She extended a hand, palm up. A command. An invitation.
"Come here," she whispered. "Space is closed. Proximity zero."
Alfie made a broken noise and surged forward, falling to his knees at the edge of the nest. Kit followed, shedding his jacket as he moved.
I stepped inside and slid the door shut behind me, sealing the airlock.
The math finally resolved.
Three Alphas. One Omega. Zero distance.
Probability of survival: Irrelevant.
Probability of joy: 100%.
TWENTY-TWO
Zia
As Euan slid the door shut, sealing us inside the nest, the air pressure in the room dropped. Or maybe it spiked. I couldn't tell anymore. My internal sensors were swamped by a tidal wave of input, blackberries, scorched sugar, heavy molasses, toasted sesame.
They crowded the small space of the back lounge, too big, too loud, too real. Alfie was on his knees at the edge of the nest, staring at me like I was a deity he’d been excommunicated from and just allowed back to worship. Kit was stripping off his flannel shirt, revealing the ink that mapped his arms, his movements jerky with restraint. Euan stood with his back to the door, his chest heaving, looking at me with eyes that were usually calm calculations but were now blown-wide ripples of panic and want.
"Zia," Alfie choked out. "We’re here. We’re in."
"I know," I rasped. My skin felt too tight, scorching hot against the soft fabric of the t-shirt I’d stolen. "I need... I don't know the protocol for this part."
"There is no protocol," Kit rumbled. He dropped to his knees beside Alfie, moving on instinct now. "There’s just the need. Tell us the need, Z."
"Pain," I confessed, clutching my stomach as another cramp twisted through me, turning my vision into static bursts of red and jagged black. "It hurts. It’s too much signal. I need dampening."
"Dampening," Euan repeated. He moved then, shedding his jacket, stepping into the nest. He didn't hesitate this time. "Weight and friction. We apply counter-pressure to the nervous system."
"Please," I whimpered.
Alfie moved first. He crawled over the chaotic pile of clothes, his hoodies, Kit’s shirts, Euan’s forgotten scarves, and stopped right between my spread knees. He didn't touch me yet. He hovered, his hands shaking where they hovered over my thighs.
"Permission to engage?" he whispered, his voice wrecked.
"Yes," I cried out, grabbing his wrists and slamming his hands onto my skin. "Yes. Don't ask anymore. Just do."
The contact was like a lightning strike grounding out. Alfie’s palms were hot, rough, desperate. He groaned, a sound torn from the bottom of his lungs, and buried his face in the tender flesh of my inner thigh.
"Fox," he murmured against my skin, inhaling deeply. "God, you taste like a storm."
"Kit," I gasped, looking up. "Weight. Now."
Kit moved behind me. He didn't just sit; he wrapped himself around my back, a solid wall of muscle and heat. He pulled me tight against his chest, his arms coming around to lock over my stomach, his heavy hands pressing down hard on the center of the cramp.
"Got you," Kit growled into my ear, the vibration traveling straight down my spine. "I’ve got the structure. Lean back. Let go."
I slammed my head back against his shoulder, sobbing with relief as his weight anchored me. The floating, dizzy sickness vanished, replaced by the overwhelming reality of espresso and dark earth.
Euan was there, kneeling in front of me, his eyes tracking every twitch of my face.
"Heart rate is critical," he muttered, though his voice was thick with his Scots accent, the edges rough. "You’re red-lining, Zia."
"Then fix the levels," I snapped, reaching out blindly.
