Page 18

Chapter 18

Asher

Harlow brought cookies - the scent of vanilla and butter fills the air as she hands them to him from a paper bag.

“Freya made these for you,” she tells him. Not answering his question.

His face lights up. “Can I have one now?”

“After dinner,” I say, and he pouts but doesn’t argue.

Harlow shrugs. “You have to listen to the alphas in the house. They are the bossy ones.”

“Are you bossy?” Jagger asks.

Harlow’s fingers thread through his hair. It's so natural, she doesn't even realize as she glances at me, wondering how to react to his question.

She lowers, kneeling in front of him. She touches his face with such tenderness that her omega nature shines through. The gesture is so maternal it makes my chest tight.

Damn her resistance.

“I can be,” she says, but she tilts her head to me and smiles. “Are you going to show me your home?”

Jagger takes her hand again as he tells where all the rooms in the house are. I follow behind as he leads Harlow through our home, watching her reactions.

When we pass the study, Oliver and Parker are huddled close, their whispered conversation cutting off abruptly. The tension is thick enough to taste.

Their eyes follow her as we walk by and both men nod to me as I pass.

“This is your room!” Jagger announces, pushing open the door to the room we prepared for Harlow.

I hang back, studying her face as she takes in the nest we built. The bed is piled with our clothes - shirts, sweaters, things carrying our scents. Enough for her to decide what she likes.

Hopefully, she’ll want a bit of everything.

Something flickers across her expression as she picks up one of Oliver’s hoodies.

“It’s beautiful, but...” She inhales deeply, her brow furrowing. “Something’s missing.”

The scents mingle in the air—coconut, vanilla, and pineapple. But she’s right. There’s an emptiness, a gap where another note should be. We’ve always thought that it was our omega’s scent that was missing.

“Do you think your pack is complete?” she asks suddenly, turning to me.

“Do you?” I reply softly .

She shakes her head, opening her mouth to respond when a knock echoes through the house.

I glance at my watch. I groan. “It’s the social worker.”

I catch the flash of panic in her eyes before she smooths her expression.

“Okay, let’s pretend we’re a pack,” she says.

“Just be real,” I tell her.

I watch Ms. Jenkins follow us through the house, her pen scratching against her clipboard.

Tension radiates through Harlow's body as I keep my hand at the small of her back.

“And this is our shared living space,” I explain, gesturing to the open-plan area with my free hand. “We believe in maintaining both private and communal areas for pack harmony.”

Ms. Jenkins clears her throat. “How exactly do the pack dynamics work with multiple alphas and one omega?”

Harlow’s shoulders stiffen when I grip them and pull her close, pressing a kiss to her head. “Today she’s mine,” I murmur, playing my part.

“Oh.”

“Yes, we each have designated time. Two days each with Harlow individually, and we share one day together,” I explain, feeling Harlow’s sharp intake of breath against my chest .

Ms. Jenkins’ cheeks flush pink as she scribbles on her form. “That’s...very organized.”

“Structure is important for pack stability,” Parker adds from behind me, his voice tight. “Especially with Jagger.”

“About that.” Ms. Jenkins shuffles her papers. “I’ll need to discuss Jake’s proposal. He already has a lawyer who has submitted his application and it will be heard next week.”

“Next week?” Parker’s voice hitches a notch.

She nods. “So, I’ll be making several visits before finalizing anything, but having a bonded pack that’s raised Jagger since infancy weighs heavily in your favor. And now you also have an omega.”

We haven't bonded yet.

I can’t tell her that as I stare at Parker, wondering what he wants to say.

Parker’s eyes dart to Harlow, who’s gone rigid beside me. Her face drains of color as the implications sink in.

“We understand,” I say smoothly, feeling Harlow’s subtle attempt to pull away. “We’ll be ready for your next visit.”

The social worker nods, marking off another box. “Excellent. Now, about the sleeping arrangements...”

I follow behind as Jagger tugs Harlow down the hallway, practically skipping with excitement.

“This is my room!” He flings open his door. “Look at all my toys and space stuff!”

Harlow’s face softens as she smiles at Jagger, who so animatedly shows Mrs. Jenkins his entire room.

“And this...” Jagger pulls her toward the next door. “This is where Mom sleeps!”

