"We should probably move my stuff out," Hunter says, looking around at his dresser and closet. "Give you room to build properly."
"No." Amelia's response is immediate and firm. "I want your scent here. It helps. All of your scents help, but yours especially. It makes me feel protected."
The admission clearly affects Hunter, his expression going soft in a way I rarely see. "Then I'll stay. My clothes, my scent, whatever you need."
"Can I?" Amelia gestures toward the pillows still in the hallway, asking permission even though we've already given it.
"It's your space now," Wyatt says. "You don't have to ask. Just build what feels right."
We spend the next hour bringing in the bags, watching as Amelia starts to arrange things with careful precision. She's particular about placement in a way that speaks to deep Omega instincts, positioning pillows and blankets in specific patterns that probably make sense to her on some fundamental level even if they look random to us.
She works quietly, occasionally asking one of us to move something or hold something, but mostly lost in her ownprocess. Her movements are methodical, almost ritualistic. This isn't just arranging bedding. This is creating a sanctuary.
It's meditative watching her work, seeing her create this nest that will be her sanctuary. The physical manifestation of safety and security that she's been lacking for so long. Wyatt leans against the doorframe, his expression soft in a way I rarely see. Hunter watches from his position by the window, arms crossed but eyes tracking her every movement.
The bed becomes the center point, elevated with extra pillows and the mattress from the guest bedroom that Hunter helps her lift and position. She piles it high with additional pillows and blankets in varying textures, her hands smoothing over each one like she's testing for something only she can feel. Soft fleece and silky satin, rough wool and smooth cotton. She's creating layers, different options depending on what she needs in the moment.
"The satin goes on the outside," she murmurs, more to herself than to us. "For when I'm too hot. The fleece underneath for when I need weight and warmth."
Around the edges she builds walls of pillows, creating a cocoon effect that makes the whole thing feel enclosed and protected. She positions the firmest pillows at the foot of the bed, the softest ones near where her head will rest. There's logic to it even if we can't fully understand the pattern.
She pauses periodically, pressing a hand to her lower abdomen where I know she must be feeling the cramping that comes before heat. But she doesn't complain, just keeps working with single-minded focus. The flush on her cheeks deepens, sweat beading at her temples despite the cool air coming through the window.
When she reaches for one of Hunter's worn t-shirts from his dresser, she pauses. "Can I?"
"Take whatever you need," he says roughly. "It's all yours now."
She tucks the shirt under one of the pillows near the center, then does the same with items from me and Wyatt. A flannel shirt that still smells like rain. A workout hoodie that Wyatt wore yesterday. Things that smell like us but aren't actively being used. Creating a scent profile that includes all three of us, marking this as pack space instead of just hers.
"You're making it for all of us," I realize aloud. "Not just you."
She looks up, her eyes meeting mine. "It's our nest. Our space. That's how it should work, right?"
The casual way she says 'ours' makes something in my chest settle. This is real. She's really here, really building a life with us, really planning for a future that includes all of us.
By the time she's finished, it's past ten and the nest takes up most of Hunter's room. It's elaborate and beautiful, clearly the work of an Omega who knows what she needs and how to create it. She stands back to survey her work, something like pride crossing her face.
"It's perfect," she says softly, and I can hear the emotion in her voice.
"You're perfect," Hunter corrects, pulling her against his side. She melts into him, exhaustion and emotional overload finally catching up with her. A few beats of silence settle between us before Hunter gestures to the nest. “Can we enter?”
Amelia’s face scrunches up as she twists to look up at him. “Did Dylan say something to you?”
Hunter shakes his head. “No, why? Should he have?”
“It’s just that… I… didn’t really have a nest with Vincent, no real space of my own. When I got to my brother’s, it was my sacred place and they always asked permission to get in so I was just wondering…” She starts chewing her bottom lip, twisting around further to look at the three of us.
It takes me entirely too long to realize what the problem is. I step closer, trying not to crowd her. “Amelia, Hunter’s askingbecause thisisyour safe space. Dylan didn’t say anything but we weren’t just going to step inside without you giving us permission. It might be for all of us but that doesn’t mean we have unfettered access.”
She throws me a small smile and then nods. “You can enter.” Her words are barely above a whisper as she climbs in, settling into the center of all those carefully arranged pillows and blankets, and we follow. Hunter behind her, his larger frame creating a wall of protection. Wyatt in front, his arm draped over her waist. Me beside them, close enough to touch, to scent, to protect.
In her nest, surrounded by her Alphas, Amelia finally lets herself relax.
Amelia
Morning light filters through Hunter's windows, painting everything in soft gold. I woke up surrounded by my Alphas, all of us tangled together in the nest I built last night, and for a moment I just lay there feeling safe and content and home.
But then reality crept back in. The restraining order meeting with Dylan is this afternoon. The kids need to be packed up and taken to stay with Dylan and Maddox. My heat is maybe twenty-four hours away, possibly less. There's so much to do.
