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But not Idril.

She’s Nesting with her clothes because she’s never had anything else. Caelan told me as much when he first found her.

“There was nothing there, Daxen. No Nest. No television or books or clothing. No photos, phone, iPad, or blankets. Just her. Her and a fucking cat on a mattress so thin she might as well have been on the floor.”

Caelan came home smelling like lust and need, desire surging through the Bond. I’d taken one look at his face, and I’d known, hadn’t I?

That it was already too fucking late.

That he was already too far gone.

I’d known, and I panicked. I could see the inevitable fallout. Could feel the pain and self-hatred of four hundred years ago like it was yesterday. So I dismissed everything he told me. I lied to him and lied to myself and kept fucking lying.

“How the fuck would she have known I was coming tonight, Daxen?” His eyes were so bright. Pleading, begging me to understand.

Fuck! I thought I was protecting myself, protecting my Pack. I let that bitch crawl back into my head like she has a thousand times before. She won four hundred years ago, and she’s still fucking winning.

I curl my hand into a fist and press it against my sternum. My heart is beating so fast I can feel it in my temples. Can hear my own ragged breathing. The longer I stare at the Omega’s hands, the harder it is to get air into my lungs. Each tiny movement is like a hot blade punching through my ribs and digging into my lungs.

She’s been so alone for so long.

No Nest. No safety. No love.

Locked away in a barren room, stripped of every comfort. Fingers twisting in the fabric of her clothes as her instincts fight the only way they know how. Just to trick her brain into believing she’s safe.

A rumbling growl bursts to life in my chest. The sound is low and rough, and it won’t stop no matter what I do. I cough, trying to cover the noise, and Idril twists in Caelan’s lap with a look of concern on her face.

The knives lodged in my chest twist harder.

“I’m assuming you know why all this is happening to her. There must be a reason,” Soren asks, blessedly pulling Idril’s attention off of me.

“She’s suffering from something called Chronic Sensory Deprivation Disorder. It’s rare— because most Alphas are biologically predisposed to protect Omegas—but it does happen.”

He turns to Idril. “If I had to guess, living with your father did a number on you. That, combined with years of forced suppressant use, would be enough on its own. Add in the absolute hell you’ve lived in over the last two weeks? That’s more than enough to throw you into the late stages of the disorder rather quickly.”

The sound of pain that tears out of Caelan makes me want to scream. Vae hangs his head, holding it in shaking hands. The self-loathing thrumming down his side of the Bond is sharp and acidic.

I don’t ask him to lock it down. A part of me feels like I deserve to feel his pain, as well as my own.

Calder snaps on a pair of gloves. “May I?”

He waits for her nod—and because he’s not a total idiot, waits until Caelan and Soren both give their permission as well. He starts at her temples, pressing gently before examining her pupils, then moving down to prod at her scent glands.

“The good news is, now that you’re with your Mates, your system will start to realign. Once your instincts understand you’re finally safe, the faster your symptoms will decrease.”

“The only thing I don’t know,” Calder continues, “is how your Species will affect you, or if it will at all. We really have no idea what you are. You’re not a vampire. You’re not wolven. And you most certainly—” he presses down on her wrist, and the blood rushes back in, pooling under her skin. His eyes dart up to hers. “-are not human.”

Idril nods, like this is something she’s already come to terms with. Hell, maybe she has. I can’t help but think any other Omega would be spiraling right now. I’d expect it, even.

I can’t help but be impressed by her bravery.

“With your permission, I’d like to run a few tests.” Calder raises a hand at the sound of a growl, stalling Caelan’s impending refusal.

“You are under no obligation to say yes. This is completely voluntary. I’m aware Daxen has run his own tests and has someone researching your genetics. That’s fine. I trust his work, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t get a second opinion.”

“I don’t mind,” Idril replies. “Would you like to take my blood right now?”

She extends her arm, wrist up, and every male in the room tenses. Calder raises a brow, reaching for her arm like he’s expecting her to change her mind.