Jagger has remembered everything we taught him, but the little boy is like a sponge for taking things in .

“I do.” Harlow’s hand naturally finds its way to his hair, stroking it gently.

The moment he opens it, Harlow’s demeanor shifts. Her spine straightens as she steps forward, her hand trailing over the carefully arranged nest like she is seeing it for the time.

“I apologize, Mrs. Jenkins, but as an omega, I’m very particular about who enters my private space.” Her voice carries a quiet authority I’ve never heard before.

Mrs. Jenkins nods, jotting something down. “Of course. Though I must ask - when did you present as an omega? Your previous employment records list you as an alpha.”

My muscles tense, but Harlow doesn’t miss a beat.

“Recently. The transition has been...enlightening.”

Mrs. Jenkins squints at her. “You look so familiar. Have we met before?”

“Probably seen her at the games,” Oliver cuts in smoothly. “She’s always with the team.”

Harlow sways slightly, her hand going to her temple. “I’m sorry, but would anyone mind if I rest for a bit? The scents are...” She trails off.

“Of course.”

I step forward. “I should stay with her.”

Mrs. Jenkins beams. “Oh yes, that’s very appropriate. We can continue our tour downstairs.”

As the others file away, I guide Harlow into the nest, watching her collapse against the pillows with a shaky exhale.

I kneel on the floor beside her as she grimaces.

Her hand presses against her temple. “My head is killing me,” she mumbles. “And my muscles feel like I’ve been hit by a truck.”

“Would you like a massage? It might help with the tension. ”

Her eyes snap to mine. “I couldn’t. It’s not appropriate here.”

“I’m a professional, Harlow.”

She hesitates, and bites her lip before saying, “Okay.”

“Let me get some oil. Take off your top.”

She squeaks, and I chuckle as I leave her room.

With her face stuffed in the pillow, I work my fingers into her shoulders, feeling the thick knots of tension. But her skin feels clammy and far too hot.

I press my hand over her forehead. “Your temperature is high. I’m just going to get a thermometer.”

“I’m fine,” she groans. “I just need to go home.”

I leave her room, finding Oliver and Parker at the front door waving off Mrs. Jenkins, and tell them how sick Harlow seems to be getting.

Oliver’s face drains of color as I describe Harlow’s symptoms. His muscles bunch, ready to sprint upstairs.

“She needs us,” he growls, but Parker’s hand shoots out, gripping his shoulder.

“Wait!” Parker’s voice carries that commanding tone that even makes the other alphas pause. We follow him to the kitchen where he yanks open a drawer, pulling out a digital thermometer. “Get water and Tylenol.”

“But—”

“Now, Oliver. ”

“You go back to her,” Parker orders, pressing the thermometer into my palm. “We’ll be right there.”

When I return to the nest, Harlow’s shirt is back on and she’s curled into a tight ball, her dark hair plastered to her forehead. Sweat beads along her hairline, and her breathing comes in short gasps.

“Harlow?” I touch her shoulder.

She makes a strangled sound, then bolts upright. Her hand clamps over her mouth as she stumbles toward the bathroom.

I follow, catching her just as she drops to her knees in front of the toilet bowl.

Her body heaves as she empties her stomach.

I gather her hair back, my other hand rubbing circles on her spine. The heat radiating through her shirt alarms me.

“I’m sorry,” she chokes out between retches. “This is so embarrassing.”

“Don’t apologize. You’re sick.”

She slumps against the cool tile floor, pressing her cheek to the surface. “Everything hurts.”

I hear footsteps approaching and turn to see Oliver and Kai with supplies. But right now, all I can focus on is how small she looks curled up on the bathroom floor.

“Did we do this to her?” Oliver asks outside the bathroom.

I shrug my shoulders. “I don’t know.”

"What did you do, Olly?" Jagger asks as he steps into the bathroom.

“Nothing, Jagger. We all get sick. These should help.” Parker holds the tablets. Always the practical one of the three of us.

Inside the bathroom, Parker hands two tablets to Harlow and a glass of water. "Take these."

Her gaze is on Parker and Oliver as they move around her with the ease of wolves eyeing their prey .

Harlow rises up on her knees as she watches the alphas watching her. “You guys will be amazing with your omega when you find her.”

