Chapter 4

Chapter

Four

IVY

I wake with a start, my heart pounding in my chest. For a moment, I'm disoriented, the unfamiliar surroundings sending a spike of panic through me. But then it all comes rushing back.

The mansion in the mountains.

The Ghosts.

My heat.

The memories flood my mind all over again. The all-consuming need, the feel of their hands on my body, their lips on my skin. Thane's commanding presence, Whiskey's playful touches, Valek's dark intensity, Plague's gentle care.

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block it all out.

It's over. It's done .

And it can never happen again.

It's been a week since we returned from that disastrous mission, a week since I let my guard down and let them in. A week since I realized the terrifying truth—that these men, these alphas, are a threat to me in ways I never could have imagined.

Not because they'll hurt me.

But because I might start to care for them.

And that... that is a weakness I can't afford.

I push myself up, wincing at the dull throb in my arm. The gunshot wound is healing well, thanks to Plague's diligent care, but it still aches a little when I move too quickly. A reminder of how close I came to losing everything. A reminder that I owe my life to the men I once hated.

And I don't hate them anymore.

That's one thing I can admit.

I swing my legs over the side of the bed, my bare feet sinking into the plush rug. My room—because that's what it is now, my room—is simple but comfortable. A far cry from the sterile cell of the Refinement Center or the cramped tents of my childhood. Maybe it's not as fancy or luxurious as the brief stay at the mansion in the mountains, but it feels almost like home. As close as it gets for me, really .

But it's not the room itself that makes it feel like home. It's the nest.

My gaze drifts to the pile of blankets and pillows in the corner, the one indulgence I've allowed myself. During my heat at the mansion, it was a lavish affair, all soft silks and plush furs. A decadent cocoon to shelter me as I rode out the storm.

Now, it's plain again. Practical. Just a few worn blankets and flat pillows, enough to keep me warm and relatively comfortable. No frills, no indulgences. A nest fit for a survivor, not a pampered pet.

It's better this way. Safer. The less I let myself get used to the soft things, the easier it will be when I have to leave them behind.

Because I will have to leave. Once I've healed, once I've gathered my strength and my wits and formed some kind of plan. I'll slip away into the night, disappear into the wilderness like I always do.

Maybe not now, but eventually.

It's the only way. The only way to protect myself, to keep my heart safe from the dangerous temptation these alphas represent.

They've been distant in their own way since we returned. They're still attentive, still watchful. I feel their gazes on me whenever I emerge from my room, heavy with a mix of concern and something else. Something I refuse to name.

But they don't push. They don't demand. They give me space, let me retreat into my solitude without complaint. As if they can sense how fragile I am right now.

And something is different about them, too.

I don't know what changed after that last confrontation with Nikolai. I saw the looks on their faces when they came back inside. The grim set to Thane's jaw, the barely leashed fury in Valek's eyes. Something happened out there, something that shook them to their core.

Especially Thane.

But I don't ask. I don't pry. Their business is their own, and the less I know, the better.

The easier it will be to cut ties.

I'm just pulling on a clean shirt when a knock sounds at the door. I freeze, my heart lurching into my throat. It's irrational, this sudden spike of fear. I'm safe here. As safe as I can be anywhere.

But old habits die hard. And some part of me will always be that little girl crouching in the shadows, praying the monsters don't find me.

"Ivy?" A deep, accented voice, muffled by the heavy wood. Valek.

I force myself to breathe, to unclench my fists. Even he won't hurt me. None of them will. I believe that now, even if I can't quite bring myself to trust it.

I cross to the door and open it, my chin lifted in a show of defiance I don't quite feel. But I need to make it clear to them that whatever walls eroded between us during my heat are back in place.

More than anything, I need to make it known to myself.

Valek stands on the other side, his cold silver eyes inscrutable as they rake over me. Checking for signs of distress, of injury. He may be a psychopathic killer, but he's still an alpha. Always the protector, even when I don't want his protection.

"Plague wants to see you," he says without preamble. "In the infirmary."

I frown, unease prickling along my spine. "Why?"

A hint of a smirk, a flash of white teeth. "You'll have to ask him that, little omega. I'm only the messenger."

I bristle at the nickname, at the way it makes something in my chest tighten. I'm not his little anything . I'm not theirs , no matter what my treacherous body might have said when I was in heat.

But I don't argue. I just nod, once, and step out into the hallway. Valek falls into step beside me, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his body, the electric awareness that always seems to hum between us.

I clench my jaw and ignore it, ignore him. I focus on the path ahead, on the twists and turns of the corridors that lead to the infirmary. It's a route I know well by now, one I could walk in my sleep.

