The bathroom was warm, steam already rising from the tub he must have filled while I slept. The scent of something floral — lavender, maybe — filled the air, mixing with his cedar and my honey to create something new. Something that smelled like home. He helped me into the water, his hands gentle on my waist, his eyes tracking every wince and every sigh. The heat feltincredible on my sore muscles, the water lapping against bruised skin like a gentle embrace.
"Is it too hot?" He knelt beside the tub, his fingers trailing through the water, his brow furrowed with concern, his scent spiking with worry every time I shifted.
"It's perfect." I sank deeper, letting the warmth seep into my bones, letting out a groan of pleasure that made him smile — just a little, just a crack in the armor of guilt he was wearing. "God, that feels good."
He reached for a washcloth, dipped it in the water, and began to wash me with a tenderness that made my throat tight. He started with my shoulders, working the cloth in gentle circles, pausing at every bruise to examine it, to press a soft kiss against the discolored skin.
"This one's from when I pinned you against the wall." His voice was quiet, his lips brushing against a handprint-shaped bruise on my hip, his breath warm against my wet skin.
"I remember." I reached down, ran my fingers through his hair, felt him lean into the touch like a cat seeking affection. "I remember asking you not to stop."
He moved to my wrists, where the bruises were darkest, where he'd held me down again and again. He washed them carefully, reverently, then lifted each one to his lips and pressed kisses to the marks his fingers had left.
"I'm sorry." The words were muffled against my skin, his eyes closed, his expression pained.
"I'm not." I pulled my hand free, cupped his chin, lifted his face to meet my eyes. "I wanted everything you gave me. I'd do it again. I'd let you mark me a hundred times over if it meant feeling that... that connected. That claimed."
His breath caught, his eyes going bright with something that might have been tears.
"You're incredible." His voice was rough, awed, his hand coming up to cup my face, his thumb tracing my cheekbone with impossible gentleness. "You know that? Absolutely incredible."
"So you keep telling me." I turned my head, pressed a kiss to his palm, tasted the salt of his skin. "Now stop apologizing and get in here with me. The water's getting cold."
He laughed — a real laugh, surprised and genuine — and stripped off his clothes before climbing into the tub behind me. The water sloshed as he settled, his legs bracketing mine, his chest warm against my back. His arms wrapped around my waist, his chin resting on my shoulder, his purr rumbling to life again.
We soaked in comfortable silence, the steam rising around us, the water slowly cooling. I could feel his heartbeat against my back, steady and strong, could smell his scent shifting from guilt to contentment, could feel the tension bleeding out of his muscles as he held me.
A knock at the bedroom door made us both tense.
"It's Nolan." The familiar voice drifted through the closed bathroom door, calm and professional. "I wanted to check on you both. Medically."
Reid's arms tightened around me, a low growl building in his chest, and I felt the last remnants of rut flicker to life — the possessive instinct to keep his mate hidden, protected, away from other Alphas.
"Reid." I put my hand over his where it rested on my stomach, my voice gentle but firm. "It's okay. It's just Nolan. He needs to make sure we're healthy."
The growl faded, replaced by a heavy sigh.
"Give us a minute." Reid called out, his voice rough, his arms loosening reluctantly. "We'll be right out."
We dried off quickly, Reid wrapping me in one of his flannel shirts that hung to my knees, the fabric soft against mysensitive skin. His scent surrounded me, marking me as his even without the bite, and I saw his nostrils flare with satisfaction as he breathed it in. Nolan was waiting in the bedroom when we emerged, his medical bag in hand, his expression carefully neutral. But I could see the concern in his eyes, could smell the worry underlying his pine and antiseptic scent.
"How are you both feeling?" He set his bag on the bed, his movements calm and unhurried, his voice professional but warm, his eyes tracking over the visible bruises on my neck and wrists with clinical assessment.
"Sore." I admitted, settling onto the edge of the bed, feeling Reid hover behind me like a protective shadow. "But good. Really good."
"Reid?" Nolan turned to him, his eyebrow raised in quiet question.
"Fine." The word came out clipped, his hand finding my shoulder, his fingers curling possessively against my skin. "The rut's broken. I'm fine."
Nolan's expression shifted — something knowing and a little amused flickering across his features before he smoothed it away.
"I need to examine you both." He pulled a stethoscope from his bag, his movements practiced and efficient. "Standard post-rut checkup. Make sure there are no injuries that need attention."
The examination was thorough but gentle. Nolan checked my vitals, examined the bruises with clinical detachment, asked questions about pain levels and mobility with professional care. He was careful to explain everything he was doing, to ask permission before touching, to keep his scent calm and non-threatening.
Reid watched the entire time, his body tense, his eyes tracking every movement Nolan made. The possessive Alphainstinct was still simmering, I could tell, even with the rut broken. Having another Alpha touch his mate — even in a medical capacity — was clearly testing his control.
"No serious injuries." Nolan finally announced, stepping back, his expression satisfied, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "The bruises will heal in a few days. Nothing's torn, nothing's broken. You're both in excellent health, all things considered."
