Chapter Fifty

Eve

Time moves differently now Lucille is here. I'm more aware of the days, marked by her obligatory presence at the dinner table. Every night without fail, I try to get her alone, knowing she'll deposit her half-eaten plate on the kitchen counter before darting back to her room.

Every night without fail, I am too slow.

My shoulders drop as I hear her bedroom door click closed.

Coming up behind me, Riley puts her hand on my back. "Want me to go get her?"

I shake my head. "It'd only make her angry."

"She seems pretty angry anyway."

"No." I purse my lips. "This isn't Lucille angry."

Riley frowns. "Then what is she?"

I wish I could answer that question, but the words don't come.

It takes over an hour of slow, agonizingly tender pack sex before I can relax that night. My alphas must be trying to distract me, and they don't care how patient they have to be to do it.

My head ends up on Marcus's chest, his knot blown up inside of me, while Baxter massages my throbbing hips. Everything feels loose and tender, like an old wound I've just begun to accept.

"Damn, Marc." Red grins lazily through the dark. "Glad to have you back with us."

Marcus's heart skips a beat beneath me. "Good to be back."

"Changed your mind on pregnant sex, then," Thorn comments.

"Well." He plays with my hair. "Let's just say my eyes have been opened."

"Amen," Red hums, flopping onto his back.

"Not to mention," Marcus adds, "pack sex is shown to increase fetal movement."

There it is —that tension I've been chasing away, burying under more pressing concerns. Lucille. Pack Bishop. Marcus's family struggles. I know it's selfish, but there's something comforting about taking care of others right now. My own fears are better off in the background.

I realize Baxter isn't massaging my hips anymore. He asks, "Omega?"

"Sorry." I shake my head. "Falling asleep."

"Aw," Riley coos. "Poor girl. Are we keeping you up?"

They shift around, making sure I'm sufficiently blanketed, and murmur their sweet good night s. I can tell the moment Red, Riley, and Marcus are asleep, their breathing deepening and bodies softening. Baxter and Thorn take a little longer, no doubt waiting for me to nod off first, but exhaustion wins out in the end.

***

At least, everyone's except mine.

Every time I think I'm about to drift away, something snatches me back— is the pup okay? Are they sleeping, too? Or are they still awake … like me ?

Carefully sliding off Marcus's deflated knot, I feel my way to the far edge of the nest. It's not the first time I've had to make this maneuver in the dark—closing in on seven months pregnant doesn't exactly do wonders for one's bladder—but I've never managed to escape without rousing at least one of my alphas.

Normally Thorn.

Sure enough, I sense eyes on the back of my neck. Watching.

He doesn't say anything at first, tracking me to see where I'll go. If it's just the bathroom, he'll normally leave me to it.

When I waddle towards the door, he instantly sits up. "Eve," he whispers.

I look at him over my shoulder. It's okay.

He sits there stiffly, but doesn't get out of bed to stop me. My guess? He's started the timer. If I'm not back in the nest, soon, there'll be trouble.

Smiling to myself, I slip out of the room, not quite closing the door behind me.

The den is still and dark. I automatically reach for the hallway light switch when I notice … there's already a light on downstairs.

Curious, I take myself down the steps, very carefully, bit by bit. There's no-one in the kitchen.

Then, from the living room, I hear a voice—"Hello?"

I jump. Lucille is seated on the armchair, knees drawn to her chest, an iPad glowing in her lap.

"Hey," I answer, approaching. "S–sorry. It's just me."

"Yeah, got that."

For a second I just stand there. It's not like she's invited me to join her, but it would also be weird to just walk away … right?

"Shouldn't you be getting your beauty sleep?" she asks, scrolling.

Screw it. My ankles hurt, my back aches, and the last thing I want to do is walk up the stairs. I sit myself down on the couch.

"I could say the s–same to you," I tell her.

Her cool eyes flick up. "Still got that habit, huh?"

"What habit?"

"The stutter."

Blood rushes all the way up to my ears, hot with humiliation. "I've been g–getting better."

"I know," she returns, "it only started up again after I moved in, right?"

Obviously, I've already made this connection—having Lucille in my new den has dredged up a lot of crap I thought I'd left behind—but I didn't expect her to acknowledge it.

"I'm sorry," she says, surprising me further. "I know it's a pain, having me here."

"It's not. I mean, I—I want to help."

"I know. That's why it's a pain." She lifts the iPad. "Your head alpha leant me this. Said I was free to do my own ‘research', whatever that means."

Hearing this, my heart softens. Baxter never told me he'd done that. As much as Lucille drives him crazy, drives all of my alphas crazy, they're still finding ways to look out for her.

"I think he's suggesting you look into Pack Bishop," I say gently.

"Obviously. But what for? It's not like I have any choice in the matter."

"What do you mean?"

She huffs like it should be obvious. "Bishop is the only pack to have expressed even an iota of interest in me since I was re—" she stop, a rare hint of emotion in her voice. "Since what happened. And it's not like I can crash here indefinitely."

"You … think you have to accept Bishop's courtship?"