Plague is waiting for me when I arrive, his mask firmly in place. He looks up as I enter, nodding.

"Ah, Ivy. Right on time." He pats the examination table, the paper crinkling invitingly. "If you could just hop up there for me, please."

I hesitate, my gaze darting to Valek. He's lounging against the wall, his arms crossed over his broad chest. Watching, always watching.

Plague seems to sense my unease. "Valek, would you mind giving us a moment? I need to discuss some medical matters with Ivy. Privately."

Valek's eyes narrow, but he pushes off the wall without argument. "Of course, Doc. I'll be right outside if you need me."

The words are casual, almost careless. But I hear the steel beneath them, the promise. He'll be close, ready to intervene at a moment's notice.

Something in my chest twists at the thought, a confused tangle of emotions I don't care to examine too closely. I look away as he leaves, focusing on Plague as he pats the table again.

"All right, Ivy. Let's take a look at that arm, shall we?"

I perch on the edge of the table, my fingers curling around the crinkly paper. Plague moves closer, his gloved hands gentle as he unwraps the bandage. I keep my gaze fixed on the far wall, trying not to flinch at the touch.

It's clinical, impersonal. Nothing like the way he touched me during my heat, all tender reverence and simmering desire. But even so, I feel the ghost of it—the memory of his hands on my skin, his lips on my throat.

Stop it.

I give myself a mental shake, forcing the thoughts away. That was then. This is now. And now, I am nothing more than a patient to him. A charge to be cared for, a responsibility to be met.

"It's healing well," Plague murmurs, his fingers probing the edges of the wound. "No sign of infection, and the stitches are holding nicely."

"Good," I say, my voice flat. "Can I go now?"

He pauses, his head tilting as he studies me. Even with the mask, I can feel the intensity of his gaze. "You've been distant lately, Ivy. Withdrawn. More so than usual."

I shrug, the motion pulling at the tender skin of my arm. "I'm fine."

"Are you?" He leans back, his arms crossing over his chest. "Because from where I'm standing, you don't seem fine. You seem... lost."

I flinch at the word, at the way it lands like a blow.

Lost .

Is that what I am to him? A little girl adrift in a world too big and brutal for her to navigate alone? No. I am not lost. I am not weak. And I will not let any alpha make me forget that.

"I'm not lost," I say, my voice cold and hard as stone. "I know exactly what I am. And what I'm not."

Plague is silent for a long moment, his hidden gaze fixed on my face. I don't have to see his pale blue eyes behind those amber lenses to know he's looking at me. Then, at length, he gives a soft sigh. "And what is that, Ivy? What are you not?"

Yours. Theirs. Anyone's.

The words burn on my tongue, sharp and acrid. But I swallow them back, forcing them down like bile. "I'm not someone who needs coddling," I say instead, digging my fingers into the paper. "I'm not a pet to be kept and pampered. I'm a survivor. And I'll do whatever it takes to stay that way."

Plague nods, a slow dip of his chin. "I know you will," he says, his voice soft and sad. "But surviving isn't the same as living, Ivy. And you deserve more than just scraping by. You deserve to be happy. To be loved."

Love .

I recoil as if he's struck me, my heart slamming against my ribs. The word is foreign, incomprehensible. A fairy tale, a dream for softer creatures.

"I don't need love," I rasp, my throat tight and aching. I look away bitterly. "I don't need any of you. I just need to be left alone."

"If that's what you want," he says, his voice resigned. "But we're here, Ivy. All of us. And we're not going anywhere. Not unless you tell us to."

I stare at him, an invisible hand tightening around my throat. It's a promise. One I somehow know he means with every fiber of his being.

But it's a promise I can't accept. A vow I can't allow myself to believe in.

Because if I do, if I let myself trust in their devotion, their protection... I'll break. I'll shatter into a million jagged pieces, and I'll never be able to put myself back together again.

So I do the only thing I can.

I harden myself and push him away.

I push them all away, with every ounce of strength and stubborn will I possess.

"Are we done here?" I ask, my voice flat and cold.

Plague hesitates, his fingers drumming against his thigh. "Actually, there's one more thing we need to discuss."

Something in his tone makes my stomach clench. I've learned to read the subtle shifts in his body language, even with the mask hiding his face. Right now, he's radiating discomfort.

"What is it?" I ask, wariness creeping into my voice.

He clears his throat, an oddly human sound coming from behind that inhuman mask. "Your heat was... unexpected. The chances of there being a… complication from not using protection are lower if it was your first time, but there's always a risk that in the future…"

He trails off, and I feel the blood drain from my face as realization dawns.

