Page 19 of Daisy (Omega Chosen #3)

Daisy

T he van feels different today.

I can't decide if that's good or bad.

I'm sitting cross-legged on the mattress that takes up most of the back space, trying to make myself as small as possible in the corner. The clothes August brought me yesterday—soft grey sweater, comfortable jeans—should make me feel better. They do, sort of. But I still feel exposed. Uncertain.

Four alphas and a beta, all in this confined space with me.

The logical part of my brain knows they saved me. Knows they've been nothing but kind. But twenty years of conditioning doesn't disappear overnight, and my hands won't stop trembling.

And then there's the other thing. The thing I can't stop thinking about but don't know how to say.

I haven't taken my blockers since yesterday morning.

Or my heat suppressants. Everything I need to keep my omega biology under control is back at the Omega House, probably destroyed in the attack.

My scent is getting stronger by the hour, and I can feel my body starting to.

.. respond. Not to heat, not yet, but to their presence. To their alpha scents.

What if I go into heat? What if I can't control myself around them? What if they realize how much their scents affect me?

The thought makes panic crawl up my throat. I press my lips together, swallow it down. How do I even ask for help with something like that? How do I tell them I need medications I've never had to ask for before?

Gunner moves carefully around the space, arranging pillows on the mattress. Extra pillows that definitely weren't there when we first got in the van. I watch him position them just so, making sure the softest ones are closest to where I'm sitting.

"Where did these come from?" I ask quietly, my voice barely above a whisper.

Gunner's cheeks turn pink. "Housekeeping cart," he mumbles.

"You stole them?"

"Borrowed," August corrects with a small grin, settling against the van wall but keeping his distance. "They had plenty."

I stare at the pillows, something tight in my chest. He stole pillows. For me. Because he thought I might be uncomfortable.

"You didn't have to do that," I whisper.

Gunner's green eyes meet mine briefly before he looks away. "You needed to be comfortable."

The simple statement makes something flutter in my chest, but I'm too scared to examine what that might mean. Behind me, I hear Gunner close the van door and settle into the driver's seat, ready to take us wherever we need to go.

"Where are we going?" I ask, keeping my eyes down.

"Smaller town," Gunner calls from the driver's seat, his voice carefully gentle. "Place called Millbridge. Should be safe for a few days."

I nod, not trusting myself to say more. Safe. Nothing has felt safe in so long that I'm not sure I'd recognize it anymore.

The silence stretches, broken only by the rumble of the engine and the soft sound of tires on asphalt. I tuck my hands under my thighs to hide the shaking, trying to focus on breathing. In and out. One breath at a time.

"We should play cards," August suggests after a while, pulling a worn deck from his jacket pocket. "Pass the time."

My chest tightens. "I don't know how to play cards."

The admission slips out before I can stop it, and immediately I wish I could take it back. Now they'll think I'm stupid. Useless. What kind of person doesn't know how to play simple card games?

"That's okay," August says gently. "We can teach you something easy."

'You don't have to. I don't want to be a bother.'"

"You're not a bother," Hawk says from beside me, his voice warm. "We've got time to kill anyway."

I look up at him hesitantly. The alpha beside me has intricate tattoos covering his arms. Dark designs that wind up from his wrists and disappear beneath his leather jacket.

His dark hair is tousled, and there's something about the way he smiles that doesn't match his intimidating appearance.

It's warm, almost gentle, and makes my chest feel a little less tight

"And you're allowed to do things just because you want to," August adds softly. "Not because you have to or because someone expects it."

Because I want to. The concept feels foreign. When's the last time someone asked what I wanted instead of what I was supposed to want?

They settle on Go Fish, which August explains is simple enough. Ask for cards you need, draw from the pile if they don't have them, try to collect sets of four. I nod along, trying to follow, but my hands shake as I hold my cards.

"Take your time," August says quietly. "No pressure."

Dante is already sitting cross-legged on the mattress near the wall, and when August deals him in, I realize my breathing has gotten easier. Maybe because he's not looming over me. Maybe because he's being so careful not to crowd me.

The first few rounds are stilted. I ask for cards in barely audible whispers, jumping slightly whenever someone speaks too loudly. But slowly—so slowly I barely notice it happening—I start to relax.

"Daisy," Hawk says softly when it's his turn. "Do you have any threes?"

"Go fish," I say, my voice a little louder than before. I feel proud when I remember the right response.

"Damn," he mutters good-naturedly, and the casual way he swears around me—like I'm a real person, not a delicate flower—makes something warm flicker in my chest.

A few rounds later, when I lay down my first set of cards, Hawk's grin widens. "Look at that. Natural card shark."

The praise makes heat flood my cheeks, but not the bad kind. The good kind. When's the last time someone was pleased with me for something so simple?

"Hawk," I say during my next turn, and my voice comes out stronger than before. "Do you have any queens?"

He looks up from his own cards with a grin. "Ooh, going for royalty. I like your style, princess."

The nickname should bother me. Should remind me of Uncle's world, of being treated like a political chess piece. But the way Hawk says it—warm and playful instead of condescending—makes it sound different.

Like maybe being a princess doesn't have to mean being powerless.

"She's getting good at this," August observes as I collect another set.