"They've offered, haven't they?"

Well, yes, but Baxter and I decided not to tell her that just yet. She seemed so unenthused, even more than normal, when we got home from that initial meeting. I didn't want to pressure her.

"Lucille," I say, firmly, "if you don't want to be with Pack Bishop, no-one's going to force you."

"Don't be stupid, Evie. Your alphas won't keep me here indefinitely—not when there's a perfectly good offer waiting for me."

I raise my eyebrows. "Perfectly good, huh?"

Her lips purse shut.

I sigh. "Look, I–I know what it was like, back with Carson. But Maddox is different. Maybe we don't want you to stay forever, but we're definitely not going to kick you out. Not until you've found somewhere you belong."

Something close to bewilderment flashes in her gaze. She looks so … childish in this moment. More so than I can ever remember her.

My maternal impulses surge up, telling me to hold her, but self-preservation kicks in just in time.

I go on, "If you don't think Bishop is right for you, that's a real shame, but I guess we'll just have to keep trying."

Lucille is quiet for several moments. Just as I think she's done with me for the night, she asks in a small voice, "Why are you doing this?"

I cock my head. "Doing …?"

"Helping me. Why do you even care?" She flips her hair back. "It's not as if I was ever nice to you."

No , I remind myself, no, you really weren't . But the way we grew up, the way we were taught … I might've been the runt, but Lucille was the star. All those hopes and ideals invested into her, hanging over her, day after day.

I wasn't the only omega in Carson Den just trying to survive.

I lower my gaze, focusing on the stomach protruding in my lap, rubbing it up and down.

"No-one really took care of us, when we were growing up," I say softly. "I mean, they clothed us … nested us … paraded us around, when it suited them, but there was never anything beneath the surface." I stiffen. "Not even from Mother."

Lucille bristles. I wonder if she's about to jump to our mother's defense, but she remains silent.

"Only now am I starting to understand that things don't have to be that way. Families are supposed to love each other. Protect each other. They have to. Because if they don't—"

My hand stops. My stomach feels hard as stone, reminding me of the small, still life inside.

An omega pup .

"You're scared they'll turn out like you."

My head snaps up. "What?"

"You're scared," she says, more pointedly, "they'll be a runt."

I sit up straighter, like she's just dunked me in ice water. "You—I—how could you—?"

How, in just one moment, has she pinpointed the very fear that's been plaguing me since the beginning? It might've only become clear to me after my last ultrasound, but I know now it's always been there: if the worst-case scenario was losing the pup altogether, then the best-case scenario needed to be tempered. Either the pup dies, or they're a runt.

Are those really the only possibilities I've given myself?

Tears fill my eyes—guilt, fear, embarrassment—to have been called out so brutally.

"You're wrong, though," Lucille asserts. "The pup's going to be fine."

"You're just saying that," I sniffle. Though, it's not really Lucille's habit to ‘just say' anything.

"Don't be stupid, Evie. You understand how these things work."

"Do I?" I finally snap, glaring up at her with burning eyes. "Maybe you should just tell me, since you seem to know everything."

After all this time, I'm sure it's basically her instinct to berate and belittle me whenever the chance arises, and I've made my peace with that. But I won't have her talk about my pup the same way.

Lucille sighs. "There was nothing ‘wrong' with you at birth. I know Peter used to say you were small, or sickly, and whatever—maybe that was true. But that's not what made you a runt." Her eyes turn dark. "You're a runt because of what we did to you."

I scowl, wiping my cheeks. "I don't blame you, Lucille."

"I don't care who you blame. I'm just stating facts. A runt isn't born. It's made." She shrugs, finally returning to her iPad. "I've seen enough of Pack Maddox to know that won't happen here."

I stop. This is the first time Lucille has truly acknowledged Pack Maddox—not as an institution, but as … a family.

She really isn't trying to hurt me. She's trying to show me that she sees me. Sees what I am, where I've come from, and that I've finally found my home.

I don't speak, busy swallowing the lump in my throat. When Lucille finally dares to look up again, her face twists. "Why are you smiling?"

I smile wider. "Pack Bishop would be lucky to have you."

I expect her to roll her eyes, or brush me off, but instead she rolls her shoulders back and answer simply, "I know."

Just like that, as if a little timer has gone off, Thorn materializes behind me. Lucille flinches, scanning the room as if to figure out where in the shadows he's been hiding.

"Hi alpha," I say.

"Omega," he returns. "You need sleep."

The second he says those words, my exhaustion comes crushing down. I start to sink back into the couch when he catches me, already lifting me into his arms. Whatever resistance I might have shown is completely squandered. I'm at his mercy.

I don't see the look he gives my sister as we walk away, but I feel the change in the air. Two shrewd sets of eyes, begrudgingly acknowledging one another, from a respectful distance.

As he carries me up the stairs, I muster the courage to ask, "How much of that did you hear?"

Thorn's chest rumbles. "Enough."

My eyelids are heavy. Too heavy to ask any more questions.

Asleep before we even make it back to the nest.