### Chapter 7 **Emmeline** “We're going to the doctor’s,” Evander declares, his gaze fierce as it bores down into me. “This isn’t normal behavior, Emmeline.” Yet, can we truly define what’s normal? A scent match transcends mere attraction; it embodies a profound, innate connection that fortifies one's very essence. This bond—ferociously vital—undermines everything if left unfulfilled, especially so close to my heat. It has to be normal. It has to make sense. “It could be because I’m not with my scent matches, Evander,” I reply, forcing my voice above a whisper, though it rasps like gravel from dejection and thirst. My scent glands hum and pulse, aching for… desires I dare not entertain. I manage a tense smile, a façade I struggle to maintain. “I’m okay—just in a bit of pain.” If the sensation of my bones wanting to collapse beneath me counts as 'a little bit.' “You shouldn’t be in pain at all!” His hands slam against the table, sending my nerves spiraling along with the dishes rattling under the force of his frustration. I recoil, my scent twisting in the air—sharp, acidic, tinged with sheer distress. It invades my skin as I instinctively retreat within myself. I resist the primal urge to emanate more, to fragrance the room with my desperate plea for comfort and assurance, suppressing a deeper instinct to protect myself from the storm that is my brother’s fury. “Shit, Em, I’m sorry,” he murmurs, abandoning both table and restraint to sink into the chair beside me. He extends a hand, yet I keep mine firmly tucked away, and he exhales heavily. “I’m so worried about you.” “I know, Ev, I know.” I cross my legs, drawing them away from the protective cocoon of my arms. “But I’m okay. I just got a little light-headed—it’s been days since I’ve eaten. Not unexpected, right?” His frown deepens. “And you truly want to endure your heat all alone? You think knowing you’re unwell will bring me peace?” “I don’t want to go to the Omega Centre. We’ve already hashed this out.” I pull the plate of toast towards me, ignoring the knotted discomfort in my abdomen as I begin to slather butter onto a slice, steady and deliberate. I can feel his eyes searing the side of my face, but I refuse to yield. If Evander has something to say, he needs to gather the courage. I won’t prime him for yet another iteration of the same conversation we've danced around since my dazed moment yesterday. “What if I ask Isaac—” “Don’t you dare,” I retort, thrusting my butter knife his way, its blade gleaming menacingly. “Isaac is lovely, but whenever he’s around, I want to hurl—especially when I’m in heat. For the love of all that is good, don’t put him through that!” “He’s paid,” he pouts, his brow furrowing as he tries to make a case, but I’m not yielding. “Regardless, you can’t force him into the role of my observer during that.” I shake my head with conviction. “That breaks at least three labor laws, and I’m certain he would have grounds for a misconduct charge.” Evander crosses his arms, his frustration morphing into indignation. “He wouldn’t dare! You know he cares for you.” I groan, fatigue seeping through my veins. “Ev, that’s irrelevant. I don’t feel safe or comfortable with Isaac around. And I trust you not to even suggest yourself again. Witnessing my heat is far too humiliating—it's practically incestuous. I will manage just fine.” “But if you only went to the Omega Centre, you’d have staff on hand—” “I said no.” I shake my head vehemently, placing the knife down on the table with a gentle clatter. “I love you, truly, but I need to face this alone, okay? I’ll take care, I promise to surround myself with water bottles in my nest.” “And who will remind you to hydrate, little star?” he asks gently, his concern digging deeper into my heart. “Who makes sure you eat? You know you usually go into heat for eight days—that’s a long time without any sustenance.” I rub my eyes, exhaustion swallowing me whole as his worries amplify those I already wrestle with. I am scared—terrified, really—for all the reasons stacked against me. As an omega, my heat isn’t just a passing phase—it’s an overwhelming biological state of vulnerability where I’m stripped to bare essentials. I need an alpha—multiple alphas, truly—to anchor me, to prioritize my health. Without that… I don’t actually