The Omega's Desperate Escape

Chapter Sixteen

ALEX

She burns against my chest as I carry her deeper into the penthouse, past rooms that fold in on themselves, where shadows breathe and walls remember. The knife wound has closed under my hands, but the fever raging through her small frame speaks of something far more dangerous than blood loss.

Heat. After six years of chemical suppression, her omega nature has finally broken free.

The Ulfric paces beneath my skin, ancient consciousness recognizing what my modern mind struggles to process. Mate, he whispers in the Old Tongue. Our mate enters her season.

I lay her on the bed in my private quarters, watching her face contort with pain even in unconsciousness. Sweat beads along her hairline, and her scent—jasmine and vanilla and pure omega—fills the room like smoke from a sacred fire. My control, honed through five years of mountain discipline, threatens to crack like ice under spring sun.

The suppressants didn't just fail. They catastrophically collapsed the moment she came within proximity of both her fated mates. The realization hits like cold mountain water. Both. Not just me, but Venture as well. The universe's twisted sense of humor—one omega, two alphas, all bound by threads that predate written history.

"Oliver." My head of security answers on the first ring, British accent crisp despite the late hour. "I need the sensory deprivation chamber prepared. Medical-grade sedatives from the private stock. And contact Dr. Wagner. Tell her the suppressants failed."

"Sir?" Alarm bleeds through his professional reserve. "Is the omega—"

"Going into heat after six years of dormancy. We have perhaps an hour before it fully manifests."

The preparations take thirty minutes. I spend them sitting beside her bed, channeling what power I can to ease her fever without triggering worse reactions. Her body fights itself—omega instincts demanding release while years of conditioning scream resistance. In her delirium, she whispers names. Marcus. Billie. And disturbingly often, mine.

"Alex..." Her eyes flutter open, pupils blown wide with fever. The brown has gone molten, flecks of gold swimming through like embers in dark honey. "Something's wrong. I'm... burning."

"I know." I brush damp hair from her forehead, the touch sending electricity arcing between us. "You're going into heat, Jinx. The suppressants failed."

"No." She tries to sit up, panics when her limbs won't cooperate. "No, I haven't—six years—I can't—"

"Shh." I gather her against me, letting my scent wrap around her. Pine and storm, alpha presence that makes her omega instincts momentarily quiet. "I'm going to help you. There's a room, sensory deprivation. With sedatives, we can minimize the worst of it."

"My pack—"

"I'll tell them you're safe. That you're with me." I lift her again, noting how perfectly she fits in my arms. The Ulfric rumbles approval, ancient satisfaction at holding what belongs to us. "Trust me."

She laughs, delirious and bitter. "Trust the CEO who flies and heals wounds with glowing hands? Sure. Why not. Maybe I'll wake up and this will all be suppressant withdrawal."

The sensory deprivation chamber occupies a space between spaces, accessible only through shadows I part like curtains. The monks called it void-walking—stepping through the dark spaces that exist between light. Inside, everything is soft greys and perfect climate control. The bed floats on magnetic fields, removing all pressure points. Sound dampeners eliminate every frequency that might agitate. Even scent is filtered to nothing.

I lay her down, already pulling the sedative from its case. "This will help. You'll sleep through the worst of it."

"How long?" Her hand catches mine, grip stronger than her fever should allow.

"Three days. Maybe five, given how long you've suppressed." I find the vein in her arm, slide the needle home with practiced ease. "I'll monitor everything. Keep you safe."

"From who?" Her eyes are already glazing as the sedative takes hold. "From you? From Venture? From myself?"

All three, I think but don't say. Instead, I watch her sink into drugged sleep, her body finally relaxing as chemistry overrides biology. The Ulfric snarls at leaving her, but there are calls to make.

Her pack first—I have their numbers from employment files. The bear, Hank, answers with suspicion thick enough to cut.

"Where is she?" No preamble. Pack protectiveness in every syllable.

