The Three Who Chose Me-Chapter 48: What We Deserve

Thorne

I couldn’t even look at Kiel without my fists curling.

The rage that bloomed in my chest was suffocating. My teeth clenched so hard I thought I might snap my own jaw. Josie’s scream still rang in my ears—the way the windows had shuddered under the force of it, the way the earth itself had seemed to mourn with her. She had passed out from the pain, and we were standing there, helpless.

And it was his fault.

I turned on Kiel with fire in my veins. "This is all your fault."

His eyes widened. "What—?"

"She screamed like the world was ending!" I shouted. "And why? Because you thought this was a moment to be cute? You thought turning her trauma into some sing-song joke would make things easier?"

"I didn’t mean—" Kiel started, his voice cracking.

"You never mean to!" I cut him off, stepping closer. "But you always do. You keep putting her in situations she shouldn’t be in. You treat her like she’s supposed to understand our world, our ways, when she’s barely catching her breath."

"She’s our mate," Kiel bit out, though his voice was low now. "I just didn’t want her to feel like she was being left in the dark."

"She’s not ready to handle truths like that, you idiot," Varen growled from beside me. "And if you had even a shred of sense, you’d talk to us before doing something that affects all three of us."

"I couldn’t..." Kiel trailed off, his mouth twisting into something like guilt. "I couldn’t lie to her face. She looked at me, and I just... I didn’t want to be the reason she thought we were hiding things."

"You didn’t want to be the bad guy," I hissed. "So instead, you dropped the truth on her like a damn bomb. And look what happened. Do you feel better now?"

Kiel looked like he might be sick. His gaze fell to the ground, his fists clenched at his sides. "I didn’t know it would hit her that hard. I just thought..."

"No, you didn’t think," I snapped. "That’s the problem. You keep forgetting she’s not like us. She’s not a soldier, or a spy, or some cold-hearted Alpha. She’s an omega. She feels everything."

"She’s not Luna yet," Varen added grimly. "She doesn’t have the shields. The instincts. She’s vulnerable. And you handed her the worst truth of her life like it was a bedtime story."

Kiel’s lip trembled for a second before he turned away from us.

I couldn’t look at him anymore. I needed to do something—anything—before the walls closed in on me. My mate was unconscious, our bond had frayed to the point that I couldn’t even feel her heartbeat properly, and my brother was acting like it was just a bad moment.

"We need the witch," I said suddenly.

Varen glanced at me. "Do you think she’ll come in time?"

"She’ll come," I said, and stormed out of the room, sending for her through the link.

Fifteen minutes later, the pack witch stepped into the room like a storm cloud, her robes wet with the lingering rain. She looked ancient and sharp, with a spine that didn’t bend and eyes that saw far too much. She hovered over Josie’s body like a raven, whispering things we couldn’t hear, brushing her fingertips across Josie’s forehead and chest, murmuring low in a language none of us knew.

Then, she turned to us.

"She’s alive," she said, voice grave. "But only just."

"She’s still unconscious," Varen said tensely. "What does she need?"

"She’s in shock. Her spirit... it’s recoiling. Trying to protect itself from further pain. If she stays in this state too long, it may break the bond completely."

My chest constricted. "What do we do?"

"She needs rest. Calm. Familiarity. But most of all, she needs you." Her sharp eyes flicked between us. "Not one of you. All of you."

"She doesn’t want me," Kiel muttered.

"She wants her mates," the witch said simply. "Even if she can’t say it right now."

Varen rubbed the back of his neck. "She thinks she’s alone."

"She isn’t," the witch said. "Unless you abandon her now."

She walked out with a hiss of her robes, leaving silence in her wake.

I stood there, breathing hard. My hands were still shaking.

I couldn’t do this anymore.

"I need air," I muttered, and walked out without waiting for them to follow.

I didn’t go far.

The halls were quiet, dimly lit by sconces along the stone walls. My boots echoed as I walked through the corridor. The air was heavy with mist and leftover rain. I let my hand drag along the stone, grounding myself. Trying to make sense of the mess in my head.

I thought about my past.

About the woman I once loved.

How she had betrayed me.

How she’d used me.

I had vowed never again. Never again would I let someone close enough to hurt me that way.

But here I was—hurting Josie.

Pushing her away, keeping her at a distance, acting like I didn’t care. I had sworn to protect her, but instead, I’d treated her like an obligation.

And she had screamed like the world was ending.

What if she never forgave me?

That thought made my legs weaken.

I didn’t want to admit it—not even to myself—but the idea of losing her terrified me. Not just because she was our fated mate... but because she made me feel something real. She made the numb parts of me come alive again.

And I was failing her.

I was halfway back toward her room when I saw her.

Michelle.

Leaning against the corridor wall like she belonged there.

The sight of her made my blood stir—not in a good way.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I demanded.

She straightened with a practiced pout on her lips. "I heard Josie was discharged. I just wanted to check if she was okay."

I stared at her in disbelief. "Since when do you care?"

She tilted her head, giving me a mock-wounded look. "Don’t be like that, Thorne. Just because you all discarded me like yesterday’s trash doesn’t mean I want to see the pack fall apart."

My hands clenched. "She nearly died, Michelle."

"I know," she said with a falsely sweet voice. "But you’re all so dramatic. She’ll live."

I took a step forward. "You don’t belong here."

But Michelle just smiled—and then, on her toes, she pressed a kiss to my cheek.

My muscles locked.

She stepped back with a smirk. "Still so cold, Alpha."

And then she sashayed off, her hips swinging like she thought this was still a game.

I watched her walk away, the rage climbing again—but this time, it wasn’t directed at my brother.

It was at myself.

I was letting too many things slip through my fingers.

And it was time I started fighting for what mattered before it all burned to ash.