know what the consequences would be. I’ve never faced a heat alone in my life. Before I embraced a sexual life, I relied on heat suppressants, carefully monitored to maintain my well-being. I took them till I was nineteen, and since then, at least one alpha has safeguarded me during every heat. Now, strong anxiety tangled in my gut reminds me that this is the very first time I’ll face it all on my own. Images flash in my mind: the agonizing isolation, the deep ache pulling me apart, devoid of the comfort my soul craves. The thought is overwhelming. I might not survive it. It doesn’t matter, really. I cannot bear the idea of leaving my home, of venturing out into the Alpha Centre. A part of me wilts, cringes inside at the abstraction of anyone seeing me in the throes of heat. Surely, even in delirium, I would cling to existence. I will be fine; everything will be fine. “I think I need another nap,” I murmur as the tension in the air thickens. “Em, don’t act like this,” he implores. “Act like what? Hormonal? Unreasonable? Hysterical?” I scoff, shaking my head. “I’m an omega, Ev. It’s what we’re known for. Trust me, I’ll be alright. You can stay here while my heat hasn’t kicked in yet, but if…” “If anything changes, I’ll likely vomit in your toilet and leave,” he injects, attempting to laugh, but I can feel the strings of his nerves tautening all around him. “Where do you want me? Living room? Kitchen?” “Walk freely,” I say, rolling my eyes, though the warmth blossoming inside me catches me off guard. Evander’s thoughtfulness, his carefulness, provides a fragile balm against my struggles. He cares so much, fighting against my pushback, and I know without a doubt I am unworthy of such affection. “You’ve hardly eaten,” he notes, eyeing the spread of food Isaac brought us. “Care to grab a bite before this hits?” “Not right now.” I slowly rise from the table, fingers clasped on the chair for balance. My vision remains clear, my limbs steady. I lean down and place a soft kiss on his cheek, promising to eat soon before I step away from the table, lingering in the dim corridor heading towards my office—a space forever my haven. Yet as I approach, I feel something isn’t quite right. Everything feels disheveled. The walls of my warm nest are poorly arranged—no, they’re inadequate. My heart races as I halt before the door, apprehensive. “For them?” I bark at the empty air, but of course, my omega remains silent. As I fight the urge to rebuild my nest, a desperate need surges within me—a compulsion to amend, to fix, to restore. My fingers press against my temple. This is absurd. The nest should be fine. So why does something inside claw at me, begging for change? It’s just me—my hormones, those pesky omega instincts playing tricks while punishing me for perceived shortcomings. I crouch at the entry, summoning the will to enter. Yet no matter the resolve, my body rebels against itself. “No, I can’t. I can’t relax.” My nest lies in disarray. Blankets askew. Pillows awry. Everything is… wrong. The scent isn’t right—it’s missing that anchoring alpha essence I rely on, that familiar warmth that wraps and protects me. The reality burns; it’s like my nest is devoid of life. Stale. Abandoned. I whine—a sound raw, desperate, as if my need can conjure them back into existence. I tease a soft whimper, and yet… silence lingers. Fuck. I edge forward, crawling through the blankets. They prickle against my skin as I thrash through them, all the signs pointing to the right choice with ferocity—smooth surfaces, accommodating spaces. I reconfigure the fabric, but no matter the efforts, nothing aligns right. This haven, which is meant to provide refuge, now confines me like a self-made prison, and a fierce wave of anguish squeezes my chest as my skin constricts, making it hard to breathe. A plaintive sound escapes without consent. Instinctively, my scent thickens, tainting the air, fueling my desperate longing. Trapped within my very skin, I feel myself suffocating, drowning. I press trembling fingers against my abdomen, pleading for the tightening pain to relent. It’s wrong. It’s all fucking wrong. I don’t even fathom what’s absent. What the hell is missing? With a fierce grip on the blankets, my breath quickens, pulse racing at the rhythmic drums in my