincts recognize it. The way her scent goes low and small. The way the hairs on the back of my neck settle.
"I'm sorry."
I don't answer. I can't. I'm too busy trying not to dissolve completely in Eli's arms.
He shifts, adjusting me more fully onto his lap as he sits back in the armchair. My legs drape over one side, my torso curled against his chest. His heartbeat thuds steadily under my ear.
"You're okay. Let it out."
I do.
I cry. Ugly, gasping sobs that soak his shirt and make my whole body shake. He doesn't flinch. Just holds me tighter, one hand rubbing slow circles on my back, the other cupping the back of my head like he's shielding me from the world.
Through the blur of tears and scent, I catch a glimpse of movement.
Marie sits on the couch, shoulders hunched, hands in her lap, tears tracking down her own cheeks. Ragon stands in front of her for a long moment, then sighs and sits beside her, the couch creaking under his weight.
He doesn't pull her close the way Eli holds me. Not yet. But he rests a hand on her shoulder, thumb stroking once in a brief, almost clumsy attempt at comfort.
She leans toward him, just a little, like a plant toward sun.
The sight is a twisting knife.
It's not that I want her miserable. Not really. Not in the rational part of me.
But watching Ragon offer her comfort—after snapping at me, after punishing me, after throwing boundaries around me like a cage—hurts in a way I don't have words for.
I press my face deeper into Eli's chest, as if I can hide from it.
Drake sinks back onto the couch on Marie's other side, running both hands through his hair. His scent is a storm—guilt over me, protectiveness over her, frustration with himself.
"This is a mess."
"That's an understatement," Eli says dryly, still stroking my back.
Ragon exhales, long and slow. "No one said integrating a second omega would be easy. We knew there would be challenges."
"Challenges," I echo weakly, voice muffled by Eli's shirt. "That what we're calling this?"
Ragon looks at me.
For once, there's no judgment in his eyes. No anger. Just tiredness. Worry. A flicker of something like regret.
"That's what we're calling the start of it. We've got one hell of a battle ahead of us."
I squeeze my eyes shut.
He's right.
And I have no idea if we're going to survive it.
Chapter 5
I wake up to the feeling of being held.
For a few seconds I don't remember why my thighs ache, or why my nest smells so heavily like Eli that it's practically saturated with his scent instead of my usual blend. I just lie there, face buried in a pillow, breathing him in.
