Page 51 of Omega on Fire

I stumble toward the bathroom, grateful for the en suite in my nest, legs wobbly as a newborn fawn's. My reflection stops me cold. Holy shit.

The woman in the mirror looks like she's been through a war. A sex war. My hair is a rat's nest of tangles, dried slick, and who knows what else. Bruises and bite marks decorate my skin like a roadmap of passion, teeth impressions on my neck, fingerprints on my hips, beard burn on my inner thighs. My lips are swollen from countless kisses. Phew, thank the heavens I don't need to go outside.

But what strikes me most is my eyes. They're clear. Present. And surprisingly peaceful.

I don't see the taint I expected to find. The violation of my last heat—no, don't go there, not yet—isn't reflected back at me. Those memories still lurk beneath the surface, ready to drag me under if I let them. But right now, all I feel is the echo of tenderness.The reverence in Moses’ touch. The fierce protectiveness in Beaux's eyes, his surprising gentleness. Josiah's whispered praise against my skin. Teagan's steady strength.

I trace a particularly vivid bite mark on my shoulder, the indentation is deep enough that I can feel each tooth's impression under my fingertip. Teagan's work, without question. I remember the moment with startling clarity—him positioned behind me, his massive chest pressed against my sweat-slicked back, arms locked around my waist while Josiah knelt between my trembling thighs. The dual sensations had been exquisite torture, Teagan's muscled torso caging me while Josiah's thick cock stretched me open, both of them murmuring filthy encouragements as I shattered between them. When that white-hot pleasure finally erupted through me, Teagan's teeth had found my flesh, claiming me as. . .what exactly? Not his mate, that sacred word remains unspoken between us, a possibility too weighty to examine in this afterglow. But something undeniably significant. Something that transcended the biological imperative of my heat, something that whispered of permanence and possession and possibilities I'm not yet ready to name.

How the hell am I supposed to walk away from these men when this is all over? The question ambushes me, leaving me breathless. I came here for protection, a temporary arrangement until the threat against me passed. I wasn't looking for whatever this is becoming.

I've got a mountain of trauma to work through. I'm one bad memory away from a complete meltdown. But isn't that what I always tell the Omegas who come to the Have Faith Foundation? Just keep waking up. Keep living. Keep breathing. Healing isn't linear, but it does come, eventually.

With Pack Hudson surrounding me, I'm starting to believe that. For the first time in a long time, I feel like I might actually make it through this mess intact.

I step into the shower, letting the hot water sluice away the evidence of my heat, but not the memory of it. Those, I want to keep.

Steam curls around my skin like a second heat, only this one doesn't devour me. It soothes. The water beats down on my shoulders, tracing every bruise, every mark left behind by my pack. No, not my pack, not officially. But after what just happened in that nest after days of being touched, claimed, comforted and seen by them, it feels like a line has been crossed.

And I don't want to step back.

My fingers drift over the bite at the base of my neck again. Low enough to be covered by clothes, deep enough to still ache.

Closing my eyes, I let the water wash away the last of the pheromones, the last traces of my heat. I'm not the same woman who arrived at this penthouse. That Charlotte was broken into pieces. Afraid to feel. I came apart in their hands, they put me back together and woke up something new. Something powerful.

When I finally step out of the shower the nest is empty. I don’t know how long I was in there, but it must have been long enough for them to wake up and begin their day without interrupting me. I feel clear-headed for the first time in days. Still sore, still a little overwhelmed, but grounded. My body is my own again. My mind, too.

I wrap a towel around myself and pad barefoot back to my bedroom. Someone had left out a fresh set of soft lounge clothes—of course they did. Beaux, probably. The man is a thoughtful menace.

Just as I'm pulling on the tank top, there's a knock at the door.

"Come in," I call.

Josiah appears, tablet in hand, expression somewhere between amused and concerned. "Sorry tointerrupt your post-heat self-care, your majesty, but we've got something."

I raise a brow, gently toweling off the ends of my curls. "Something good or something bad?"

He enters, holding the tablet out to me like it's a cursed object. "That depends on your definition of fucked."

On the screen is a digital invitation, sleek and black with gold script. VeryEyes Wide Shutvibes.

You are cordially invited to the Annual Masquerade Gala hosted by The Solomon Foundation for Alpha/Omega Harmony. Black tie. Masks required. Presence of Charlotte Matthews requested.

"The fuck is the Solomon Foundation?" I ask, taking the tablet.

Josiah's mouth twists. "That would be one of the many shell organizations funded by our good friend, Senator Justus Blaine."

My stomach drops.

He continues. "The invite was sent through three encrypted servers and bounced off a dozen proxies. It's him. Or someone close to him. Now that they've outed you and the world knows you've been found they want you seen, they want you public."

My pulse kicks up. "A trap."

"Almost certainly." Josiah looks serious now. All business. "But a very well-dressed one."

I stare at the screen, at the elegant lettering, at the date circled in two days' time.

"Then I guess I need something to wear," I say, voice steady. "Because if this is his move, I'm not playing defense."

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