I’ve spent most of my life alone. Quiet rooms and quiet work and the satisfaction of making something beautiful with my hands. I never minded it. Never needed more.
But sitting here, watching her sleep, feeling the warmth of her presence even without touching.
I think maybe I was just waiting.
For this. For her.
For the storm to bring me home.
Chapter 13
Ben
Ivolunteered for fire duty. Told myself it was the responsible thing to do—let the others get some real sleep. “I’ve got it,” I said, like some kind of hero.
Three hours later, I’ve barely looked at the flames. I can’t stop watching her.
She’s curled up on the pull-out bed, buried in quilts, her dark hair spread across the pillow. Elijah’s on the edge of the mattress, sitting upright with his back against the couch arm—he fell asleep like that about an hour ago, stubborn bastard. Milo’s on the floor near the hearth, dead to the world, one arm thrown over his face.
And me? I’m in this armchair, holding a book I haven’t read a word of, trying not to breathe too deeply.
Because her scent is everywhere.
Lavender and citrus, but darker now. Heavier. Like someone took those soft notes and dipped them in honey and heat. Every time she shifts, it rolls through the cabin, and my body responds like I’m seventeen again—instant, embarrassing, impossible to control.
I adjust in the chair. Again.
This is fine. Everything’s fine. I’m a grown man. I can handle sitting in a room with a beautiful omega whose scent is slowly driving me out of my mind.
Totally fine.
She makes a sound in her sleep—a soft whimper—and I’m on my feet before my brain catches up. Then I freeze. What am I gonna do, hover over her like a creep? Fan her with my book? Offer her a glass of water and my undying devotion?
Get it together.
But she shifts again, restless, kicking at the quilts. Her skin is flushed even in the dim light. Sweat beads at her temple. And her scent spikes—sharp and distressed—cutting through the heavy sweetness with an edge of pain that makes my chest ache.
She’s uncomfortable. Her body’s fighting itself, caught between suppressants wearing off and heat trying to break through, and she’s miserable.
I hate it. I hate that she’s hurting and I can’t fix it. Can’t joke it away or distract her from it. Can’t do anything but watch.
Elijah stirs, blinking awake. Our eyes meet across the dim room.
“She okay?” he asks, voice rough.
“Restless. Pre-heat, I think.” I keep my voice low. “She’s burning up.”
He looks at her for a long moment, then at me. Dark circles under his eyes. He and Milo have been running on fumes—they were already tired when the storm hit, and the past day has been... a lot.
“You should get some real sleep,” I say. “Both of you. Take the bedroom.”
He frowns. “And leave her out here?”
“I’ve got her. She’s restless but I’ll keep an eye on her.” I try for a grin. “Besides, if her heat hits in the middle of the night,you’re gonna want to be functional. Nobody wants a tired alpha. It’s just sad.”
He doesn’t laugh, but the corner of his mouth twitches. “You sure?”
“Go. I’ll wake you if anything changes.”
