Chapter Thirty Nine

Chapter Thirty Nine
Oliver leaned forward, his gaze steady and kind. “How far along are you?” he asked gently, his voice carrying a weight of concern.

The woman hesitated, her eyes clouded with uncertainty. “I… I’m not entirely sure,” she admitted. “It’s been… complicated.”

Oliver nodded, understanding the layers of her situation. “We’ll figure it out,” he assured her. “But it’s important we know how far you are. It helps us understand the risks and the options.”

As she took a deep breath, Oliver’s tone shifted slightly, more introspective. “And I want you to know,” he continued, “that whatever you decide, we’ll support you. But I need to ask… do you want to continue with this pregnancy, knowing the dangers?”

Her chest heaved with a sob that echoed her torn soul, tears spilling hot and unchecked down her cheeks. “I’m terrified, Alpha,” she choked out, fingers twisting in her lap as if clutching at vanishing dreams. “Surviving it feels impossible… but letting go? It would shatter me into pieces I can’t mend.”

Oliver stared at the woman for a long moment, studying her tired eyes and the way her shoulders seemed to sag under an invisible weight. A quiet sigh slipped past his lips. “I understand,” he said gently. “What’s your name?”

He decided not to judge her for wanting to keep the baby, despite the high risk of dying in the process.

“C… Clara,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. A faint blush warmed her cheeks, as if she wasn’t used to being asked something so simple with such sincerity.

They sat in silence for a while after that. The room was dim, the air calm, broken only by the soft rhythm of Clara’s breathing as it gradually slowed. Her eyelids fluttered, heavy with exhaustion, and despite her best efforts to stay awake, her head tilted slightly to the side.

Before long, she drifted off completely.

Seeing that she had fallen asleep, Oliver quietly walked away. The night outside was exceptionally beautiful—cool air brushing his skin, the sky stretched wide and heavy with stars. Restlessness stirred in his chest, a familiar pull he hadn’t answered in far too long.

He decided to run.

It had been years since Oliver last let himself loose in his wolf form.

He strolled past the towering iron-bar gates of Iron Fang, his footsteps unhurried and confident. Only when the estate lay far behind him, swallowed by distance and shadow, did he stop. Beneath the bright, watchful moon, Oliver shed his clothes and let them fall to the ground.

He stood naked in the open night.

Under the bright moonlight, Oliver stood bare. His fair skin glowed. Broad shoulders led to a muscled chest and abs. Strong thighs framed his thick length, stirring in the breeze. He looked wild and powerful, like a god of the night. There was just something undeniably striking about him standing there with natural indifference. Tilting his head back, he growled as the shift began.

Bones stretched, muscles reshaped, and fur spread across his skin. In moments, the man was gone—replaced by a large, powerful silver-furred wolf with sharp eyes that still carried Oliver’s awareness.

The wolf moved fast through the forest, feet hitting the ground in an easy rhythm. He ran without slowing, letting his body work on instinct alone. The distance disappeared behind him as he pushed forward, focused and alert, until the tension in him finally eased. He paused and shifted back into his human form. The change left him breathing hard for a moment before he reached for his clothes. He pulled on his pants first, then lifted his shirt, only halfway through, when a smooth, melodic male voice spoke behind him.

“Nice tattoos.”

Oliver didn’t bother turning around. He already knew who it was.

Grey.

He could feel Grey’s gaze fixed low, pinned to the words permanently inked just below his waist. A series of symbols—unfamiliar—nothing an ordinary person would understand at a glance.

Vaer thryn kael-mor, en ul varak.

(Forged through pain, yet I stand.)

The words were more than decoration. They were proof. A reminder of what he had survived—and of what so many others hadn’t. Of what omegas had been forced to endure at the hands of men like him. Grey was one of them.

Maybe not openly anymore. He had learned to smile better, to soften his voice, to lie well enough that Oliver had almost believed the act. Almost. But pain had a long memory, and Oliver had no intention of forgetting who had put it there.

Slowly, deliberately, Oliver finished pulling on his shirt and turned. “How long have you been standing there, Alpha Grey?” he asked coolly. “Don’t tell me you have a kink for spying on naked bodies.”

Grey arched a brow, clearly amused rather than offended. “Relax,” he replied, voice smooth, unbothered. “I only arrived a moment ago. Your presence was… noticeable.”

His gaze lifted immediately, deliberately, meeting Oliver’s eyes instead of lingering anywhere inappropriate. “This area is within my patrol range. I assumed you were aware.” Grey inclined his head slightly, “Still, I have no issue as long as you mean no harm.”

Oliver crossed his arms loosely. “If I did, you wouldn’t have found me this easily.”

Something flickered in Grey’s eyes—interest, perhaps—but his expression remained composed. “Confident,” he observed, but then his gaze stayed on Oliver’s face, thoughtful rather than intrusive. Then, after a brief pause, he added, “What does concern me is your scent.”

Oliver’s eyes sharpened, just slightly.

“It’s hidden,” Grey continued evenly.

The night seemed to be still.

“Why?” Grey asked, not accusing, simply curious. “An omega with nothing to hide wouldn’t bother.”

Oliver met his gaze without hesitation. “And an alpha with good manners wouldn’t ask.”

Grey’s lips curved just a touch. “I see.” He paused, then added, almost casually, “May I ask your name?”

Oliver held his gaze, face unreadable.
“No,” he said simply.

Grey accepted that without visible irritation. “Very well.” He stepped aside, giving Oliver a clear path. “Safe run, then.”

Oliver walked past him without another word, his steps unhurried. “Forged through pain, yet I stand,” he murmured under his breath, replaying the symbols in his mind.