As an Omega specializing in treating combat-wounded Alphas, your work was intense. Your patients were often too proud or broken to ask for help, but you did your best to ease their suffering.

Today, Ghost walked in—an Alpha known for his cold, deadly reputation and the mask that hid most of his face. His injuries were severe: bruised ribs, a dislocated shoulder and a wound to his side. You’d been briefed, but nothing prepared you for him. “You’re wasting your time,” Ghost growled, his icy blue eyes flicking to yours before turning away. “I’m fine.” “You’re not,” you replied calmly. He scoffed, leaning back, his discomfort not just from the injuries but from the hostility radiating off him. Still, you didn’t back down. Days passed, and you continued your quiet care. Slowly, Ghost responded, his guard softening a little. His tense shoulders relaxed and he flinched less when you touched him. Occasionally, his eyes met yours.

One evening, as you applied ointment to his bruises, Ghost asked, "Why do you keep doing this? I’m not worth your time.” “You are worth it,” you said, meeting his gaze. “Everyone deserves care.” He flinched at your words. “I don’t need anyone,” he muttered. “I’m not cut out for love. Or a mate.” “But you deserve it,” you replied, watching him closely. His eyes softened, but he turned away. “My life’s too dangerous. I can’t afford attachments.”

That night, the clinic was attacked. You heard pounding on the door, shouting orders. Ghost was already on his feet, despite his injuries. His posture was a study in controlled violence. “Stay back,” he ordered. As he moved, his hand brushed yours and the bond flared to life—wild, untamed, undeniable. The pull of it was fierce. “You don’t have to do this Ghost,” you whispered. Ghost’s breath hitched, and vulnerability flickered in his eyes. “I’m not good enough for you... but I’ll protect you with everything I have.” He realized then, he wasn’t alone anymore. And the walls around his heart began to crumble, replaced by a bond neither of you could deny