Omega`S Resilience

Wouldn't I be able to feel the mate connection? I asked, the question a brittle echo in the suddenly silent room. My laughter had died, replaced by a cold knot of dread. The forced lightness had been a pathetic shield against the terrifying possibility that Amelia was right. If I *was* Killian's mate… what then? The thought sent a shiver down my spine; it felt like betraying everything I believed in. The Alpha, Killian. Powerful, commanding, impossibly alluring. A part of me, a desperate, needy part I usually kept tightly chained, yearned for the security, the belonging his claim promised. But another, stronger part recoiled. Submitting to him? Giving up my autonomy? It was anathema to my very being. I'd spent years fighting for my freedom, clawing my way to independence, only to be faced with this… primal urge, pulling me towards a destiny I wasn't sure I even wanted. "It's because your wolf is suppressed," Amelia repeated, her voice soft but firm. The words hung heavy in the air, a stark condemnation of my carefully controlled existence. "When did you lose contact with your wolf?" she pressed, her gaze piercing.

The plush couch swallowed me whole, the memory a tidal wave crashing over me. A shuddering breath hitched in my throat before I could speak. The scent of pine still clung faintly to my clothes – a ghost of my last run through the woods, a run that ended in the sterile, harshly lit kitchen. Only a month. It hadn't started badly. I scrubbed floors, dusted shelves, the mundane tasks blurring into a semblance of normalcy. Jacob, with his quiet strength, had promised protection, freedom once his father retired. But Jennifer… Jennifer's eyes, sharp as flint, had watched me too closely. Her possessiveness, a suffocating vine, wrapped around Jacob. That night, the kitchen air hung thick with the bitter tang of woodsmoke and something else… fear. Jennifer and her father, Thomas, sat at the worn oak table, their faces etched with a chilling certainty. "You've hexed him," Jennifer hissed, her voice a venomous whisper that scraped against my ears. A steaming mug sat between them, its contents emitting a sickly sweet aroma that curdled my stomach. "Drink this. Break the spell." "There's no spell," I choked out, my voice trembling. Her sneer was a blade. "Then you have nothing to fear." The tea forced down my throat burned like molten lead, searing its way down my esophagus. I spat it out, the bitter liquid splashing onto the worn tabletop. Thomas roared, a sound that vibrated through the floorboards. His fist connected with my jaw, a searing pain that sent stars exploding behind my eyes. I crumpled, the rough wooden floor scraping my skin. His boot slammed into my ribs, the breath knocked from my lungs. Then, a low growl, twinned, from the shadows – Killian and Carter. Amelia's hand, cool and gentle, brushed against mine. "Finish," she whispered, her voice a fragile counterpoint to the violence unfolding. My knees drew up to my chest, arms wrapped tight around them, a futile shield against the storm. Thomas grabbed my hair, the roots screaming in protest as he hauled me to the chair. The rest of the tea, bitter and acrid, was forced down my throat. His threat hung heavy in the air: another blow if I dared to resist. Tears streamed down my face, hot and uncontrollable. "I should have… I should have spat it out," I sobbed, my voice barely a whisper. "I should have protected my wolf… but I was a coward."

The growl that ripped from Killian caused me sink more into the couch as he tore out of the room, Carter we are having a meeting now he said to his beta.

Amelia comforted me as sobs racked my body was Killian made at me cause his mate was not good enough. He was stuck with a mate that was wolf less.

Amelia pushed a piece of my hair back and said she was sorry I went through that and if she can find what they used she may be able to unbind my wolf. I looked at her with shock, you mean Athena not gone forever. She looked at me with so much sympathy and said I hope not.

"Retail therapy?" Her words sliced through the air, followed by the sharp click of a laptop lid opening. The cool, metallic gleam of the screen reflected in her eyes as she began to navigate a clothing website, fingers dancing across the touchpad. "We'll order everything you need, delivered right to your door." My head shook, a silent refusal. "I can't afford it," I managed, the words catching in my throat. A sleek black credit card materialized, glinting under the harsh overhead fluorescent lights of the room. "Killian's buying," she stated, her voice firm. This time, my head snapped back harder. The weight of her words landed like a physical blow. I couldn't bear to accept his generosity, not like this. Killian's simmering anger, palpable even from across the room, burned hotter than any fireplace. To add to my burden, to pile another debt onto my already heavy shoulders, would be unforgivable. His frustration wasn't directed at me. It was aimed elsewhere, a raging storm targeting those who had wronged him. My own frustration turned inward, a bitter taste coating my tongue. "He's not mad at *you*, River," she said, a quiet understanding in her tone. "He's furious at *them*." A sigh escaped her lips. "I hate being Thomas right now." The words hung heavy in the quiet space.

Amelia leaned in, conspiratorial, her voice a low hum against the clatter of cutlery in the nearly empty restaurant. The scent of spilled wine, sharp and metallic, mingled with the faint sweetness of lilies in a nearby vase. "Let me order," she whispered, eyes bright. "If he objects, blame me. I'll even return everything myself. But he won't. He *wants* to make you happy, River. I swear." She reached across the worn tablecloth, her hand covering River's. The touch was firm, reassuring. "I know it's hard to believe," Amelia continued, her voice softening, "after everything. But he'd do anything for you. He really is a good man. Trust me." Amelia squeezed River's hand, then let go, a silent promise hanging in the air, thick and heavy like the late afternoon shadows stretching across the room. The only sound was the distant murmur of other diners, a hushed counterpoint to the unspoken anxieties between the two women.

The laptop screen glowed, a kaleidoscope of online shops spilling across the coffee table. Amelia snorted, a sound like champagne bubbles popping, at a particularly flamboyant sequined jumpsuit. We ordered—a simple, sensible clothes for me—then switched to a raucous comedy. The cork popped from a bottle of Merlot with a satisfying *phut*, the ruby liquid sloshing into two glasses. We were halfway through a scene, howling with laughter, when the door swung open. Killian walked in first, his shirt ripped, a crimson stain blooming across the fabric like a macabre flower. Carter followed, a slow, deliberate slump into an armchair, a self-satisfied smirk playing on his lips. The air thickened; the scent of Merlot was suddenly overwhelmed by the metallic tang of blood. Killian, silent, predatory, retrieved a clean shirt from the closet and disappeared into the bathroom. My breath hitched. I burrowed deeper into the cushions, the plush fabric scratching against my cheek. Amelia's gaze, sharp as broken glass, fixed on Carter. She tilted her head, a silent question hanging in the air. Carter chuckled, a low rumble in his chest. "Let's just say Thomas won't be putting his hands on any woman…ever again." My jaw dropped. I probably looked like a landed trout, eyes wide, mouth agape, completely speechless.