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Which is why I don’t stop myself from leaning in and pressing a soft kiss between her furrowed brows before answering, “There’s no way I’m sending shorts full of cum to the poor Betas on laundry duty. Mainly because, if they see that mess, I don't think I’ll be able to look any of them in the face.”

Idril scrunches her nose.

“But also, because they’re covered in your slick as well. And I know myself well enough to know I’ll kill anyone else who scents your arousal.”

I expect her to laugh, but the opposite happens. Her smile drops, and she murmurs, “It’s not like anyone can smell it now. It’s gone. I thought I could scent my perfume for a few minutes, but… not anymore.”

She looks so sad. My heart fucking breaks for her. I hate the way she’s been forced to suppress her Omega. They don’t simply suppress her scent—military-grade shit like what’s been forced on her does so much more. It dulls her instincts and locks her Omega away, making it impossible for her to understand and know her instincts.

Her father—and now my own fucking pack—have been keeping a part of who she is away from her for her entire adult life. They’ve stolen that part of her soul from her—prevented her from discovering who she is as an Omega. Sure, she can still sense her Omega. Hear her sometimes.

But not the way she should. Twenty-two years, and she probably only slightly understands her designation and her needs.

For all she’d been a prisoner in the physical sense of the word, she’d also had her designation imprisoned as well. I wondered if she even knew that she didn’t lean into her instincts the way most Omegas did. I wonder if her father realized that, or even my brothers.

Even though it pisses me off, I can’t help but be grateful for them at the same time. In some ways, they’ve helped her. Without them, the desire to Nest, for comfort and safety, for soft things, for an Alpha’s validation and love—all of it would have been a million times worse. Her Designation’s needs would have overwhelmed her until the denial broke something inside of her.

I sigh—another thing to ask Calder or Lenora about.

“I was thinking,” I back up a few steps, opening a drawer under the sink and reaching for a brush that’s still in the packaging. I gesture for her to spin with the brush and order, “Turn around.”

She gives me a confused look, but does what I ask.

“Good girl,” I purr, smiling when goosebumps rise on her arms.

“What were you thinking?” she asks, folding her legs under her and placing her hands in her lap. She watches me through the mirror as I pull the hairband out of her hair and start unraveling the braid.

“Why don’t we go see Lenora soon? Talk about getting you off suppressants, if that’s what you want. You can always use a descenter to hide your Scent from Dax and Vae. It works well enough.”

I’m so fixated on running my hands through the silken strands of her long, white hair, admiring the way the silver strands gleam beneath the overhead lights, that I almost don’t notice Idril’s silence. Not until she stills, her limbs stiffening.

“We don’t have to,” I rush to add. Fuck, I don’t want her to think I’m trying to make decisions about her body without her consent. “Just know it's an option if—or when—you want it. You just seemed so sad about your Scent.”

Our eyes meet in the mirror. After a few moments, she shrugs, glancing away. Her shoulders inch toward her ears, like she’s preparing for a blow.

“Do you think we can talk to someone besides Lenora?” Her voice is so small. Small and afraid.

Afraid of what? Of asking? Of Lenora? Does she think I’m going to get angry?

I force myself to stay calm, brushing through her hair with long, soothing strokes and berating myself for not fucking thinking once I realize what the issue is.

Lenora. Of course she won’t want to go to her. She’s the one who’s been stabbing her with a needle every fucking night and forcing the suppresents on her to begin with. I have to swallow down my anger, imagining the Beta looming over my sweet Mate, forcing medication into her body without her consent.

Fuck. I need to calm down. My scent’s turning bitter; it’s going to send Idril’s instincts into a tailspin if I don’t get my shit under control.

I focus on brushing her hair, pulling the bristles through sections in slow, methodical strokes. Once I’ve sufficiently pulled myself away from the edge, I answer her.

“We can see anyone you want. We can do anything you want, Idril. It’s your body.”

She hesitates for just a moment before nodding. Eventually, her shoulders fall, and her body relaxes as the tension bleeds out of her. I continue my ministrations long after the tangles are gone, content to keep going as long as she remains soft and languid in front of me.

The bath is borderline too full, so I make myself move to turn off the faucet. Turning back to Idril, I reach around her front and offer her the hair tie.

“Why don’t you pull your hair up and spend some time in the bath? When you’re done, we can talk more if you want.”

She glances at the full tub over my shoulder, a smile full of joy blooming across her face. I find myself returning her smile, reaching out to help her down from the counter and placing my lips to her temple once she’s on her feet.

“Will you find Soren?” she asks, making me pause on my way out the door. She looks worried again, and I hate that she seems to have a never-ending string of anxiety.