"That what?" I croak, even though I already know. Even though the possibility has been lurking in the back of my mind since we returned, a nightmare I've been desperately trying to ignore.

Plague sighs, his shoulders slumping slightly. "Well, let's just say pregnancy is a risk."

The word hits me like a physical blow out loud.

"I don't know how much they told you at the Center," Plague continues, his voice gentling. "But when an omega in heat is knotted, there's always a chance?—"

"I know where babies come from," I snap, cutting him off.

He holds up his hands in a placating gesture. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply... I just wanted to make sure you understood the situation."

I nod jerkily, not trusting myself to speak.

Of course I understand. I've always understood. It's why I fought so hard against my designation, why I seared off my own mark. Because being an omega means being vulnerable. It means being at the mercy of your own biology, a slave to instincts beyond your control.

It's not that I never want children. I don't know what I want. I've never had the chance to figure that out.

But I know I don't want them right now. That's the last thing I need. I know what a child means to an omega on the run.

What I meant to my mother.

She was pregnant with me when she fled the breeding center. The one child she was allowed to keep in her arms. Her "miracle," she said.

In reality, a burden.

"I can do a test," Plague says softly. "To find out for certain. If you want. If you're ready."

Do I want to know? Part of me wants to run, to bury my head in the sand and pretend this conversation never happened. But I force myself to face it head-on. I've never been one to shy away from harsh realities.

"And what if I am?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. I hate how small I sound, how scared. "What then?"

Plague takes a step closer, his posture open, non-threatening. "That would be up to you, Ivy. There are... options. Ways to deal with unwanted pregnancies, especially this early. And of course, if you wanted to keep it, we can figure that out, too."

I stare at him, stunned. "You'd... you'd give me a choice?"

The words come out small and doubtful. In my experience, omegas don't get choices. We get orders. Commands. Our bodies aren't our own. They belong to the alphas, to the Council. To the system that sees us as nothing more than breeding stock.

"Of course," Plague says, and there's a note of surprise in his voice, as if he can't fathom why I'd even question it. "Ivy, this is your body. Your life. No one has the right to make that decision for you."

I blink rapidly, fighting back the sudden sting of tears. His words shouldn't affect me this much. I shouldn't care what he thinks, what any of them think. But hearing him say it, hearing him say I'm a person, not just some… thing. A breeder. An incubator.

It breaks something loose inside me, a dam I've been holding back for so long.

"Okay," I whisper, steeling myself. "I'll take the test."

Plague nods, moving to gather the necessary supplies. I watch him, my throat thick and tight. As he works, preparing the test, I find myself studying him. The precise movements of his hands, the quiet confidence in his posture.

He's a killer, I know that. They all are.

But he's also a healer. A protector.

And in this moment, as he handles my fate with such care and consideration, I can almost forget he's a monster, too.

"All right," he says, turning back to me with a small syringe with a bright orange cap in his hand. "It's a simple blood test. It'll only take a moment, and then we'll know for sure."

I nod, holding out my arm. My hand trembles slightly, and I clench my fist to steady it. Plague's touch is gentle as he swabs the crook of my elbow, his fingers warm even through the latex gloves.

The needle slides in with barely a pinch, and I watch out of the corner of my eye as dark red blood fills the vial. My fight-or-flight instincts are through the roof to the point where my teeth itch to bite him for sticking me, but I manage to hold still.

Plague withdraws the needle, pressing a cotton ball to the small puncture. "There. All done. I'll just leave you for a bit and come back with the results."

I sit on the edge of the examination table, my legs dangling over the side. The paper crinkles beneath me with every nervous shift of my weight. Time seems to stretch, each second an eternity as I wait for Plague to return.

The door finally opens, and I snap to attention, my heart leaping into my throat. Plague enters, his mask as inscrutable as ever. But there's something in the set of his shoulders, the tilt of his head, that makes my breath catch.

"Well?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

He approaches slowly, his hands clasped behind his back. "The test came back negative, Ivy. You're not pregnant."

The relief hits me like a physical force, leaving me dizzy and light-headed. I slump forward, my elbows on my knees, my face in my hands.

I'm not pregnant.

I'm not trapped.

I'm still free.

"Thank you," I murmur, the words muffled against my palms.

I feel Plague's presence beside me, a solid warmth radiating comfort. He doesn't touch me, doesn't try to offer physical reassurance. But his voice is gentle when he speaks.

"I'm glad I could give you good news," he says. "And I want you to know that we can take steps to prevent this kind of scare in the future, if you'd like."

