The Omega Who Rose from the Ashes: The Alpha's Regret

Trishelle

The sweetness of the chocolate mousse still lingered on Trishelle’s tongue as she leaned back against the leather booth, her eyes fluttering shut. Heaven must feel something like this—the cold dessert still cooling her throat, contrasted with the overwhelming warmth radiating from the bodies pressed against hers on either side.

James and Bradley.

Two men who had been enemies days ago now sat beside her, their presence a protective shield Trishelle hadn’t realized she’d been craving her entire life. The shift in their dynamic still amazed her. Where once there had been hostility and territorial posturing, now there existed an unspoken understanding, a truce forged in their shared desire to keep her safe. They had insisted on accompanying her after that ugly teenager—the one who had called her "freak" and "monster"—had finally left the diner. Their instinct to protect her had kicked in immediately, and something deep inside Trishelle, something primal and feminine, had responded with a ferocity that both thrilled and terrified her. She had never felt so cherished, so fiercely guarded.

Trishelle opened one eye, peeking at James’s profile in the dim lighting of the booth. His jaw was sharp, his lips full, and when he caught her looking, a small smile played at the corners of his mouth. The expression transformed his usually serious face, making her heart skip a beat.

"So, what’s next?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. The question hung between them, weighted with possibilities. Trishelle didn’t want to return to Bloodmoon yet—she wasn’t ready for this bubble to pop, for reality to intrude on this perfect moment—but she also didn’t want to push her luck by asking them to stay with her longer than they wanted. This was already more than she had ever hoped for, more than she’d dared to dream.

James picked up her hand, his fingers lacing through hers with deliberate tenderness. Her hand looked so small engulfed in his larger one, his skin rough from years of training against her smoothness. The contrast sent a pleasant shiver through her. "Do you want to walk around for a bit?" he asked, his voice low and intimate, meant only for her ears. "I mean, if you’re not too tired."

Trishelle couldn’t help the squeal that escaped her lips as she threw her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder. His scent—pine and something uniquely him—enveloped her. "I would love that."

Bradley brushed her hair from her shoulders, his touch sending shivers down her spine. His fingers lingered at the nape of her neck, a possessive gesture that made warmth pool in her belly. "Then let’s go," he said, sliding out of the booth before extending a hand to help her up. His palm was warm and calloused against hers. "I haven’t been able to do much sightseeing myself, so it’s a win-win for everyone."

The evening air was cool against Trishelle’s skin as they strolled down the main street of the small town. Shop windows displayed their wares under soft lighting, casting golden pools on the sidewalk. Both men seemed to be taking mental notes of what caught her attention—how her eyes lingered on a particular necklace with a moonstone pendant, how she smiled at a display of vintage books with worn leather covers. Trishelle noticed them exchanging glances over her head, some silent communication passing between them that made her feel cherished and seen in a way she’d never experienced before.

They stopped in front of a baby store, all three of them simultaneously drawn to the window display. A tiny wolf plushie sat among a collection of onesies with paw prints, and something inside Trishelle—something maternal and fierce—stirred. Her hand unconsciously moved to her still-flat stomach, and she felt both men’s gazes follow the movement.

"We have to go in," Trishelle breathed, already moving toward the door.

The next hour was a blur of soft fabrics and miniature everything. From tiny shoes no bigger than her thumb to adorable onesies with phrases like "Daddy’s Little Monster," they seemed to have caught a serious case of baby fever. The reality of the life growing inside Trishelle became tangible as she held these impossibly small garments. While James and Bradley debated the safety features of car seats with surprising intensity, their voices rising and falling in passionate discussion, Trishelle found herself drawn to a display of tiny socks, imagining them on small, perfect feet. Her child’s feet.

"It’s so nice that your brothers came with you," a voice said beside her, shattering her reverie.

Trishelle turned to find a saleswoman with bright red lipstick and eyes that kept flicking between James and Bradley with undisguised interest. Her name tag read "Shelly," and the way she licked her lips as she looked at Trishelle’s men made something ugly and possessive coil in her stomach. Her wolf stirred, hackles raised.

"No, they’re not my brothers," Trishelle gritted out, jealousy rearing its green head once again. The words came out sharper than she intended, but she didn’t care. What was with the people in this town? First the teenager, now this woman who looked at what was hers like she had a right to it.