ears. Fix it. Fix it. Fix it. Fucking fix it, Emme. But with every echo of that question, clarity dawns—the issue isn’t my spiraling omega instincts. It’s the searing weight of solitude. The betrayal of rejection. The stark terror of facing this entirely alone. My body surges with the truth, and my soul responds in kind. Because they’re not here, and they can’t be here for me. I can’t— A tumultuous lump lodged in my throat trembles with the fight, but I won’t cry. I refuse. If I let myself shatter now… There won’t be anyone to piece me back together. The last four days have become a vicious cycle. I haven’t strung together more than an hour of sleep, not a bite of food has graced my lips. I merely drifted through moments of nausea and remade my nests only to abandon them unfulfilled. I’m failing myself. I should be in heat by now—overwhelmed in my scent, lost to instincts, craving and begging for a knot that has long been denied. And yet, all I feel is wrongness. Four days. Four long restless nights. So much pain. So many moments suffering, crying, and desiring relief. “Something is failing me,” I repeat, clutching my abdomen, stifling a whimper. I tread the floor of my office, a disheveled mess. Evander had checked in this morning, but I practically shoved him away to preserve precious space, anxious for the onset of heat. Yet we both knew it wouldn’t come. I exhale raggedly and surrender to the chair, hoping stillness will tame my restless body. Yet, the instant I settle, a wave of nausea overtakes me, my stomach twisting with ferocity. I feel a dreadful rejection from this scent. With a hand over my mouth, I gag, vision blurring. The scent thickens, suffocating, dissonant. Another lurch in my gut drives me upright, desperate to flee to the bathroom. The walls close in on me; the floor tilts ominously beneath my feet. What is happening? My knees buckle, and the world dips into darkness. Air escapes—my body collapses against the floor, and silence engulfs me. An irritating beeping pierces through the haze, slicing through the fog in my head. With each impending alert, the dizziness intensifies, the throbbing pain amplifying. “That’s getting faster,” Evander’s panicked voice cuts through my confused stupor. “Nurse! Please, over here!” A flicker of gratitude pierces through my delirium—Evander is here. His unmistakable scent of dark chocolate and freshly brewed coffee washes over me, and I try to snuggle deeper under the covers, seeking warmth. “Ow!” The cry escapes me as pain shoots up my arm—the cannula catching in the blankets due to my own recklessness. How long have I been here? The anxiety floods back as I grapple with memories—this can’t be happening. This isn’t my heat; I’m just ill—maybe fading away? Evander’s voice soothes, streaked with worry. “Stay still, little star. The nurse will be right here.” “What… happened?” I manage to croak, throat ragged and dry. “You passed out,” he explains carefully. “You’re severely dehydrated.” The word reverberates through me—dehydrated? This has never been my reality during heat; I’ve always had alphas tending to my needs and keeping me satisfied. Is this why I feel so broken? So utterly drained? “How does your throat feel?” asks a soft-spoken beta female as she approaches, scent-neutral spray masking her natural fragrance. She wears navy slacks and a matching half-sleeved top with the Omega Centre’s logo, sneakers pristine and comfortable. Her dark hair frames her face perfectly, and her smile radiates warmth, making me feel a touch safe. “Sore,” I breathe out, resting my head against the pillow, relieved I’m not laid back flat like before. “I’m assuming you’ve been vomitting often?” she checks, studying the chart at the foot of my bed. “Pretty much non-stop since Monday,” I admit, realizing the days have slipped away in haze. She nods, her face betraying no concern. “That’s common under these circumstances, especially when away from your mate or pack.” “Mates? Packs?” My voice wobbles as new inconsistencies surface. I glance at Evander, searching for answers. Did he say something? His expression remains a stoic mask, shaking his head vehemently. A wave of relief washes over me, but it quickly gives way to confusion. The nurse seems unfazed. “Who did you conceive your baby with?” The