Page 23 of Daisy (Omega Chosen #3)

Cassian

T he highway's a blur.

My hands grip the wheel too tight. Knuckles white. August keeps reaching for the radio, then stopping. Like he knows nothing's gonna sound right when we're driving back into hell.

Six hours on the road already. Left at dawn. Won't get back until after midnight if we're lucky. Six hours of her scent still stuck to my clothes, making my head fuzzy. Making every alpha instinct I have want to turn around. Get back to her. Make sure she's safe.

"You're going to break the steering wheel," August says softly.

I force my hands to loosen. Don't look at him. Can't. He'll see everything I'm trying not to think about.

"She flinched." The words come out rough. "This morning. When I moved."

August's scent shifts. That warm cedar thing he does when he's thinking, mixed with bergamot that means he's choosing his words careful.

"She's been conditioned to fear alphas," he says quietly.

"Look at me." I finally turn, meet his eyes. "Really look."

He does. Takes in the scars mapping my face. The broken nose. The way violence carved itself into every inch of me.

"I see you," he says. Simple. Like it's easy.

But it's not easy. Not for her.

"I'm exactly what she should be afraid of."

"Bullshit."

August doesn't curse much. When he does, it means something.

"You saved her."

"Hawk saved her. I just... showed up."

"You always show up."

His hand finds my arm. Warm through my shirt. The touch sends something calm through my alpha, settling the restless energy that's been eating at me since we left. The bond between us pulses in my chest, familiar and solid. One year of him teaching me that good things don't always get ripped away.

But this is different. Bigger.

I don't know how to do this. Don't know how to be around something so fragile without breaking it.

"Scent match," I say. Testing the words. "All of us."

"I know." There's wonder in his voice. Like he can't believe it either.

"What's it mean? For us."

The question sits heavy. What happens when fate decides you're supposed to share? What happens when that someone is everything you want but everything you'll ruin?

August thinks. I feel it through the bond. His mind working, careful and slow.

"Means we're lucky," he says finally.

"Lucky?" Tastes bitter. "She's terrified of me. Might always be."

"Maybe." He's honest. Always honest. "But you'll be the one she turns to when she needs you the most."

"How can you know that?"

"Because you're the one who shows up when it matters."

I remember the night we met. That alpha touching him. The rage that filled me, clean and simple. The certainty that I'd kill before I let him get hurt.

"That was different."

"Was it?" August shifts, faces me. "You saw someone in danger and you acted. No thinking. Just protecting."

The city comes into view. Smoke still rising. My stomach clenches.

"What if I'm too much for her?"

The words scrape my throat. August goes quiet.

"Then we take it slow," he says. "As slow as you both need."

I want to believe him. Want to trust that I won't fuck this up with my own hands.

"You'll have to share me," I say. The words feel strange coming out.

"I know," August says quietly.

"Doesn't that scare you?"

August considers. His scent warms, like he's almost laughing.

"You want to know what scares me?" he asks.

I nod.

"Losing you to feral rage. Watching you disappear because your alpha needs something I can't give." His fingers thread through mine. "She doesn't threaten us, Cass. She saves us."

The truth hits hard, settles deep in my bones. All those nights clawing at my own skin. The restless energy that felt like dying slow. The growing certainty that the madness would take me like it took my father.

But it went quiet when I scented her. Like something missing finally clicked into place. Like my alpha finally found what it was searching for.

"You really don't mind?"

"Mind?" He lets out a quiet laugh, and I feel the warmth of it through our bond. "Cassian, I'm incredibly grateful. It means I get to keep you."

Keep me. Forever. The words settle in my chest like a promise.

We drive quiet for a while. The bond steady between us, warm pulse in my chest that keeps me grounded. But the closer we get, the more tension builds. Instincts on high alert.

"What's the plan?" I ask.

"Our place first," August says. "Just clothes and cash."

"How long we got?"

"Before someone notices we're missing?" He thinks. "I missed my shift yesterday. If I don't show today, Mrs. Taylor might start asking questions."

The thought of someone tracking him down makes my hands clench. "We'll be fast."

"Fast but careful," August agrees.

The apartment building looks the same. Brick and mortar, nothing fancy. Home for a year now. First real home I've ever had. The thought of leaving it makes something twist in my gut.

But it's more than that. Here, it's just us.