Trishelle straightened her spine, glaring at Shelly who still hadn’t taken her eyes off James and Bradley. Her protective instincts flared. "No, they’re my baby’s fathers."

At her confession, Shelly spun to look at her, disbelief evident on her face. Her perfectly penciled eyebrows shot up nearly to her hairline. "Fathers? Both of them?"

Trishelle nodded and stalked off, the store suddenly losing its charm. The air felt stifling, oppressive. Lacing her fingers through theirs, she turned to Bradley and kissed his cheek, then did the same to James, making sure Shelly saw every moment of it. Their skin was warm beneath her lips, and she felt them both tense with awareness. Squeezing their hands, Trishelle spoke loudly enough for Shelly to hear, her voice ringing with unmistakable possession. "Come on, I don’t think the stuff in here is good enough for OUR baby."

Trishelle walked out, head held high, taking her two men with her. Pride surged through her at their immediate compliance, at the way they followed without question. As they passed Shelly, the stupefied woman grabbed Bradley’s arm, apparently unable to accept that both men weren’t available. She squeezed his bicep between her silicone-enhanced breasts, her fingers trailing suggestively along his skin.

Before she could say whatever she was planning to entice him with, Bradley snatched his arm away as if it had been burned. The movement was so swift, so decisive, that Shelly stumbled backward.

"As our woman said, this store is inferior, and now we can see why," he said with a disgusted look, turning to place his other arm around Trishelle and kiss her temple. The gesture was tender yet territorial. Trishelle could feel the growl rumbling in his chest and hid her smirk in his shoulder, satisfaction warming her from the inside out.

The drive back to Bloodmoon was silent, but not uncomfortable. The air in the car was thick with unspoken words and simmering tension. Trishelle sat in the back seat, her mind replaying the scene in the store, her wolf still agitated by another woman’s touch on what was hers. The possessiveness surprised her with its intensity, but she didn’t fight it. When they arrived, Trishelle stomped up the stairs and slammed her bedroom door, the sound echoing through the hallway like a gunshot.

Richard passed by and asked, concern lacing his voice, "What’s the matter with the Luna?"

Trishelle could hear James and Bradley laughing through the door, the sound muffled but unmistakable, and Richard’s confused response. "Didn’t you want to rip each other to shreds a few days ago?" Then his footsteps faded away, leaving her alone with her churning emotions.

A moment later, there was a knock on her door. Soft, tentative.

"Go away," Trishelle called out, still fuming, her arms crossed over her chest.

The door opened anyway, and Bradley stepped inside, ducking just in time to avoid the pillow she threw at his head. It bounced off the wall next to him with a soft thump.

"Baby, what’s wrong?" he asked, his voice gentle, coaxing. He knew exactly what was wrong, but he wanted her to say it.

Trishelle spun around and glared at him, specifically at the arm that Shelly had touched, that she had dared to put her hands on. The image of her fingers on his skin made her blood boil all over again. Without a word, she pointed to her bathroom, her gesture brooking no argument.

Understanding dawned on Bradley’s face, followed by amusement that he wisely tried to hide. "Right," he said, and Trishelle could hear James chuckling from somewhere behind him in the hallway.

Bradley made his way to the bathroom, stripping off his clothes as he went. Each piece of fabric that fell to the floor felt like a small victory. Trishelle gathered up his discarded items as soon as the shower turned on and tossed them out of her room with more force than necessary. Thankfully, someone was passing in the hallway, and she thrust the clothes into their hands, asking them to bring a new outfit from Bradley’s suitcase in the guest room. They scurried away without question, probably sensing her volatile mood.

When the shower turned off and he stepped into her room clad only in a towel wrapped dangerously low on his hips, water dropped glistening on his chest and abs, Trishelle felt a wave of desire and possessiveness so intense it nearly knocked her off her feet. He was magnificent, all hard muscle and masculine beauty, and he was hers.

She charged toward him, determined to let the world—especially a certain red-lipped saleswoman—know exactly who he belonged to. Her wolf surged forward, demanding she mark what was theirs, and for once, Trishelle didn’t hesitate to obey.

Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!