Beautifully Broken Omega: A Dark Reverse Harem Omegaverse Romance, page 17
She works quietly for several more minutes, checking reflexes and making notes in a small notebook. Finally, she looks up at us with something like relief.
“Let’s talk outside,” she says softly.
We follow her to the living room, all three of us practically vibrating with tension as we wait for her assessment.
“She’s stable,” Sophie says, settling into one of the armchairs. “Her fever is already starting to come down, which is a good sign.”
“Thank God,” Griffin breathes, and I feel some of the tightness in my chest ease.
“Give her lots of fluids when she wakes up, and make sure she eats something. Her body is going to need fuel for what it’s going through.” Sophie pauses, studying our faces. “What exactly happened? All you told me over the phone was that she collapsed.”
Griffin and I exchange a look. How much do we tell her?
“Her designation... she’s not a beta like we thought, Sophie,” Griffin says carefully. “She’s an omega, but years ago her scent started changing completely. Tonight, when her original scent—jasmine—started coming back, she collapsed.”
Understanding dawns on Sophie’s face, her eyes widening with recognition. “I’ve heard of cases like this before. They’re incredibly rare, but it can happen.” She leans forward, her expression serious. “If an omega goes through severe enough emotional distress, their biology can actually shift as a protective mechanism. Most of the time, it’s permanent.”
“Most of the time?” Declan asks.
“Yes, I’ve never heard of cases where it reverses,” Sophie continues, pausing thoughtfully. “Unless... something triggers her inner omega to resurface. Something powerful enough to override years of biological protection.”
She looks between the three of us, her expression growing more thoughtful. “I’ve noticed it since you first mentioned her—how focused you all are on Kit. The way you talk about her, worry about her.”
The air in the room seems to thicken as Sophie’s words hang between us.
“What if she’s yours?” Sophie asks quietly. “Your fated one?”
The words hit like lightning. Fated mates. The three of us, and Kit.
I feel the truth of it in my bones—the inexplicable pull we’ve all felt, the fierce need to protect her, the way she affects us differently than any other omega ever has.
“That would explain everything,” Griffin says quietly, but there’s no surprise in his voice, as if he’s known it for a while.
“The way we all reacted to her from the first moment,” Declan adds, understanding flooding his features.
“The protective instincts,” I finish. “It’s not just attraction—it’s recognition.”
Sophie nods slowly. “Her omega nature recognizing her mates. That would be powerful enough to break through years of biological suppression.”
We’re all silent, processing the magnitude of what this means.
She’s ours.
I feel the truth of those words in every fiber of my being, in every breath I take, in every beat of my heart. Kit Ellis—Katherine Lawson—whatever name she chooses to go by, she belongs with us. Has always belonged with us, even when she was hiding behind chamomile and careful politeness.
We’re her pack. Her alphas. Her mates.
And Roman Slater is going to pay for every moment of pain he put her through.
Chapter Twenty-Six
KIT
Iwake slowly, like swimming up through warm honey toward consciousness. For a disorienting moment, I don’t know where I am—the ceiling above me is unfamiliar, cream-colored with elegant crown molding that speaks of wealth and taste. The bed beneath me is impossibly soft, nothing like the firm mattress in my tiny apartment.
I look down at myself, relieved to find I’m still wearing my cleaning uniform, though it’s wrinkled from sleep. Then it all comes rushing back—seeing Roman in the lobby, the panic attack in the staff room, telling the alphas everything. A momentary sense of panic flutters through me as I remember Roman’s cold smile, making my stomach clench with familiar dread.
But then I remember the alphas’ promises to protect me, and the panic is replaced with a warmth that fills my chest at the memory of their voices, so sincere and fierce as they vowed to keep me safe. They know what I am now, know about my past, and they didn’t run. They didn’t look at me with disgust or pity.
I sit up slowly, testing how I feel. Much better than before—the fever that had been burning through me is gone, leaving me refreshed in a way I haven’t felt in years. The room around me is beautiful, decorated in warm earth tones with expensive furniture that manages to feel cozy rather than intimidating.
