"She was a very sick horse." Nolan's voice was dignified, prim, but his green eyes were sparkling with barely suppressed laughter, his whole face alight with the joy of an old, beloved joke. His shoulders shook slightly with the effort of keeping a straight face.
The room dissolved into soft laughter, warm and easy, the tension of shared stories easing into something lighter. I felt it then—the bonds between them, the years of history, the way they'd found each other one by one and held on tight.
They wanted me to be part of it. My eyes drifted to Sawyer, still silent in his armchair, his pale blue gaze watchful in the shadows. He caught me looking and held my stare for a long moment, something unreadable passing across his harsh features.
"Sawyer will share when he's ready." Reid's voice was gentle, understanding, his dark eyes flicking to the quiet Alpha with obvious respect and patience. His tone held no pressure, no expectation, just acceptance. "His story is his own to tell. Or not."
Sawyer nodded once, that short, sharp gesture of his that said more than most people's speeches, and I thought I saw something like gratitude flicker across his rough features, softening the hard line of his jaw. His pale blue eyes met mine again, and something passed between us—an acknowledgment, a promise. Not yet. But someday. When I'm ready.
I nodded back, letting him know I understood, that I'd wait as long as he needed.
The fire had burned low, embers glowing orange and red in the hearth, heat still radiating into the room in gentle waves. Outside, the wind had picked up, rattling the windows softly, but in here it was warm and safe, filled with the mingled scents of four Alphas and the lingering echo of shared stories.
Kol was still at my feet, his head now resting against my knee, his breathing slow and even, his amber eyes heavy-lidded with exhaustion. Nolan's hand was still in mine, his thumb still tracing those gentle, absent circles on my skin. Reid was watching the dying fire, his expression peaceful, the hard lines of his weathered face softened by contentment. Even Sawyer had relaxed, his usual rigid posture easing into something almost comfortable, his beer finally raised to his lips for a long swallow.
I didn't want to leave.
The realization hit me like a physical blow, stealing my breath. I didn't want to walk back to the bunkhouse, to that narrow bed that smelled like nothing and no one, to that quiet space where I was alone with my thoughts and my fears and my memories. I wanted to stay here, in this warmth, with these people who had shared pieces of themselves with me and accepted the broken pieces I'd offered in return.
"You should stay." Kol's voice was sleepy and slurred, muffled against my knee, his amber eyes blinking up at me with drowsy sweetness. All his usual restless energy had finally been spent, leaving something soft and vulnerable in its wake. "The bunkhouse is cold. Stay here."
"Kol." Nolan's voice held a gentle warning, though his thumb never stopped its soothing circles on my hand. His green eyes flicked between the two of us, careful and watchful. "We talked about not pressuring?—"
"'I’m not pressuring." Kol yawned hugely, his jaw cracking, his whole body going boneless against my leg like a cat in a sunbeam. His words came out muzzy and half-formed, innocent in their simplicity. "Just stating facts. Bunkhouse is cold. Fire is warm. Logic."
I laughed despite myself, the sound wet and trembling, caught somewhere between tears and joy.
"He's not wrong." Reid's voice was quiet, careful, picking each word with deliberate precision. His dark eyes found mine across the room, warm and patient, offering without demanding. He didn't move, didn't push, just held my gaze with that steady calm I was learning to lean on, to trust. The firelight played across his weathered features, painting him in shades of gold and shadow. "There's a guest room, if you want it. No expectations, no strings. Just somewhere warm to sleep."
I looked around the room—at Kol already half-asleep against my leg, his face soft and unguarded; at Nolan's gentle concern, his green eyes watchful and kind; at Sawyer's quiet solidarity, his pale gaze steady from the shadows; at Reid's patient offer, his dark eyes warm with something that looked like hope.
They'd given me pieces of themselves tonight. Their stories, their pain, their winding roads to this place and this moment. They'd let me see behind the walls, trusted me with their vulnerabilities.
The least I could do was stay.
"Okay." My voice came out rough, cracked around the edges, thick with emotion I couldn't quite name. I squeezed Nolan's hand, let my other hand rest gently on Kol's hair. "Okay. I'll stay."
Kol made a sound of sleepy triumph against my knee, nuzzling closer, and I felt his smile against my leg. Nolan's face broke into a soft, relieved smile, his green eyes crinkling at the corners with quiet joy. Sawyer nodded once from his chair,something like approval warming his pale gaze, his shoulders finally relaxing completely.
Reid just looked at me with those dark eyes, warm and steady and full of something that made my heart ache with wanting.
"Welcome home, Aster." His voice was low, rough with emotion, carrying the weight of a promise, of a vow. The words wrapped around me like the warmth of the fire, like the mingled scents of four Alphas, like the feeling of finally, finally belonging somewhere.
Welcome home.
I didn't go back to the bunkhouse that night.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
ASTER
I woke to the smell of coffee and bacon drifting through the crack under the guest room door. For a long moment, I just lay there, blinking at the unfamiliar ceiling, trying to remember where I was. The bed was soft—softer than anything I'd slept on in years—and the sheets smelled like lavender and something else, something warm and layered. Their scents, all woven together into something that made my chest ache.
Right. The main house. I'd stayed.
I sat up slowly, pushing tangled hair out of my face, and took stock. Sunlight was streaming through the window, painting golden stripes across the worn wooden floor. From somewhere deeper in the house, I could hear voices—low murmurs I couldn't make out, punctuated by Kol's distinctive laugh.
I'd slept through the night. No nightmares, no waking in a cold sweat, no lying rigid in the dark waiting for something bad to happen. Just... sleep. Deep and dreamless and safe.
