I push the door open slowly, careful not to let it creak, and step inside.
Theo's scent hits me immediately—that intoxicating blend of winter smoke, midnight fire, embers, and warm wool that I've come to associate with safety and strength. It's stronger here in his personal space, concentrated and undiluted by other scents.
The room smells like him, like Alpha, like everything my Omega hindbrain wants to roll around in until I'm covered in it.
I close the door behind me with a soft click, letting my eyes adjust to the even deeper darkness of his room. The curtains are drawn tight against the windows, blocking out what little moonlight exists at this hour. But I can see his shape in the bed—large and solid and peacefully still.
"Theo?" I whisper, my voice barely audible even to my own ears.
Nothing.
Just the sound of his slow, steady breathing. Deep and even and completely relaxed in a way I rarely see him during waking hours. He's not snoring exactly, but there's a soft quality to each exhale that speaks of genuine rest.
He looks different asleep.
The hard edges soften, the perpetual alertness melts away, leaving behind something almost vulnerable. His dark hair is mussed against the pillow, one arm thrown over his head, the other resting on his bare chest. The blanket has slipped down to his waist, revealing the defined muscles of his torso, the ink of his tattoos dark against his skin even in the low light.
Beautiful. He's absolutely beautiful in a way that makes my chest ache.
I shouldn't be here.
Definitely not be thinking about sliding into bed with him.
This is crossing so many lines, violating so many boundaries, potentially ruining everything we're building.
But my feet are already moving, carrying me toward the bed like they have a mind of their own.
Like my body knows what it wants even if my brain is screaming warnings.
I can just lie down for a minute.
Just rest beside him until he wakes up naturally, until it's a more reasonable hour to ask about pilates. That's totally normal behavior, right? Pack members sharing sleeping space?
Who am I kidding? Nothing about this is normal.
But I'm already lifting the edge of his blanket, already sliding onto the mattress beside him, already letting out a soft sigh of relief as I sink into the warmth his body has created in the bed. The sheets smell like him, like smoke and fir and Alpha, and I can't help pressing closer, seeking more of that scent, more of that warmth.
His breathing doesn't change. He doesn't wake.
Just continues that steady rhythm that's oddly soothing, that makes my own racing heartbeat begin to slow and match his pace.
I'll just rest here for a moment. Just close my eyes and breathe and try to calm down. Then I'll wake him up properly and ask about pilates and pretend I didn't show up at his door at four in the morning smelling like arousal and bad decisions.
Just a moment.
I listen to him breathe—in and out, steady and sure—and feel my own breathing synchronize with his. The dream's intensity begins to fade at the edges, replaced by this peaceful warmth, this sense of safety I haven't felt in years.
My eyelids grow heavy. My body begins to relax despite the lingering arousal. The scent of him surrounds me like a blanket, warm and protecting and exactly what I didn't know I needed.
Just a moment, I tell myself again as sleep pulls at me.
Time ticks and tocks, the stillness only encouraging me to get lost in this comforting blanket of peace.
I wonder if I’m dreaming when arms wrap around me, pulling me close into an embrace that makes me sigh and snuggle deeper into the warmth.
Strong, solid arms that make me feel that I belong in this bed and not some outcast like how I felt with Kael.
Their chest presses against my back, their breath warming the top of my head, and I'm drifting again, suspended somewhere between waking and dreaming where everything feels soft and safe and right.