A note catches my eye on the bedside table, propped against a covered plate that makes my mouth water just from the aroma escaping around the edges.
Kit, in case you wake up, we just have to run a quick errand and we’ll be back as soon as we can. - G, N, D
I lift the cover to find perfectly prepared eggs Benedict, the hollandaise sauce still warm, with fresh berries and orange juice. My stomach growls loudly—apparently my body is making up for lost time. I eat every bite, savoring flavors that seem more intense than usual, like my senses are more awake than they’ve been in years.
After finishing the meal, I make my way to the attached bathroom. It’s like stepping into a luxury spa—marble surfaces, a massive rainfall shower, and towels so soft they feel like clouds against my skin.
I shed my wrinkled uniform and step under the hot spray, letting the water wash away the remnants of yesterday’s panic. As I shower, I think about the alphas who brought me here. I have vague memories of gentle hands, worried voices, Declan placing a cool cloth on my forehead with infinite tenderness.
This has to be their home. The realization that they cared enough to bring me to their private sanctuary, away from curious eyes and potential gossip, intensifies the warmth that had been blooming in my chest.
When I emerge from the shower, I find a plush white bathrobe hanging on the door. I slip into it, the soft fabric caressing my clean skin. My uniform is dirty and wrinkled beyond help, and I have no other clothes with me.
I peek out of the bathroom and notice a couple of folded shirts on the dresser—clearly meant for me. I approach them slowly, like they might disappear if I move too quickly.
I pick up the white dress shirt on top, bringing it to my nose without thinking. Griffin’s scent floods my senses—warm and masculine and utterly intoxicating. Before I can second-guess myself, I slip the shirt over my head.
It’s enormous on my smaller frame, the hem falling to mid-thigh, the sleeves hanging past my fingertips until I roll them up. But it feels incredible, like being wrapped in his embrace, his scent surrounding me.
Stepping out of the bedroom, I’m struck by the beauty of their home. The mansion is luxurious but warm, with exposed brick walls, a massive stone fireplace, and floor-to-ceiling windows that showcase the sprawling gardens beyond. Everything speaks of wealth, but also of a place that’s actually lived in and loved.
I wander through the main areas, marveling at details that reveal their personalities. The kitchen is a chef’s dream, with high-end appliances and a spacious breakfast bar. The living room centers around that gorgeous fireplace, with leather furniture arranged for conversation rather than show.
The indoor pool area takes my breath away—a lap pool surrounded by ambient lighting that reflects off the water in dancing patterns. The atmosphere is cozy and inviting, with comfortable lounge chairs and a view of the manicured grounds beyond the glass walls.
I discover their individual offices, each reflecting its owner’s personality. Declan’s is organized chaos, with multiple monitors and technology I can’t begin to identify. Nolan’s is more spartan, functional, with tactical maps covering one wall.
Griffin’s office draws me in immediately. It’s sophisticated and orderly, with rich wood furniture and that same beautiful view of the gardens. Business books and files line the shelves, but I’m surprised to find fiction mixed in—a well-worn copy of To Kill a Mockingbird sits next to what look like security manuals.
I pick up the novel and settle into a leather armchair by the window, curling my legs beneath me. The shirt rides up slightly, but I’m alone, so I don’t worry about modesty. The book falls open to a page marked with marginalia in Griffin’s precise handwriting, and I find myself smiling at this glimpse into his private thoughts.
I lose myself in the story, enjoying the peace and quiet after everything that’s happened. The chair is incredibly comfortable, and Griffin’s scent still clings faintly to the leather, making me feel safe and content. I’m several chapters in when I hear footsteps in the hallway, but I’m too absorbed in the book to pay much attention.
“Ah, there you are.”
The voice from the doorway makes me look up, and my breath catches. Griffin stands there in the threshold, his dark, fathomless eyes taking in the sight of me curled in his chair, wearing his shirt. Something intense flickers across his face before he schools his expression back to neutral.
