None of us speak. We don’t need to.
Her scent wraps around us, twirling with ours until the air feels heavy with citrus and mint and sandalwood and heat-sweet omega. It’s not sexual or even romantic. It's a pack.
The show plays on the screen, but none of us are watching. Every breath she takes feels like a vow.
I look at her, then at my brothers. Milton has gone soft in the eyes; Korbin looks like someone handed him something breakable and made him promise not to break it.
This is our omega.
Our pack and future.
When I finally reach out to adjust the blanket again, tucking it around her legs so she stays warm, the realization settles into my chest.
Tonight is the night we became a pack in every way that matters.
51
Bayleigh
I wake with a gasp,body bolting upright from the mattress. My hands reach out, hoping to grasp one of my alphas. But there’s no one. I’m alone. They’re not here. The spots where they were lying are lukewarm at best.
My breathing is heavy as a sharp pain rips right through my abdomen. All I can feel is pure heat burning inside of me, ready to spark, yearning to be put out. My body betrays me instantly. A wave of molten warmth pulses low in my belly, spreading outward to my flesh. Sweat beads at my temples as slick is already gathering between my thighs before I can even understand what's happening, soaking through my thin cotton sleep shorts.
My implant crackles—picking up vibrations, static, sound that isn’t even real—turning everything into sensory overload until my body’s shaking in response. My hands claw at the sheets as I try to ground myself. Everything becomes too loud, too bright, too much. The faint hum of the heater kicking on, the ticking of the clock on the wall. Even the brush of the sheets against my skin feels like electricity.
My heart races so fast that I feel like it’s about to burst from my chest.
Is it because of my heat? Because I’m actually with a pack versus alone?
Another pain rips through me, and I fall back, rolling onto my side, curling my body around a pillow. I breathe in, then out, trying to make it through the onslaught of agony overtaking me. Out. In. I have to think and then do it. But the air doesn’t stay in my lungs. Panic steals it from me.
My scent spills heavier into the room—sweet and frantic. The kind of scent an omega only releases when instinct takes over, superseding anything else. My perfume wraps around me, broadcasting my distress through every vent and hallway in the house, hoping to find the three alphas I need to have with me.
My stomach twists, and I grip the pillow tighter, pulling the sheet, stuffie, and clothing near it toward me. I need to have my alphas’ scents near me. On me. Inside me.
My breath stutters.
And before I can think, or even realize what’s happening, my mouth opens and the word rips from my throat before I can stop it.
“Lincoln!” I scream. I yell as best I can, but I can’t hear myself, so I’m hoping it was a yell to get someone’s attention.
I’m not even sure if he heard me. If he’s here. If Milton and Korbin are.
But then, the door slams open, bouncing off the wall.
And then they’re here. Filling the doorway with their massive presence. Three alphas. My alphas. All with concern covering their faces.
Lincoln. He’s been my rock since the day he bumped into me. The first one to steal a piece of my heart that was always intended for him. His brown hair tousled from sleep, eyes wide but steady, warm with that sharp, unflinching attention healways has for me. His eyes roam the room, roam me, taking in the scene—the way I’m shaking, the sheets twisted around my body, the way I’m gripping the pillow. Then he inhales deeply, taking in my minty scent flooding the air—and something in him snaps into place.
Milton’s right beside him, breathless, his grapefruit-sweet scent flaring bright with concern. He doesn’t say a word, his lips pressed firmly together. His hands are already reaching for me as he steps forward toward me.
My eyes drift to Korbin last, his broad shoulders blocking the entry to the room, jaw tight with that fierce, protective stillness that always makes me feel safe. Much the way he looked that day on the sidewalk.
My arms are already out, forgetting the pillow as I reach for them without thinking. My fingers shake from the haze taking over me as my breath hitches. My hands reach out to all three of them as though I’ve done it a million times.
Lincoln lowers himself onto the nest beside me; my hands take hold of his shirt, my fingers twisting in the fabric, holding on tightly to him, as I bury my face in the crook of his neck. I inhale deeply, taking in his sandalwood scent.
Milton places his hand on my head and begins to stroke my hair. My eyes gaze over at him, and I see his lips moving. “You got this, Baby. We’re here for you. Now and always,” he silently reassures me, even when I can’t hear or know what he is saying. If I ever doubted how much he cares for me, this shows me he does.
