The nest I built last night was good for sleeping, but now that I've spent time in it, I can feel what needs to change. It needs to be bigger, more elaborate. The mattresses should be higher. I need more walls, more layers, more security. Over breakfast, Hunter suggested we move his bed frame out completely, give me the whole room to work with instead of building around furniture. Make it truly mine before my heat hits.
And honestly, I need something to do with my hands, something to focus on that isn't Vincent and restraining orders and painful memories I can't fully access.
So here we are. The bed frame is heavy, requiring all three Alphas to maneuver it out of Hunter's room and down the hallway. I watch from the doorway as they grunt and shift the weight, coordinating their movements with the practiced ease of people who've worked together for years. They're moving it to the guest room near the end of the hall, the one I've been using occasionally, clearing Hunter's space completely for what's about to become mine.
My nest. A real, permanent nest. Not the temporary one at Dylan's that I can pack up and move at a moment's notice. Not something I have to be ready to abandon if things go wrong. This is mine, in a house that's becoming home, with people who want me here.
The thought makes my chest tight with emotions I don't quite know how to process.
Once the bed is gone, the room feels bigger, emptier, ready to be transformed. Hunter brings up the bags of supplies, setting them carefully on the floor before stepping back to give me space. Wyatt follows with an armful of extra blankets from the linen closet, things in soft textures that he thought I might like. Silas appears with more strings of fairy lights, already knowing without being told that I need more coverage, more soft glow to push back the darkness.
"The kids?" I ask suddenly, realizing I haven't heard them this morning.
"Dylan picked them up early," Silas says, setting the lights down carefully. "Around seven. They were excited about spending the week with Uncle Dylan and Uncle Maddox. Riley made us promise to text her updates about you, though. She's worried."
The knowledge that the kids are safely away, that we have privacy, that I don't have to worry about them hearing or being scared, makes something in my chest relax.
"We'll leave you to it," Hunter says, his voice gentle. "Take your time. Build it however feels right."
They file out, giving me privacy to work, and I stand in the center of the room trying to figure out where to start. I need to add more fairy lights first, create more coverage, more ambient glow.
I try not to think about later, about the restraining order paperwork waiting for me. About hospital records and incidents I can't remember. About having to acknowledge in legal language what Vincent did to me. My hands shake slightly as I reach for the first strand of lights, and I have to stop, breathe, force the panic down.
The nest helps. Focusing on this, on creating something safe and mine, keeps the anxiety at bay. I can deal with Vincent and legal documents later. Right now, I'm just going to build.
I string more lights along the walls, filling in gaps from last night, creating an even border of warm light that will push back the darkness completely. Then another strand woven through the corner where the heart of my nest sits, and one more draped in a swag pattern across the ceiling. By the time I'm done, the room glows softly from every angle, exactly the kind of complete illumination that makes my nervous system calm down.
Another wave of heat washes over me and I pause, pressing a hand to my lower abdomen where the cramping is getting worse. My skin feels too tight, too hot, and there's a restless ache building that has nothing to do with physical exertion. My heat is coming. Soon.
Next comes expanding the foundation. I add more padding to the stack, making it even higher, giving me an even better vantage point. The height is important, letting me see the whole room, making it harder for anyone to approach without me noticing. Old survival instincts that have nothing to do with logic and everything to do with feeling safe.
I rearrange the pillows from last night, building the walls even higher around the edges of the mattresses. Different sizes, different textures, each one carefully chosen for a specific purpose even if I can't articulate what that purpose is. Some go at the head for sleeping, others at the sides for leaning against, a few at the foot just because the placement feels right.
More blankets get layered on top, each one adding another element of comfort and security. The soft fleece ones go closest to where my skin will be, the heavier quilts on top for weight and warmth. I'm particular about the placement in a way that probably looks obsessive from the outside, but this is how nesting works. Everything has to be exactly right or my Omega instincts won't settle.
I'm so focused on getting the placement perfect that I don't realize what I'm doing until I step back to survey my work. Mixed in with the purchased pillows and blankets are things I don't remember grabbing. A pair of Hunter's socks from the laundry basket. One of Wyatt's t-shirts that I must have picked up from somewhere. And is that Silas's uniform jacket? The one he wears to the base?
I stare at the nest, at the stolen items I've unconsciously incorporated, and feel heat flood my face. They're going to needthose things back. Especially the uniform jacket, which Silas definitely needs for work. But right now, in this moment, they're perfect exactly where they are. The scents of my Alphas woven throughout my nest, marking it as pack space, making it smell like home and safety and belonging.
I'll give them back later. Eventually. Once they realize they're missing and ask for them. But for now, they're mine, and they make the nest feel complete in a way the expensive pillows and blankets can't manage on their own.
The nest is beautiful when I'm finished, even more elaborate than last night, and exactly what I need. I'm admiring it, already imagining burrowing into all those soft layers, when I sense someone watching me. I turn to find Hunter in the doorway, his hazel eyes tracking over the expanded nest with something like awe.
"Why my room?" he asks quietly, not moving from the threshold. "You could have chosen any space in the house. Why here?"
The question makes me pause, makes me really think about the answer instead of just going with instinct. "Because you're the protector," I finally say, the truth of it settling into my chest. "This room feels safest because it's yours. Because I know on some fundamental level that nothing bad can happen here. That you'll keep me safe."
His eyes go glassy with tears, his throat working as he tries to control his emotions. "That's what my sister used to call me," he says, his voice rough. "Her protector. Said she always felt safest when I was around."
He crosses the room in a few long strides, his hands coming up to frame my face with such gentleness it makes my breath catch. The kiss he gives me is soft and reverent, like I'm something precious he's afraid of breaking. When he pulls back, we're both breathing harder.
A whimper escapes me before I can stop it, and Hunter's expression immediately shifts to concern. "What's wrong? Did I hurt you?"
"No." I shake my head, trying to find the words. The whimper isn't just from his proximity. My body is starting to hurt, that deep ache that comes right before heat hits fully. "It's not you. It's just... my blockers are failing completely now. I can feel my heat building, getting closer. Maybe tonight, maybe even this afternoon."
His pupils dilate, something primal flickering in his hazel eyes. "Let me help," he says, his voice dropping lower. "Let me take care of you."
I nod slowly, my body already responding to his proximity, to the promise in his words. He walks me backward toward the nest, both of us moving carefully over the layers of blankets and pillows until we're at the center. The mattresses give slightly under our combined weight, cradling us in softness.