"Safe. There was an attack—hunters from her past. She was injured but I've healed her." I choose my words carefully, aware that every supernatural in Toronto knows to some degree what I am. "She's going through something. A medical situation related to her suppressants. She'll be with me for several days."

"Bullshit. We're coming—"

"No." I let power bleed into my voice, just enough to make him pause. "The hunters were from Cascade pack. There may be more. Keep the others safe. I'll protect her."

"Why should we trust you?"

"Because I killed three men without hesitation to keep her breathing. Because I have resources beyond your imagination. Because..." I pause, the truth balanced on my tongue like a blade. "Because she's my mate."

Silence stretches, taut as wire. Then: "f**k. Does she know?"

"Not yet. For now, just keep yourselves safe. I'll send security to watch your building."

"If anything happens to her—"

"It won't." The Ulfric's certainty bleeds through. "I'd burn this city to ash before letting harm touch her again."

The next call requires more finesse. Venture's private line rings twice before he answers, voice already sharp with suspicion.

"Hartford. To what do I owe the unexpected pleasure?"

"Your hunters are dead. The ones you were tracking into the city."

A pause, weighted with calculation. "My people handled that cleanup hours ago. Messy work. Almost like something inhuman tore them apart."

"Jinx was injured in the attack. She's with me now."

The temperature drops through the phone, Venture's power bleeding through electronic signals. "Where. Is. She."

"Recovering. She was stabbed with a silver blade." I move to my office window, watching the city lights flicker like earthbound stars. "She'll be my guest for several days."

"Like hell—"

"She's going into heat, Venture."

The words hang between us like a blade waiting to drop. I can practically hear his wolf rising, the growl building in his chest that makes lesser alphas submit on instinct.

"You're lying. She's been on suppressants—"

"Which failed. Spectacularly. She took a knife meant for me, Venture. The least I can do is see her through this safely."

"I'm coming over."

"No." The word cracks with enough force to rattle the windows. "She's sedated. In isolation. The last thing she needs is alphas circling while her body remembers what it's been denied."

"You think you can keep me from her?" His laugh holds promises written in blood and moonlight. "I own her building. I've protected her for months. She's mine—"

"She's my fated mate."

The confession escapes before wisdom can catch it. The Ulfric purrs approval at the claim voiced aloud, made real through acknowledgment.

Venture's laughter starts low, builds to something unhinged. "Your fated mate? That's rich, Hartford. That's f*****g priceless."

"I don't see the humor."

"Don't you?" His voice drops to something deadly soft. "Tell me, ancient one—yes, I know you're not human, not with the way you move through shadows—when you scent her, what does your wolf say?"

I remain silent, but my hand clenches on the phone hard enough to crack the casing.

"Mine says mate too." His words land like physical blows. "Has since the first night I saw her fighting in that alley. Fated mate, the moon's own blessing, all that mystical bullshit our kind believes. So tell me, Hartford—how do two alphas share one fated mate?"

The impossibility of it makes my head spin. Two alphas, one omega, all bound by fate's threads. It happens in the oldest stories, tales told before packs crystalized into rigid hierarchies. But not in modern reality. Not in a world of territories and corporate warfare.

"She doesn't know," I say finally. "About either of us."

"No. She's been too busy surviving to notice destiny circling." His laugh turns bitter as winter wind. "Six years of suppressants because some monster tried to claim her at fifteen. And now she gets two more monsters deciding her fate."

"I'm protecting her."

"You're keeping her. There's a difference." But the fight bleeds from his voice, replaced by something worse—understanding. "Three days, you said?"

"Perhaps five. Her body needs time to process six years of suppression."

"I want to see her after. When she's coherent. When she can choose with clear eyes who she trusts."

"If she wants to see you."

"She will." Confidence threads through every word like silver through ore. "Whatever else we are, Hartford, we're hers. And somewhere beneath all that fear and chemistry, she knows it too."

