My rational brain knows Kev Dawson's pack saved Aubrey from Axel Turns. My rational brain thanked the Gods that someone had finally gotten that poor omega away from the monster who owned him. My hindbrain doesn't care.
“He's been catatonic,” Kev says. His eyes keep sliding past me to the omegas on the floor, and his throat works as he swallows. “For months. He hasn't looked at anyone. Hasn't responded to anything.” His hazel eyes finally meet mine, and I see the same desperate hunger in them that I'm feeling. “Until…her.”
Her. His mate. My mate. My mate brought his mate back from the dead. And his mates are my mates.
Their scent-matched omegas are my scent-matched omegas.
And now they're wrapped around each other, clinging together beneath the hands of alphas who don't belong to each other.
Chapter Ten
Sera
Espie's gardenia and clover. Aubrey's cedar and chamomile.
They're not separate anymore.
The scents weave together and hit my hindbrain like a key turning in a lock I didn't know existed. My blood orange lifts toward them. Toward both of them.
Don't.
I lock my jaw and hold still.
Omegas don't scent-match with other omegas. That's not how biology works. That's not how any of this works, but the proof is laced together on the floor, their merged scent filling the room with something that has no precedent.
“They're scent-matched. To each other,” Adrian says slowly.
No one argues. No one can.
“That's—” Kev's voice trails off. He's staring at the omegas, jaw slack. “That's impossible.”
“And yet.” Adrian looks at the omegas on the floor. “Trauma rewires the brain. Rewires biology.”
“Is this — can we help them, or does trying to separate them make it worse? What do they need right now?” Ezra asks.
“There's no one who can answer that. There's no precedent for this. I can't even begin to—” Lex breaks off.
“Fuck precedent.” Kev's jaw is tight. “They're ours. Both of them. We figure it out.”
Those words,both of them, land like a ruling he's already written. No room to argue. No space left for appeal.
I breathe out through my nose, slow and controlled, and lock every muscle below my shoulders.
“You don't get to claim him,” I say, my voice low. “He's mine.”
Kev meets my gaze. Holds. “He's severely traumatized. This is the most alive we've seen him in—” His voice cracks. He steadies it. “You don't get to walk in here and erase that.”
“I'm not trying to erase anything.”
“No.” The anger drains out of his face and what's left is exhaustion, the deep-set kind that lives in the lines around a person's eyes. “You just weren't here to see what he was like.”
That hits somewhere I wasn't expecting. Not because it's cruel. Because it's just true. My throat closes around whatever I was going to say next.
“Good.” He holds my gaze another beat. “Then we understand each other.”
Aubrey's fingers are knotted in Espie's shirt like he'll shatter if he lets go. Her face is buried in his chest, her whole body curls into him as he curls around her. A purr starts low. Aubrey's. Rough at the edges. Espie's answers a half-beat behind. Their scents thicken and desire punches through my body. My mates are in distress and heat ignites through me like a match dragged across a striker. I breathe through my nose. The two purrs sync. They tighten their hold around each other. His knee slides between hers and she tucks her head under his chin.
I want to put my arms around both of them.
