“Warmer.” She pads back to the couch in her borrowed socks and curls up in the corner, pulling the blanket back over her lap. “Still ridiculous. I look like I’m wearing a tent.”
“A very cozy tent,” Ben says, and she throws a pillow at him.
He catches it, grinning, and for a second it’s just... nice. Normal. Four people hanging out on a Saturday night while a storm rages outside.
The game plays on. Elijah adds another log to the fire. Ben gets everyone more drinks—hot chocolate for Tessa, beers for the rest of us—and we settle into a comfortable silence.
Looking at Tessa right now, curled up on Ben’s couch in borrowed clothes with firelight painting her face gold, I think maybe she’s the loneliest person I know. And she has no idea.
The game drones on. Someone scores. Neither team seems particularly invested, which suits the mood. Outside, the storm continues its assault on the cabin, wind rattling the windows, snow piling up against the doors.
Her eyes are getting heavy. I can see her fighting it, blinking hard every few minutes, forcing herself to stay awake. But the warmth and the food and the exhaustion are winning.
Her scent keeps drifting toward me. Warmer every time. Sweeter. That honey-richness growing stronger, and my body is responding whether I want it to or not. Every inhale makes my skin prickle with awareness. Makes me want to move closer.
“You can sleep,” I tell her. “We’re not going anywhere.”
“I’m fine.” She stifles another yawn. “Just resting my eyes.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I am.”
“Sure. Just like you weren’t hungry.”
She doesn’t respond. Her eyes have drifted closed, her breathing evening out. Five minutes later, her head is drooping toward Ben’s shoulder. He shifts, adjusting so she can leanagainst him more comfortably, and she burrows closer with a sleepy hum.
My throat tightens.
Ben catches my eye over her head. Then Elijah’s. There’s a question there, and an answer, and an understanding that passes between us without a single word.
None of us are backing down from this. Whatever this is.
Three alphas, one omega. Watching her drift off against Ben’s shoulder, this doesn’t feel like just another pack forming. It feels like something I’ve been waiting for without knowing it.
The lights flicker.
We all freeze, looking up at the ceiling like we can will the power to stay on. It steadies for a moment, then flickers again.
“Storm’s probably knocking out lines,” Ben says, keeping his voice low. “Might lose power tonight.”
“You got candles?” I ask.
“Cabinet above the fridge. And there’s more firewood on the back porch—covered, should still be dry.”
“I’ll get the wood,” Elijah says, already standing.
Ben looks down at Tessa, then at me. “I should show him where—she okay with you for a minute?”
“Go.” I wave him off. “I’ve got her.”
Carefully, so carefully, Ben shifts Tessa off his shoulder and onto the couch cushions. She murmurs a protest but doesn’t wake, just curls into the warm spot he left behind.
They head off—Ben and Elijah to the back porch, grabbing candles on the way. The cabin goes quiet except for the crackle of the fire and the muted sound of the game.
I watch her sleep.
Her face is relaxed. No tension around her eyes. No tight set to her jaw. Just peaceful.