The call ends without goodbye. I stand at my window, watching Toronto sprawl beneath me like a map of possibilities and threats. Somewhere in my penthouse, our mate—the acknowledgment still feels foreign on my tongue—dreams through her first heat in six years. Somewhere across the city, Venture plots and plans and rages at being kept from her.

Dr. Wagner calls as dawn bleeds grey across the skyline. "The blood sample you sent. Alexander, what is she?"

"That's what I'm trying to determine."

"Her markers are... unusual. Pre-divergence sequences I've only seen in theoretical models. If she's been suppressing this for six years..." She trails off, but I hear the weight of implications.

"Tell me."

"When she comes out of heat, when her body finishes remembering what it is—she won't be standard omega anymore. Maybe she never was. The suppressants weren't just hiding her heats, they were containing something else. Something that recognized you and presumably this other alpha as compatible matches for traits that shouldn't exist in modern wolves."

"What traits?"

"The kind that predate pack structure entirely. When wolves were closer to gods than animals. Be careful, Alexander. And be ready. Whatever emerges from that heat might be more than any of us expect."

I end the call and return to the sensory deprivation chamber. She floats in artificial peace, but even sedated, her body fights. Muscles twitch with dreams. Soft sounds escape her lips—not quite human, not quite wolf. Something older, more primal.

The Ulfric settles at her proximity, but questions pile like snow in a blizzard. Why two mates? What makes her special enough to bind two alphas who should be killing each other over the claim? What power has she been suppressing along with her heats?

I pull a chair close to her pod, unable to leave despite the work waiting. Her fever has stabilized, the sedatives holding her in that space between sleep and death where healing happens. But through the observation window, I can see the changes already beginning. Her skin holds a subtle luminescence, as if moonlight runs through her veins. Her features, already striking, seem to refine with each passing hour.

My phone buzzes. A text from Venture: I know what you are, Yeshi. The monks of Shambhala speak of you in whispers. But even the Ulfric cannot claim what belongs to two.

So he's done his research. Found the threads that connect Alexander Hartford to a monastery in Tibet, to powers older than cities. I text back: And I know what you are, youngest Venture. Your family's bloodline carries its own gifts. Perhaps that's why she needs us both.

Or perhaps the universe enjoys cruel jokes.

And when has that ever worked out for our kind?

No response, but I feel his presence like pressure before a storm. He's watching, waiting, held back only by the knowledge that disturbing her heat could cause more harm than good. But the moment she's coherent, he'll come. And then we'll face the impossible question of how two alphas share what nature says should belong to one.

The old stories whisper of such bonds. Before packs became rigid structures, before the moon's gift became codified into law, there were triads. Powerful omegas who required more than one alpha could provide, who bound multiple mates through bonds that transcended jealousy. But those are myths from a time when gods walked openly.

Then again, I carry the Ulfric's consciousness. Venture's bloodline traces back to the first Quebec alphas. And Jinx... whatever she is, she's waking to power that's been sleeping since the world was young.

Perhaps myths are just history waiting to repeat itself.

The sun rises fully, painting my penthouse in shades of gold and shadow. I should leave, handle the corporation that provides my cover, deal with the thousand small dramas that come with being Alexander Hartford. Instead, I stay beside her pod, watching her chest rise and fall, counting breaths like a meditation.

The Ulfric whispers patience, but underneath runs a current of anticipation. Whatever comes next, whatever she chooses, everything changes when she wakes.

The game Venture and I have been playing around each other ends. The careful distance we've maintained dissolves. Either we find a way to share, or we tear Toronto apart in the trying.

But that's a problem for when she wakes. For now, I guard her sleep and wonder what dreams visit an omega whose true nature has been caged for six years.

The city breathes below, unaware that ancient patterns are reasserting themselves in glass towers and shadowed alleys. That myths walk in designer suits and forge empires from will and want.