CHAPTER 32: _ ALONE WITH HER

Darien whirls to the side, nearly losing grip of the unconscious girl as a familiar figure steps out from behind one of the garden walls. The tension steals the air from his lungs.

It’s his sister, Isolde.

Of all the people he could have run into, she’s... not the worst. She’s cold, reserved, and with a soft voice that sounds like Billie Eilish’s singing voice, Isolde rarely speaks to anyone. And she doesn’t gossip... which is a relief. His youngest sister, however, is the opposite of Isolde.

Still, her eyes widen slightly, brows knitting in disbelief as she takes in the blood on Heidi’s clothes, the bruises, and Darien’s hysterical expression.

"I... didn’t expect to see you," he says awkwardly, adjusting his hold on the girl. "What are you doing home? Skipping school?"

Isolde, dressed in a long black cardigan over a satin slip dress, tilts her head. "I had a headache," she murmurs. "Migraine. And you’re... carrying a girl. A bleeding and unconscious one."

Darien sighs, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. "It’s complicated."

"It usually is with you," she says coolly.

He steps forward, lowering his voice. "Can you not tell anyone? Please."

Isolde’s eyes flicker down to Heidi again. "She’s not anyone I recognize," she observes. "She’s an Omega, isn’t she? What are you doing with an Omega, Darien? You’re not exactly the rescuer type."

He clenches his jaw. "She’s helping me with an investigation. That’s all. I need her alive."

"And she got... what? Beat up by your sources?"

"Something like that."

"Does Father know?"

"No. And he’s not going to."

Isolde tilts her head. "You brought her into the estate."

"I didn’t have a choice!"

"You always have a choice, brother. You’re just too impulsive to pick the wise ones."

"Are you going to help me or not?"

She sighs, gives him a look like she’s the older one, then nods. "You’re lucky I hate talking to people."

"I just need to talk to her. It’s not just an investigation, it’s an assignment assigned to me by Father."

Isolde arches one brow. "Then it makes sense. Because if she’s caught here, Father will have her head. And Mother will throw a fit. You know how she feels about class... contamination."

"Which is why no one is going to know," he growls.

She smiles slightly, like a cat with milk on its chin. "I won’t tell. But you should hurry. Someone might come through the gardens."

He exhales in relief. "Thanks, Issy."

"Don’t thank me. I’m just curious to see how this ends for you."

They part ways, and Darien quickens his pace to the bungalow, beads of sweat lining his forehead. His key fumbles in the lock.

Once inside, he kicks the door shut behind him and heads straight to the guest bedroom. He lays Heidi down gently on the mattress. The sheets are smooth and untouched.

She’s still out cold.

Darien stands over her for a second, watching the rise and fall of her chest. Her lip is busted. There’s a cut on her brow that trickles dried blood down to her cheek. One arm hangs oddly. Bruises have begun blooming down her collarbone and stomach.

His fists clench. If he had chased those bastards instead of staying...

He pushes the thought away. She needs attention.

Darien gathers a bowl of water and medical supplies from the kitchen. He tries to clean her up as gently as possible, but the sight of her in that ripped, dirty uniform makes his stomach churn.

And not just from guilt, but because he sees her. Really sees her.

Underneath the bruises and grime, her body is... ethereal. But he tries not to look and looks anyway. Because he’s weak. And she’s his mate. And that scent. That scent drives him insane.

Curved in ways that make his throat dry. Her skin is soft to the touch, and the slow, steady beat of her pulse tempts him more than he’s willing to admit. He tries not to look. Really. But when he peels off her stained blouse and shirt to check her wounds, his hands shake.

His wolf growls in his head. "Finally, a chance to properly see what she tastes like everywhere."

"Shut up," Darien mutters, tossing the shirt aside. "She’s unconscious, you sick bastard."

After cleaning her injuries, he stands above her again, contemplating. The poor guy runs a hand over his face. Then again. Then again. "Why the hell did I bring her here," he mutters under his breath, pacing like a madman. "I should’ve just... called someone. Dropped her at the infirmary. Dropped her in the woods. Anywhere but here."

"But you didn’t because she’s our mate." Kairos chirps in.

The truth punches him in the stomach again, like it has every time he looks at her. He clenches his jaw and turns his back to her, only to whirl around again two seconds later when he hears her moan softly in her sleep.

Shit. Her forehead is sweating. Her temperature’s fluctuating.

"I need to clean her up," he growls to no one in particular. "She’s covered in blood and gods-know-what."

Except... that means he’s the one who has to do it. He stares at her for a full minute. Then five. Heidi doesn’t stir or move. She just breathes shallowly and shivers once when a breeze passes through the open window.

Darien groans like he’s being sent to the gallows. "You owe me for this, you menace," he mutters. Then he marches to the bathroom like a soldier heading into war.

He’s going to have to bathe her. Fuck this.

He draws a warm bath, testing the temperature three times like a lunatic. He doesn’t want it too hot or too cold. Just warm enough to soothe a bruised omega’s healing body.

He returns to her with a towel, a fresh T-shirt of his—because there’s no way in hell she’s wearing that shredded uniform again, and a silent prayer that he survives this ordeal with at least half his sanity intact.

Now, the first hurdle is her clothes. He needs to strip her. That... seems to him like the most difficult assignment he’s ever taken on in his entire life.