August and me. Simple. I know how to be his alpha, how to protect what's mine.

But four alphas all scent matched to the same omega?

That's so rare it might as well be myth.

What happens when those instincts clash?

When we're all biologically programmed to be her primary protector?

What the fuck happens to what August and I have when we're part of something bigger?

"You sure about this?" I ask as we climb the stairs. "Once we do this, there's no going back. No normal life. No library job." I pause, the real fear clawing at my throat. "No just us."

August pauses at our door, key in hand. When he looks at me, his hazel eyes are steady.

"There was never going to be normal with you," he says. "And I wouldn't want it any other way."

But he's not addressing the real question.

The one I can't bring myself to ask out loud.

What happens when I fuck this up? Because I will.

I always do. I've destroyed every good thing I've ever touched, and now we're walking into something I don't understand with people I barely know, trying to protect someone so fragile she breaks just looking at me wrong.

And when it all falls apart - when the darkness gets too heavy, when I make the wrong call, when I prove I'm exactly as broken as I look - what happens to August then?

August unlocks the door, and I follow him inside, the weight of my fears settling heavier with each step.

The apartment smells like us when we step inside. Like cedar and rain and the life we built together. One year of this. One year of August reading to me when the darkness gets bad, of waking up without nightmares, of believing maybe I could have something good without destroying it.

And now we're walking away from all of it.

August moves efficient through the space, pulling clothes from drawers. Essentials only.

I watch him pack his favorite books. The ones with worn spines and dog-eared pages. Academic texts mixed with fiction. Some poetry book he reads to me when I can't sleep.

"Take them all," I say.

"We don't have room?—"

"Make room."

He looks at me, understanding. These books are pieces of who he is. I won't let him lose himself for this.

I grab our emergency cash from behind the loose baseboard. Three hundred in small bills. We'll add it to whatever we can get from Dante's card. Should be enough for what we need.

That's when we hear footsteps in the hallway. August goes rigid.

The knock comes soft but insistent.

"August, dear? I know you're in there. I brought you some soup."

"Mrs. Taylor," he breathes.

Shit. August's scent spikes with distress. This woman has been nothing but kind to him.

"I have to answer," he whispers.

Every instinct screams no. Too dangerous. But I see the pain in his face. The guilt.

"Make it fast," I growl.

August opens the door just enough to see her. Sweet beta woman, gray hair and kind eyes. She's holding a container of something that smells like chicken broth.

"Oh, August!" Relief floods her voice. "You look terrible. Are you alright?"

"Just a bug," August lies smooth. "Been sleeping it off."

"Well, this will help. My grandmother's recipe." She tries to hand him the container.

"That's very kind, but?—"

"Nonsense. You're skin and bones." Her scent carries concern. Genuine worry for him.

I stay hidden in the bedroom, but I can feel August's conflict through our bond. This is what he's giving up. Community. People who care about him. Normal life where the biggest worry is catching a cold.

"Mrs. Taylor, I really appreciate this, but?—"

"Is someone in there with you?" Her voice sharpens. "I heard voices."

Fuck. August's scent spikes with panic. I move to the doorway, let her see me. Keep my posture relaxed. Non-threatening as I can manage.

"Ma'am," I say quiet.

Her eyes go wide. Take in my size, my scars. But August steps closer to me, and that seems to settle her some.

"Oh, Cassian." Her voice softens with recognition. "How are you, dear?"

"Good, ma'am," I say quiet.

"Well." She rallies, focuses back on August. "You just make sure you eat this. And come back to work when you're feeling better. The library isn't the same without you."

"I will," August promises. Another lie.

When she's gone, August leans against the closed door. His scent carries grief.

"She's going to worry," he says quietly.

"She'll be safe. That matters more."

August nods, but I can see the weight of leaving this behind in his expression. Not regret - never that. Just the heaviness of saying goodbye to the life we built.

"We're doing the right thing," he says, more to himself than to me.

The certainty in his voice steadies something in my chest. Because he's right. We are doing the right thing.

"Then let's finish this," he says.

We pack fast after that. Two bags each. Basics only. I grab my tools, the good ones I use for legitimate work. August takes his books, carefully wrapping a small stuffed owl in one of his sweaters. Something from his childhood, worn soft from years of comfort. The poetry book goes on top.