“I’m sorry,” I say immediately, starting to rise. “I was just—I didn’t mean to intrude in your private space—”
“Don’t apologize,” he says firmly, stepping into the room. “You can go anywhere you want in this house, Kit.”
The words make my chest tight with emotion. “Griffin... thank you. For everything.”
He moves closer, and his scent hits me like a physical force—clearer, richer, more intoxicating than I’ve ever experienced. The metallic tang that used to dominate is gone, replaced by pure dark cinnamon, cedar, and brown sugar that goes straight to my core and makes my mouth water.
I inhale sharply, unable to stop myself from breathing him in deeper. The scent is intoxicating, making my head spin and my pulse race. Heat pools between my thighs, and I’m suddenly acutely aware that I’m wearing nothing but his white shirt, the fabric so thin he can probably see the outline of my body beneath it.
I clench my thighs together, trying to control my body’s response, but it’s useless. His scent is overwhelming every rational thought I have.
“How are you feeling?” he asks, his voice slightly rougher than usual.
“Much better,” I manage, standing slowly. “Better than I have in a long time.”
I take a step toward him, drawn by forces I don’t understand. His pupils dilate as I move closer, and I catch the moment he stops breathing, like he’s trying to control his own reaction to my proximity.
The knowledge that I’m affecting him as much as he’s affecting me sends a thrill through me. After years of feeling broken, unwanted, disgusting—to see desire in his eyes, to smell his scent change with arousal, is intoxicating.
Wanting to test my theory, I take another step closer.
“Kit,” he says, his jaw clenching with obvious restraint. “I think it’s better if you stay where you are.”
“Why?” I ask softly, taking another step despite his warning.
I can see his nostrils flare as my scent reaches him, can watch his hands clench into fists at his sides. The knowledge that I’m affecting this controlled, powerful alpha makes me feel drunk with newfound power.
“Because my control is hanging by a thread,” he says, his voice tortured.
Instead of backing away, I close the remaining distance between us and kiss him.
It’s explosive, just like the first time we kissed, but different now. This time my scent is deepening, changing, jasmine blooming alongside the vanilla until the air around us is thick with my arousal. He smells so good I want to devour him, want to press my face against his throat and never come up for air.
I do exactly that, burying my nose in the warm skin of his neck and inhaling deeply. His hands come up to frame my face as he turns his face into my hair, breathing me in just as desperately.
“God, you smell so good,” he groans against my hair.
“So do you,” I breathe against his throat. “I can actually smell you now, Griffin. You smell like dark cinnamon, cedar, and brown sugar... You smell so delicious it makes me want to eat you alive.”
He groans and laughs at the same time, the sound vibrating through his chest. “You’re going to be the death of me.”
“Touch me,” I whisper against his mouth, and any pretense of restraint crumbles.
He lifts me easily, setting me on the edge of his desk so that his hips fit perfectly between my thighs. I can feel the hard length of him pressing against my core through his pants, and the size of him makes me gasp. He’s so big, so hard, and I want him with a desperation that terrifies and thrills me.
I kiss him frantically, my hands threading through his hair, trying to pull him closer, needing more—needing him. Every part of me aches to touch him, to feel him pressed against me. His hand slips beneath the shirt, warm fingers skating over my skin until they find my bare breasts. When his thumbs graze my nipples, I gasp—a raw, hungry sound that echoes through the quiet office.
His hands still suddenly. “Kit,” he breathes, realization dawning in his voice. “You’re not wearing anything under this.”
“No,” I say, watching his face. “I’m naked under your shirt.”
“Fuck,” he breathes, and the raw desire in his voice makes me clench around nothing.
I see him hesitate, his control warring with his desire. “Touch me, Griffin,” I say softly.
The simple words, spoken with such raw need, seem to shatter his restraint.
Slowly, reverently, he pushes the hem of the shirt up, exposing me to his gaze. His sharp intake of breath when he sees how wet I am—slick coating the inside of my thighs, evidence of just how much I want him—makes heat flood through me.