word hangs in the air, slicing through my thoughts. Baby? The room tilts dangerously on its axis. My heart stutters. I glance back at Evander, desperate for a sign of understanding—a pathway to relief—but he, too, appears frozen in shock. Baby. Head swimming amidst the weight of realization, my omega responds with an unexpected flicker of elation, as contradictory and foreign as it feels to me. My stomach flips, nausea rising alongside something else. The notion nestles deep within, igniting a rush of fear, confusion, and an odd sense of relief. I should be panicking; I should be spiraling in dread about this. I could be dying! Yet here I am, astonished and… somewhat unburdened? The nurse’s gaze narrows, lips pursed with a hint of disappointment. “That’s quite a shock, eh?” All regret floods back in waves as I lay eyes on my hands—so pale, bruises creeping up my inner elbows from failed IV attempts. “Okay, I’ll fetch the doctor for you,” she proclaims, and my omega circles with distress; her demeanor feels judgmental, as if we are broken and dirty. But I refuse to let her disdain rattle me—she’s unveiled a truth I have too long evaded. Uri and I are… we are **pregnant**. My fingertips slide over my stomach. I swear I feel something stir inside. It’s too soon—preposterous really, the baby too young to even conjure movement. Yet, amid the tumult, the world trembles, and I’ve yet to catch up. I feel almost weightless—confusion pulling at the edges of my consciousness. Evander turns to me, the softness returned to his voice as he furrows his brow. “Why didn’t you let me know how bad it was this morning?” I blink a few tears back, overwhelmed. “I didn’t comprehend the full extent.” Evander's unease gradually morphs back into palpable concern. “You’ve been unresponsive…” His voice breaks slightly, betraying emotions he keeps bottled. “I can’t even guess how long you lay there.” My eyes well as the lousy whimper spills out. I don’t know whether it’s from me or the omega, but I don’t attempt to smother it. Before I even realize, he’s gathering me into his warm embrace, settling beside me atop the blankets. I melt into him, surrendering to the comfort, as his familiar scent engulfs me. I press my face into his shoulder, allowing all my fears to bleed out in the form of tears. He coos lowly, wrapping me tighter in his protective hold, a sound instinctively meant to soothe a distressed omega. How could I let this spiral? Why didn’t I seek prevention? Uri will doubt my intentions. He’ll think I orchestrated this. Sterling, well… I have no idea how any of this will unravel. Racetrack thoughts and looming anxiety tread through me, and each step brings merely more despair. What will become of my career? My autonomy? Heartsickness knots my insides at the haunting memories of my mother’s fate—a harrowing truth echoing behind me. Evander switches gears, worriedly pulling me from my thoughts. “You’ve added a decade and a half to my life. Isaac is furious with you, you know?” “I’m sorry!” My vision blurs with fresh tears, staining his shirt with my outburst. Little fragments of terror and doubt break apart my thoughts. I wonder whether I’m endangering us both. “Stop apologizing,” he gently insists, squeezing me tight. “I will be by your side. Always.” “Damn straight,” I murmur, lost in his warmth as I fumble over an old memory—one that stings, a stark reminder of fragility. “Exactly how her alpha should handle this situation,” comes a deep voice, puncturing through our moment. A jolt of primal alarm electrifies through me, coating my stomach in dread. He's an alpha—one I’ve never seen before. Foreign. Threatening. Every ounce of my being clamors for defense, urging me to curl protectively around my baby. Evander’s presence tenses beside me, though he remains a steadfast wall, unwavering as we face the newcomer. A man enters the room, scanning the space with stormy blue eyes, calm in a way that unsettles my already frayed nerves. The scent-masking spray cloaks his natural aroma, but my omega knows he isn’t one of ours. Evander, still grounded beside me, asks coldly, “And you are?” “Dr. Jonas Harper. I was compiled on notice the moment she woke,” he explains, inclining his head toward me. “Miss Whitmore—” “It’s Emme,” I interject, struggling against the chill of his detachment. “Very well. Emme,” he continues, gesturing towards a chair by my side, locking eyes with Evander for a moment, silently requesting permission. “He’s not my alpha. He’s my twin—” I shake my head, a sharp pang of anxiety clawing at my insides. Evander hisses, “She’s my sister.” Dr. Harper’s lips quirk into an apologetic smile. “I promise, no offense intended.” He leans closer, assessing me with methodical observation. “I was called to evaluate your condition, Emme.” My lips dry out at the word: **condition.