The thought should horrify me. Instead, my mouth waters.
Seth pulls onto the street, driving with careful precision even though I can see his knuckles are white on the steering wheel.
A whimper escapes before I can stop it. Heat rolls through me, making my thighs clench. The slick is constant now, impossible to ignore.
Seth's hand finds mine. "Look at me."
I do.
"You're going to be okay," he says. Steady. Sure. "We're going to get you somewhere safe. You're going to build your nest. And then we're going to take care of you. I promise."
The tears come again, but this time they're relief.
His house appears—craftsman style, wraparound porch, safe—and I'm fumbling with the door handle before he's fully stopped.
"Easy." He's there, steadying me. "I've got you."
Inside smells like him. The living room is neat, comfortable, but I barely register it because he's already leading me upstairs.
"Second door on the right," he says, opening it.
I stop in the doorway.
The room is bare except for the bed frame with a stripped mattress. But against one wall?—
Mountains of blankets. Piles of pillows in every size and texture. Fairy lights strung around the perimeter, casting everything in warm glow.
"We wanted you to have options," Seth says quietly. "Whatever you need."
I'm moving before he finishes speaking.
Into the room. Grabbing the softest blanket—fleece, butter-soft, perfect. My hands arrange it on the mattress without conscious thought.
Another blanket. Then another.
The instinct takes over completely. Building, layering, creating walls of softness and safety. Time stops meaning anything. There's just the nest. Just the desperate need to make it right.
Footsteps on the stairs. River and Grayson's scents join Seth's—pine and sawdust, ink and leather and spice. My pack.
But I can't stop. Can't think past the overwhelming need to build.
"Bea?" River's voice, careful. "Do you need?—"
"Don't." It comes out sharp, desperate. "Don't touch anything. I have to—just let me?—"
"Okay." Grayson's voice is calm. "We're right here. We won't interfere."
Good. Perfect. Because this pillow needs to go here, and this blanket needs to be folded just so, and the walls need to be higher?—
"Sweetheart." Seth again, closer now. "When did you last drink water?"
Water. The word doesn't make sense.
He appears at the edge of my vision, holding out a glass. "Please. Just a few sips."
I take it because his scent is soothing. Because somewhere under the instinct, I know he's right.
The water is cold. Grounding.