I look up at him, my brow furrowing. "What do you mean?"

He shifts slightly, and I get the impression he's choosing his words carefully. "There are ways to prevent pregnancy even during a heat. Methods that are safe and effective."

"Birth control," I say flatly. Even mentioning it at the Center would land you in solitary for a week. "Isn't that illegal?"

"Very," he says in a dry tone. "But I should warn you, it won't stop your heats from happening. In fact, they may be more intense. It'll only keep you from getting pregnant."

I can't help the dry chuckle that escapes me. "Are you assuming I want to sleep with any of you again?"

Even with the mask covering his face, I can sense his amusement. "No, that's not my assumption at all. That decision is entirely up to you, Ivy. I'm simply offering you a way to protect yourself, regardless of what choices you make in the future."

I consider his words, turning them over in my mind. It's a tempting offer. The idea of having control over my own body, of not being at the mercy of my biology... it's more than I ever dared to hope for.

"What does it involve?" I ask cautiously. "This birth control?"

Plague leans against the counter across from the bed, his posture open and relaxed. "There are a few options. The most effective type is an implant that goes in your arm. It lasts for several years before it will need to be removed."

I flinch at the word 'implant', memories of the Refinement Center's tracking devices flashing through my mind. Plague seems to sense my discomfort.

"There's also an injection," he continues smoothly. "It's slightly less effective than the implant, but it's less invasive. You'd need to get it every few months to maintain protection."

I nod slowly, processing the information. "And the implant... what exactly does that involve?"

"It's a small procedure," Plague explains. "I'd make a tiny incision in your upper arm and insert a small rod about the size of a matchstick. It releases hormones that prevent pregnancy. The procedure is quick, relatively painless, and leaves only a small scar."

I chew on my lower lip, considering. The idea of having something foreign in my body makes my skin crawl. "I think I'll stick with the shot for now."

Plague nods, his posture relaxing slightly. "The shot it is, then."

I watch as he moves around the infirmary with practiced ease, gathering supplies. My eyes track his movements, taking in the fluid grace of his body. He moves like a big cat.

Plague returns with the injection, his movements careful and precise as he swabs my upper arm with an alcohol wipe. "This might sting a bit," he warns, his voice low and soothing.

I nod, steeling myself for the pinch. But when his gloved fingers brush against my skin, positioning the needle, an unexpected shiver runs through me. It's not pain or fear that makes me tremble, but something else entirely. Something I thought I'd left behind with the last vestiges of my heat.

The needle slides in with barely a twinge, but I'm acutely aware of Plague's proximity, of the warmth radiating from his body. Even through the layers of his tactical gear and mask, I can smell him. A complex blend of antiseptic, citrus, leather, and him that makes my pulse quicken.

"There," he says, pressing a small bandage over the injection site. "All done."

His fingers linger for a moment longer than necessary, and I find myself leaning into the touch before I can stop myself. Heat blooms in my cheeks as I realize what I'm doing, and I jerk away.

"Thanks," I mutter, not meeting his gaze. I'm furious with myself for this weakness, this traitorous longing for connection.

"Any time, Ivy," Plague replies, his voice soft and filled with an emotion I can't quite place. "I mean that. If you ever need anything—medical or otherwise—I'm here."

I nod jerkily, sliding off the examination table. My mind is a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts and desires. Part of me wants to run, to put as much distance between myself and these dangerous, intoxicating alphas as possible.

But another part—a part I've tried so hard to silence—whispers of possibilities. Of what it might be like to be with them without the haze of heat clouding my judgment.

The thought sends a jolt of heat through my body, and I clamp down on it ruthlessly. I can't afford to indulge in these fantasies. Can't allow myself to be seduced by false promises of safety and belonging.

"I should go," I say, my voice sounding strained even to my own ears.

Plague tilts his head, studying me. "Of course," he says after a moment. "But, Ivy... I meant what I said. You don't have to be alone all the time. We're here if you need us. If you want us. "

His words are another blow, cracking the walls I've built around my heart. For a moment, I let myself imagine it—letting them in, accepting their protection, their care.

Maybe even their love.

But that's all fantasy. Reality crashes back in, cold and harsh. I remember my mother, broken and haunted by the alphas who were supposed to protect her. I remember the Center, with its pretty lies about refinement and purpose.

I give a noncommittal nod and pull open the clinic door, stepping out into the drafty hall beyond it. Better to go back to my reclusive ways. My feral ways.

The more time I spend around the Ghosts, the harder it is to remember why I can't have them.