** It’s about the baby. He’s here to… to what? I’m lost in swirling uncertainties about what’s ahead; my omega whimpers, and both alphas stiffen. “My body was under extreme duress upon arrival. With your symptoms, we couldn’t determine if it was pregnancy or perhaps some rejection from your omega.” Rejection. I lock up, the word lodging deep in my throat. What if Uri and Sterling don’t respond? What does it mean if— “You thought I was rejecting a bond?” I choke, gripping onto Evander’s arm. Jonas hesitates, sensing my distress. “The symptoms were severe enough to warrant that possibility.” Despair cloaks me as I curl inward. The pressure against my chest grows, threatening to overwhelm me once more; yet the flutter within my belly urges faint hope. I haven’t rejected any bond. I’ve simply been longing for one. Evander shifts, voice protective and fierce. “My sister doesn’t have a bond.” It hangs heavy between us, the unspoken truth stinging like salt in an open wound—the reality of who I am. Jonas nods, his tone unwavering. “We’re fully aware now of your situation, as daunting as it may seem. This predicament is serious, Emme— as an unanchored omega, the risks of losing both you and your baby are considerable.” Silence descends, an oppressive weight suffocating the air. I draw a shuddering breath, caught in despair as my heart shatters under its pressure. “A pregnant omega without a pack to safeguard you.” The reflection of my predicament cuts deep. “I—I don’t know what to do,” I murmur, gaze flitting to Evander’s unreadable expression, before focusing back on Jonas. “What you see as options.” Options. My pulse quickens. Anxiety flares again as the silence stretches unbearably. I’m lost; I’ve never needed a plan to navigate this kind of territory. “We must prioritize your health first,” he states, gaze steady. “You were severely dehydrated when you came in, and I doubt you’ve nurtured your body much since.” If it’s as simple as that, why does he look as if he is withholding something crucial? Jonas clears his throat before continuing, “Then, we need to discuss next steps.” And just like that, the room shimmers with dread. I choke on my breath, knees trembling beneath weighty truth. “Emme, do you want this pregnancy?” My breath stutters and my heart jerks painfully behind my ribs. A cascade of emotions overwhelms me, tearing through any hope of a coherent response. How am I meant to confront this question? My mother’s demise stood as a ghost between me and my reply. The choice of whether to bring a life into this world shouldn’t strike anguish in my chest—not after how I was raised. “H-how long do I have?” Evander’s voice cuts through the tumult, low and resolute, earning my instant fear. My gaze snaps to the doctor, heart pounding against fragile skin. Jonas deliberates. “We have time—marginally. A few weeks before your omega establishes an attachment. We’ll need to closely monitor your health during that interim.” Evander breathes now, his calm facade betrayed by the tension racking his body. “But if you continue to struggle with nutrition or hydration… Emme, please take this seriously. We may need to take imminent precautions for your wellbeing.” I brace against the sudden wave of nausea that crashes through me. I can’t dwell on this—there’s a baby inside. A part of Uri and me, entwined; a small life waiting to blossom. I falter on the brink of realization. Should I contact Uri? Shouldn’t he deserve a voice in this emerging reality? Jonas’s expression softens; the weight of understanding dims within his eyes. “You aren’t alone in navigating this, Emme. You don’t have to go through this alone.” Do I? Because I have never felt more solitary than right now, suspended in overwhelming uncertainty.