My voice cracked slightly on the last word, and I had to swallow hard before continuing.
"I imagine having a real home. A place where I belong, where people know my name and smile when they see me. I imagine being someone's family, not just some stray they took in out of pity." I set down the knife, my hands shaking too much to continue. "I imagine being bonded. Really, truly bonded. Forever."
"That's a lot of imagining." Marley's voice was rough, but when I looked up, her eyes were suspiciously bright. "Sounds exhausting."
A laugh bubbled up from my chest, watery but real. "It is. I'm not used to wanting things. It still feels dangerous sometimes. Like if I want it too much, it'll get taken away."
"That's fear talking." She set down her quilt, fixing me with a look that was equal parts stern and kind, her weathered face softening around the edges. "And fear's a liar. You're allowed to want things now, Aster. You're allowed to hope. That's not dangerous — that's living."
The words settled into my chest like seeds taking root, finding purchase in soil that had been barren for far too long.
"You sound like them." I picked up my knife again, blinking away the moisture in my eyes. "My Alphas. They keep telling me I deserve good things."
"Smart men." She returned to her quilting, her needle flashing in the light. "Knew I liked them for a reason."
We worked in comfortable silence for a while, the afternoon sun slowly shifting across the floor. I finished the border on Reid's journal cover and set it aside to cure, then pulled out my next project — a canvas bag, already half-constructed, waiting for the embroidery that would make it special.
Nolan's gift. A proper vet bag, big enough to hold all his supplies, with reinforced handles and multiple pockets. I'd spent hours designing the layout, making sure everything would have its place. But the real work was the embroidery — delicate wildflowers climbing up one side, interspersed with small medical symbols. A caduceus wrapped in morning glories. A stethoscope twined with daisies.
"That's ambitious." Marley had moved to stand behind me, peering over my shoulder at the design sketched onto the canvas. "You sure you're ready for that level of detail?"
"No." I admitted, threading my needle with pale green floss. "But I want it to be perfect. He deserves perfect."
She made a sound that might have been approval and returned to her chair. "Start with the stems. Get the foundation right, and the rest will follow."
I bent over the fabric, losing myself in the rhythm of the needle. In and out, in and out, tiny stitches building into something beautiful. It was meditative in a way I'd never expected — my mind quieting, my breathing evening out, everything fading away except the thread and the fabric and the image slowly taking shape.
"Tell me about the others." Marley's voice was soft, not intrusive. "The other gifts you're making."
I didn't look up from my work, but I smiled. "Sawyer's getting a bandana. Dark blue, like the sky just before dawn. I'm doing a subtle pattern — mountains along the border, pine trees scattered throughout. Things he loves but never talks about."
"He's a quiet one." Marley agreed, her own needle never pausing. "The kind who feels deeply but doesn't have words for it."
"Exactly." I tied off a section of stem and started on the next, my stitches growing more confident. "That's why I wanted his gift to say everything without being loud about it. Something he can wear, something practical, but with meaning underneath."
"And the fourth one? The bright one with the big smile?"
Kol. My heart warmed just thinking about him.
"A scarf." I couldn't help the grin that spread across my face. "The brightest colors I could find — orange and gold and warm red, like sunset over the mountains. He's always cold in the mornings, always wrapping himself in blankets and complaining about the temperature. I want him to have something warm that matches who he is."
"Sunshine colors for a sunshine boy." Marley nodded approvingly, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "You know them well. All of them."
"I try." I paused my stitching, looking down at the half-finished bag in my hands. "They've given me so much. A home, a family, a future I never thought I'd have. I wanted to give them something back. Something that shows I really see them, really know them."
Marley was quiet for a long moment, and when she spoke, her voice was rougher than usual. "They're going to love these, you know. All of them. Not because the stitching is perfect or the designs are fancy, but because you made them. Because you put pieces of yourself into every thread."
I blinked hard, my vision blurring. "That's the idea. I wanted to give them something of myself. Something permanent. Something they can hold onto."
"It's an Omega thing." Marley said it matter-of-factly, like she was explaining the weather. "The need to provide, to nurture, to create things for your pack. I've seen it before, in the bonded Omegas I've known. They can't help but pour themselves into everything they make for their people."
I'd never thought about it that way, but the moment she said it, I knew she was right. The need to create these gifts wasn't just about gratitude or affection — it was something deeper, something instinctual. My Omega needed to provide for her pack, to care for them in tangible ways, to leave pieces of herself woven into the fabric of their lives.
"Is that strange?" I asked, suddenly self-conscious. "Being so... driven by instinct?"
"Strange?" Marley snorted, shaking her head. "Honey, there's nothing strange about loving people and wanting to show it. Instinct or not, what you're doing is beautiful. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."
I returned to my embroidery with renewed determination, my needle moving faster now, more sure. The afternoon slipped by in a haze of thread and conversation, Marley teaching menew techniques when I got stuck, sharing stories of her own courtship with Trent, asking questions that made me think about things I'd never put into words before.
