I just put him in the center of a goddamn war.
“Hell,” I muttered.
I dragged a hand down my face.
What are you doing, Lachlan?
I fuckin’ didn’t have an answer.
Just a sleeping omega in my bed. A pissed-off president on the warpath. My whole club standing between them. And seven days before everything burned.
I shut the door behind me and let the quiet settle.
For a long second, I didn’t move. I just stood there with my hand still on the doorknob, staring at the shape in my bed like my brain hadn’t caught up to the last hour of my life.
Kellan didn’t stir.
He didn’t even twitch.
Just breathed slow, steady breaths that barely lifted the blanket. His hair was a mess across the pillow, his cheek pressed into the fabric like he’d found the softest place on earth and had no plans of leaving.
I should’ve stayed in the hall. I should’ve given myself space. I should’ve walked away before instincts got loud again.
Instead I stepped closer.
Quietly. Careful. Like I’d wake him if I breathed wrong.
The lamp on the dresser gave the room a low gold glow. It made the edges softer—the nightstand, the wall, the outline of his body under my blanket.
My blanket.
I sat down in the chair by the bed, elbows on my knees, hands hanging loose between them. I told myself I was here to watch him in case he woke disoriented, in case he panicked, in case something went wrong.
But that wasn’t the whole truth.
His scent lingered in the air, warm, clean, slightly sweet, something that curled low in my chest in a way I didn’t have a defense for.
He smelled… safe.
No omega with half a brain should smell safe around me. Not tonight. Not after what I’d done.
But there he was, breathing slow like he’d settled into the calm center of a storm he didn’t know he was sleeping through.
I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.
“You’re trouble,” I muttered quietly.
He didn’t answer. Obviously. He just shifted, barely, turning a fraction toward my side of the room.
Instinct slammed through me so hard I gripped the edges of the chair to stay still.
My room wasn’t small, not by club standards, but suddenly it felt too tight. Too warm. Too filled with the wrong air.
I stood like I could outrun it, but the pull didn’t loosen. Protect. Watch. Stay close. The instincts didn’t care what I wanted.
I wasn’t an idiot. I knew what my body was doing. I just didn’t like it.
I dragged my hand through my hair. “Fuck.”