“So fucking beautiful,” he says, and I’ve never felt more beautiful than in this moment, under his reverent gaze.
When he touches my folds with gentle fingers, I moan at the contact. I’ve imagined his hands on me so many times, but the reality is so much better than any fantasy.
He finds my clit with unerring accuracy, circling the sensitive bundle of nerves until I’m gasping his name.
“Griffin, please,” I breathe, my hips moving against his hand.
“You want my fingers inside you, sweetheart?” he asks, his voice rough but tender.
“Yes, please,” I whisper, breathless, my thighs trembling with anticipation.
To my surprise, he drops to his knees between them, his hands gently spreading my thighs wider as he looks up at me with dark, hungry eyes.
For what feels like an eternity, he just looks at me, as if memorizing every detail. “You’re so fucking beautiful, Kit.”
“Griffin...” I whisper, my hands threading through his dark hair, fingers tangling in the silky strands as I grip him closer.
“I need to taste you first,” he says, his breath hot against my core. “I’ve been dreaming about this since I met you.”
His breath ghosts over my most sensitive flesh, and then his tongue flicks against my clit. I cry out, my fingers tightening in his hair, instinct driving me to anchor myself to him. He groans against me, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrates through my core.
“So sweet,” he murmurs, licking deeper, slower, like he’s memorizing my taste. “You were made for my mouth.”
He worships me like a man starving, his tongue exploring every inch of me, lapping up my slick like it’s the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted. Every stroke of his tongue is possessive, reverent, claiming. My scent grows stronger, the air thick with vanilla and jasmine, and I swear he gets hungrier with every moan I let out, as if he’s drunk on me.
When he sucks my clit into his mouth while slowly sliding one thick finger inside me, I nearly come apart. The dual sensation is overwhelming, pleasure building with an intensity that steals my breath. My body arches instinctively, chasing more, needing it—needing him.
Just as I’m climbing toward the peak, I hear footsteps approaching in the hallway. My entire body tenses, panic flaring. I push away from Griffin, heart pounding, slick still dripping down my thighs. I jump down from the desk on shaky legs, the air still thick with our combined scents.
He rises slowly, his lips still glistening with my arousal, amusement dancing in his eyes despite the obvious strain of his erection against his pants.
“Looks like we’re about to have company,” he says, his voice rough with unfulfilled desire.
My heart pounds as the footsteps grow closer, but for the first time in years, it’s not from fear.
It’s from anticipation.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
DECLAN
Icould smell Kit the moment Nolan and I entered the estate. It was the sweetest, most enticing smell I’ve ever encountered in my life—jasmine and vanilla so rich and intoxicating it made my mouth water. Her scent is so strong it fills every inch of our home, enveloping us like smoke and making my cock harden instantly.
Glancing at Nolan, I realize I’m not the only one affected. His nostrils are flared, his blue eyes dark with arousal, and there’s a tension in his massive frame that speaks of barely controlled desire.
We follow the scent like bloodhounds, letting it guide us through the estate until we end up at Griffin’s office. The door is open, and the sight that greets us makes my breath catch.
Kit stands near Griffin’s desk, looking embarrassed but radiant. Her dark hair falls in soft waves around her face like a halo, freed from the braid she usually wears it in. Her scent is so concentrated in here it’s almost overwhelming—layers of arousal and omega sweetness that make every alpha instinct I possess roar to life.
She’s wearing Griffin’s white dress shirt, the fabric enormous on her smaller frame, hanging to mid-thigh with the sleeves rolled up. The sight of her in his clothes does something primal to my chest—she looks claimed, protected, ours.
But what strikes me most is how different she looks. Gone is the careful, controlled woman we’ve grown accustomed to. Her cheeks are flushed a beautiful rose color, her lips slightly swollen, and there’s a light in her storm-gray eyes that I’ve never seen before. She looks alive in a way that makes my chest ache with something deeper than desire.