Her hand presses over her breastbone and over her nipple.

Parker and Oliver exchange a look.

“Have you ever been close to finding one?” she asks softly before she takes another gulp of her water.

Oliver’s throat works as he swallows. “Closer than ever.”

“I need the toilet,” Jagger says, walking closer to where Harlow is.

“Not this one, buddy,” Parker says. “Come on.”

When Jagger leaves for the bathroom, she reaches under her shirt, shifting uncomfortably, rubbing at her chest. “Sorry, I’ve got to get this nipple bar out. It’s been bothering me all day.”

“Maybe it’s infected,” I tell her. “That would make you feel sick.”

Wincing, she removes it, throwing it straight in the trash. “I’ll have to buy a new one tomorrow.”

Oliver lifts Harlow off the bathroom floor, her body limp against his chest. He sets her on the counter, steadying her with one hand while I rummage through the cabinet.

I unwrap a new toothbrush, squeezing paste onto the bristles. “Open up.”

She parts her lips, letting me guide the toothbrush inside her mouth. Her eyes flutter closed as I gently brush her teeth.

“Can you take over?” I ask Oliver.

“I can do it,” Harlow moans.

“Let me,” Oliver insists.

I head to the bedroom, fluffing pillows and pulling out the silk pajamas we bought her just in case she needed them. The soft fabric slides through my fingers as I return to find her spitting into the sink.

“These might help you feel better,” I say, offering the pale blue set consisting of shorts and a camisole top .

She touches the fabric, then shakes her head. “I can’t stay.”

“Why not?”

“I need to go home to Freya.” Her voice is weak, just a whisper.

“Sleep it off first,” I tell her. “Once the painkillers kick in, I’ll drive you home myself.”

Tiny footsteps pad into the bathroom. Jagger appears in his rocket ship pajamas, rubbing his eyes.

“Night, night, Harlow.” He wraps his arms around her legs.

She manages a smile, ruffling his hair. “Sweet dreams, buddy.”

Parker scoops him up. “Time for bed, champ.”

After they leave, Oliver and I help Harlow to change into the fresh clothes.

And then we watch as she tries to settle into the nest.

For thirty minutes we sat on the floor beside her, watching her toss and turn in the nest, her skin glistening with sweat despite the cool air.

Oliver strokes her hair while I monitor her pulse. It’s too fast, too erratic and we are starting to worry.

Oliver breaks the silence. “Can we sit by you on the nest and hold you? Just until you fall asleep?”

“We just want to help you feel better,” I say softly.

She hesitates, her fingers twisting in the sheets. Tears leaking from her closed eyes. “Everything hurts. Make it stop.”

“Tell us what you need,” Oliver pleads, his voice cracking.

She whimpers, clutching at her chest. “I need... I need...”

“Something’s wrong.” My medical training kicks in as I catalog her symptoms. “This isn’t a normal fever.”

“What do you need, sweetheart?” Oliver leans closer, trying to catch her mumbled words.

“Carver.” Her eyes snap open, glassy and unfocused. “Please, I need Carver. He’s...”

My heart sinks as Oliver’s jaw clenches. But before either of us can respond, her eyes roll back and she goes limp.

“Harlow!” I check her pulse again, it’s weak, but there. “Call Dr. Samuels. Now!”

Oliver fumbles for his phone while I check she’s still breathing. I hold her cheek, her skin burns against my palm as I listen.

“Tell her something’s triggering a severe physiological response,” I tell Oliver as he paces, phone pressed against his ear, talking to the doctor.

“Or her body is fighting our scents,” he finishes grimly as he disconnects the call. “Or us.”

“Is she on her way?”

Oliver nods.

I swallow hard, suddenly her chest lifts and she gasps.

I stare at Oliver. “We need to call Carver.”

“No. This might be her heat starting.”

“Oliver, we have to—”

“Fine, but I’m not happy about it.” He groans into his phone, “Call Carver Sinclair.”

I gather Harlow closer, monitoring her vitals as Oliver’s voice fills the room. “Sinclair? Get here. Now. It’s Harlow.”

Her fingers weakly grip my shirt as she drifts in and out of consciousness.

I press my forehead to hers, my chest aching. “Hold on, little omega. Help is coming.”