Hope nickered again, soft and content, and I smiled against Nolan's chest as sleep pulled me under.
Safe.
Cherished.
Home.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
NOLAN
She looked so small when she slept. I lay on my side in the nest of blankets, my head propped on one hand, watching the rise and fall of Aster's chest in the dim light of the stable. Starlight filtered through the high windows, painting silver streaks across her bare shoulder, catching in the dark tangle of her hair spread across the pillow. Her face was soft in sleep, all the fierce tension she carried during the day melted away, her lips slightly parted, her breath a quiet rhythm that matched the beating of my heart.
She looked peaceful. She looked safe.
The thought sent a warm pulse through my chest, settling somewhere deep and permanent. My Omega. Not officially, not yet — the bonding mark I ached to place on her neck was still weeks away, still waiting for Easton to be dealt with — but in every way that mattered, she was mine. And I was hers. Had been from the moment I first caught her scent in this very stable, all those months ago.
I reached out, unable to stop myself, and brushed a strand of hair from her face. She stirred slightly, a soft sound escaping herlips, but didn't wake. Just turned her face toward my touch like a flower seeking sun, her brow smoothing, her body curling closer to mine.
God, she was beautiful.
Not just physically — though she was that too, with her sharp cheekbones and those pale green eyes that could cut right through you, with her lean body that had finally started to fill out after months of proper meals and safety. But there was something deeper than physical beauty. Something in the fierce way she loved, the stubborn way she survived, the gentle way she'd learned to let herself be cared for.
I'd watched her transform over these months. Watched the feral, half-starved creature who'd growled at me in this stable slowly become the woman sleeping in my arms. She'd come to us broken in ways I was still discovering, held together by nothing but spite and survival instinct. And piece by piece, day by day, she'd let us help her heal.
Not fix her. She didn't need fixing. She'd never been broken in the way she thought she was — just wounded, scarred, carrying weight that no one should have to carry alone. What she'd needed was space to breathe. People who would wait. A place where she could finally set down the burden of constant vigilance and just... exist.
We'd given her that. Reid with his steady authority and his quiet devotion. Sawyer with his fierce protectiveness and his understanding of darkness. Kol with his endless warmth and his ability to make her laugh. And me... I'd given her patience. Gentleness. The kind of careful attention I gave to every wounded creature that crossed my path.
She'd given us something too. Something I hadn't even known I was missing until she arrived.
Purpose.
Before Aster, we'd been four Alphas sharing a ranch, sharing a life, but always feeling like something was incomplete. Like we were waiting for a piece we couldn't name. Reid threw himself into the business of running Longhorn. Sawyer buried himself in work and silence. Kol cooked and joked and pretended everything was fine. And I... I filled my days with patients and house calls, pouring all the care I had into animals because it was easier than admitting I wanted someone to pour it into who could love me back.
Then she appeared. Thin and scared and fierce as a wildcat, growling at me over a pregnant mare like she could actually take me in a fight. And everything clicked into place.
Pack.
That's what we were now. Not just four Alphas sharing space, but a real pack. A family. With her at the center, holding us all together, giving us something to protect and cherish and build a future around.
Aster shifted in her sleep, her hand reaching out blindly until it found my chest. Her fingers curled against my skin, and I felt her relax again, settling deeper into the blankets with a soft sigh. Even unconscious, she was seeking connection. Seeking safety.
I covered her hand with mine, feeling the delicate bones of her fingers, the calluses she'd earned from months of ranch work. These hands had mucked stalls and mended fences and learned to sew from Marley in town. These hands had stroked Hope's mane and braided Bella's tail and touched me with a tenderness I'd never expected from someone who'd had so little tenderness in her own life.
These hands would wear my bonding mark someday. The thought made something fierce and primal surge in my chest.
Soon.
The word echoed through me like a promise. One month, we'd agreed. One month to deal with Easton, to make sure hecouldn't hurt her, couldn't touch her, couldn't take this from us. Then we would bond. All of us. Forever.
Tonight, in the quiet dark of the stable with starlight painting her skin silver, "soon" felt very far away. Tonight, I wanted to freeze this moment in amber, keep it perfect and protected, safe from everything waiting outside these walls.
Easton's face flashed through my mind — that cold smile, those hungry eyes raking over Aster like she was property to be acquired. I'd wanted to hurt him. For the first time in my life, I'd wanted to cause another living being genuine pain. The violence of that desire had shocked me, shaken loose something I hadn't known I was capable of feeling.
I was a healer. I'd spent my entire adult life learning how to fix things, mend things, ease suffering wherever I found it. Violence went against everything I believed in, everything I'd built my identity around. When Easton had looked at her like that — when he'd called her a prize, when he'd talked about breaking her — something ancient and primal had risen up in me. Something that didn't care about healing or gentleness or the careful patience I'd cultivated over years of practice.
Mine, that something had snarled. She's mine, and I will destroy anyone who tries to take her.