"Too good," Hawk grumbles, but he sounds pleased rather than annoyed.

I duck my head, trying to hide my smile. But it's getting harder to contain the happiness bubbling up in my chest. When's the last time I felt proud of myself? When's the last time I felt... fun?

The game continues as the van winds through mountain roads, and something shifts.

The tight knot in my chest starts to loosen.

I catch myself watching their faces instead of staring at my cards.

Notice the way Dante's eyes crinkle when August makes a joke.

How Hawk throws his head back when he laughs at his own stories.

They're not performing for me. Not putting on careful faces to manage the delicate omega. They're just... themselves.

"Dante," I say during my next turn, then pause. I've been watching him, noticing the way he holds his cards, the slight tells in his expression. Building courage. "Do you have any aces?"

His eyebrows rise slightly, and something that might be pride crosses his face. "Good catch." He hands over three cards.

I can't help the small triumphant sound that escapes me.

"She's getting dangerous," August says with a grin.

"I'm creating a monster," Hawk declares dramatically, clutching his remaining cards to his chest. "She's going to clean us all out."

The casual way they tease me, like I'm one of them instead of something fragile that might break, makes warmth bloom in my chest.

We play a few more rounds, the conversation flowing easier now.

Hawk tells a ridiculous story about a customer at their garage who tried to pay for repairs with a live chicken.

August shares a funny incident from the library involving an elderly woman and a romance novel that was "too spicy. " Even I manage a small laugh.

The sound surprises me. When's the last time I laughed? Really laughed?

"That's a good sound," Dante says quietly, and when I look at him, there's something soft in his expression.

"What?" I ask.

"Your laugh. It's... nice to hear."

Heat floods my cheeks, but it's the good kind of heat. The kind that makes me feel seen instead of scrutinized.

"Dante," August says after another round, his tone shifting slightly. More serious. "Can I ask you something?"

I tense automatically, but Dante just nods. "Sure."

"What made you become a guard? At the Omega House, I mean."

The question hangs in the air, and I realize I'm holding my breath. I've wondered the same thing but never had the courage to ask.

Dante is quiet for a long moment, his fingers straightening his cards. "I thought I could make a difference from the inside. Make sure the omegas were actually protected."

The honesty in his voice surprises me. "Did you?" The question slips out before I can stop it, and I immediately want to take it back.

But Dante doesn't look offended. If anything, his expression grows sadder. "Not as much as I wanted to."

"But you tried," I find myself saying, my voice stronger than before.

"I tried. I failed you, though." His ice-blue eyes meet mine. "Should have done more."

The quiet pain in his voice makes my chest ache. "You saved me."

"Not soon enough," he says quietly. "I watched you being paraded around for years. Should have acted sooner."

"You stayed with me when I was scared," I say, the words coming easier now. "You gave me your jacket when I was in shock."

I remember being so terrified I could barely think, but his scent had been there - honey and clove cutting through the chaos. Even when I was too scared to understand it, some part of me had recognized safety.

"You needed someone to see you," he says quietly. "Not the Governor's niece or a political asset. Just Daisy."

The way he says my name—like it matters, like I matter—makes my eyes prick with tears.

"I see you too," I whisper.

The van grows quiet except for the soft sounds of breathing and shuffling cards. Outside, trees blur past in shades of green and gold, but inside our small space, something has shifted. The air feels thicker, warmer.

"I'm getting tired," I murmur as we finish another round, exhaustion pulling at me. The emotional weight of opening up, of trusting, is more draining than I expected.

"Lie down," Gunner calls gently from the front. "We've got a few more hours."

I look around the mattress, suddenly uncertain again. Where am I supposed to go? In my old life, these decisions were made for me. Here, I have to choose.

The freedom is still terrifying. But maybe... maybe it's wonderful too.

"Wherever you're comfortable," August says, reading my hesitation. "No wrong choices."

I settle down slowly, my head ending up near Dante's thigh. He goes completely still, like he's afraid any movement might scare me away. There's something about his scent—warm honey and clove—that makes my muscles relax despite my nerves.

"Is this okay?" I whisper, suddenly worried I'm being too bold.

"Yeah," he breathes, his voice rough with something I don't recognize. "It's perfect."

His hand hovers over my hair for a moment, then settles carefully on my shoulder instead. Safe. Respectful. But the weight of it makes warmth bloom through my entire body.

Hawk shifts closer, not touching but near enough that I can feel his presence like a shield. August continues shuffling cards quietly, the soft sound soothing. And from the front, I can still hear Gunner humming something under his breath while he drives, Cassian's quiet presence a steady anchor.

I can smell them all now, really smell them.

Gunner's warm sandalwood and wild fig that makes me feel safe.

Dante's honey and clove that somehow protects me.

August's cedar and parchment that grounds me.

Even traces of Hawk's leather and caramel, mixing with what must be Cassian's rain and musk from the front.

It should be overwhelming. Four alphas and a beta, all their scents layering together in this confined space. Instead, it feels like... home. Like something I never knew I was missing.

All of them. Surrounding me. Protecting me without caging me.

For the first time in my life, I'm falling asleep by choice. Surrounded by people who want nothing from me except for me to feel safe.

And I do. Finally, impossibly, I feel safe.