All Chapters of The last omega: Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

Irene Evening unrolls itself slow and golden, like honey sliding off a spoon. The air inside the pack house smells of woodsmoke, roasted herbs, and something buttery that Rowan swears he didn’t burn. The omegas move through the kitchen in soft rhythm—two boys chopping onions, one humming off-key as he stirs the pot. It’s the kind of song that doesn’t need to be good to make the place feel alive. Cassian’s sleeves are rolled to his elbows, and his forearms shine faintly with the steam that keeps fogging his knife. He’s cutting vegetables too perfectly for a man who once commanded armies. Kevin stands beside him, teaching one of the omegas how to season the meat. He doesn’t hover or correct—he listens first, nods, then adds a quiet “try a little more salt.” The boy blushes as if the beta just knighted him. Elias is orchestrating from the background, turning chaos into order with that calm authority of his. “Rowan, the bread. Cassian, you’re going too thin. Kevin, tell him to stop ta

Irene Steam is already curling from the bathroom doorway; Rowan must have slipped away to run it. The scent of salt and rosemary drifts out with the heat. “Efficient as always,” Kevin murmurs, following behind. “Efficiently dangerous,” Rowan calls from inside, his grin audible. “I might have overdone the candles.” Laughter ripples through the tension, but the bond’s glow doesn’t fade—it deepens. By the time Cassian carries me across the room , the air itself feels charged, every breath threaded with wanting. The bath waits—a wide marble basin filled to the brim, light trembling on the surface. Cassian steps in first, drawing me with him; water closes over our skin, warm enough to make me sigh. Elias kneels to pour a measure of oil, Rowan trails fingers along my shoulder, Kevin brushes wet hair from my face. Care becomes comfort, and comfort tilts, almost imperceptibly, toward hunger. I look from one face to the next—four pairs of eyes, four different kinds of devotion—and

Irene The air inside the pack house feels different tonight — softer, charged with something ancient. As Elias leads me through the hall, my bare feet sink into the warm wooden floor. Candlelight flickers along the walls, carrying the faint scent of cedar, salt, and pine resin. Every step feels like a heartbeat echoing through me, reminding me that this is the end of a journey and the beginning of something eternal. He opens the door to my room, and the sight steals my breath. The others are already there, waiting. Cassian and Rowan rest on the bed, hair still damp from the earlier bath, skin glowing faintly in the golden light. Elias lingers behind me, his hand at my lower back, a steady anchor as I step forward. The air hums softly — not from sound, but from presence. From them. Kevin stands near the window, shirtless, the night breeze tugging at his hair. His eyes lock on mine, and everything else disappears. The world narrows to that quiet gravity pulling us together. He takes

Irene The kitchen smells like heaven. Pancakes, roasted coffee, and the faintest trace of pine from the open window — a scent I’m starting to associate with home. Rowan stands beside me, pretending to help but mostly stealing the strawberries I’m slicing. “Stop eating the ingredients,” I warn, pointing my knife at him. He smirks, mouth full. “Taste testing, little moon. Quality control.” “You mean theft.” Cassian’s voice hums in my mind before he even opens his mouth. He’s been doing that since he was five. “Hey!” Rowan protests, glaring toward the table where Cassian, Kevin, and Elias are arranging plates. “Don’t go telling my childhood secrets through the bond.” You started it, Cassian replies dryly, setting down a basket of bread. Their mental voices weave in and out of my head like music. Sometimes overlapping, sometimes clear as speech. I stir the pancake batter and shake my head. “It’s so strange,” I admit. “It feels like you’re all in here.” I tap my temple. “Like a ve

Irene The garden stretches behind the pack house like a living painting — rows of lavender and sage, soft soil under bare feet, and sunlight trickling through the olive trees like golden dust. After breakfast and all the tension with the Elders’ letter, I needed air. Elias must have felt it through the bond, because he simply touched my hand and said, Go breathe, little flame. So here I am, breathing. A few young omegas are already at work among the flowerbeds, their hands gentle as they prune roses and gather herbs. They straighten immediately when they see me, eyes wide, a mix of awe and nervousness flickering across their faces. I still can’t get used to that — the way everyone looks at me, as if I’m something rare and untouchable. “Please, don’t stop,” I tell them quickly. “I just came to help.” One of them — a freckled omega with light brown hair and soil-stained fingers — smiles shyly. “Luna, you don’t have to get your hands dirty. We’ll take care of everything.” “I want