It was early morning, the sun barely up, and I was sitting on the edge of my bed staring at the flannel shirt draped over the chair in the corner. Reid's flannel. He'd given it to me two nights ago when I'd mentioned being cold, and I hadn't given it back. Had told myself I kept forgetting, that it wasn't a big deal, that I'd return it tomorrow.
But that wasn't true.
I'd kept it because it smelled like him—whiskey and woodsmoke and something deeper, something solid and grounding that made the anxious thing in my chest go quiet. I'd slept with it bunched up next to my pillow last night, and when I'd woken up this morning I'd been clutching it against my chest like a child with a stuffed animal.
What the hell was wrong with me?I stood abruptly, dropping the flannel like it had burned me, and crossed to the window to stare out at the ranch. The sun was painting everything gold and pink, the mountains standing sentinel in the distance, and somewhere out there Reid and Sawyer were already working—I'd heard them leave an hour ago, their low voices rumbling through the house like distant thunder.
There was a soft knock on my door, and my heart jumped into my throat before I recognized the scent seeping through the crack—eucalyptus and honey, warm and familiar.
"Aster?" Nolan's voice was gentle, muffled through the wood but still carrying that steady calm that seemed to be his default state. I could picture him on the other side, probably holdingtwo mugs of coffee, that soft smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "You awake?"
"Yeah." I cleared my throat, tried to make my voice sound normal instead of like I'd been caught doing something shameful. I crossed to the door and pulled it open, finding him exactly as I'd pictured—two steaming mugs in hand, sandy hair still sleep-mussed, soft smile in place. "Come in."
He stepped inside, his green eyes doing that quick sweep they always did—checking, assessing, cataloging my wellbeing in the space of a heartbeat. Whatever he saw made something flicker in his expression, there and gone too fast to identify.
"Brought you coffee." He held out one of the mugs, his fingers warm where they brushed mine in the exchange. His scent wrapped around me as he drew closer, eucalyptus and honey mixing with the rich aroma of coffee into something that made my shoulders drop and my breathing slow. "How'd you sleep?"
"Good." The word came out automatic, but for once it was actually true. I wrapped my hands around the warm ceramic, letting the heat anchor me, and took a careful sip. "Really good, actually. Better than I have in... a long time."
"Good." Nolan's voice was soft, pleased, but there was something else underneath it—a careful attention, a deliberate thoughtfulness that made me think he was working up to something. He settled onto the edge of the bed, in the same spot he'd claimed every morning, leaving that careful distance between us. His green eyes drifted to the chair in the corner, to the flannel still draped over the arm, and something knowing flickered in their depths. "That's Reid's shirt."
It wasn't a question. Heat flooded my cheeks, sudden and mortifying.
"I was going to give it back." The words came out defensive, too fast, my fingers tightening on my mug until the ceramiccreaked in protest. I couldn't meet his eyes, couldn't look at anything but the dark surface of my coffee. "I just forgot. It's not—I wasn't?—"
"Aster." Nolan's voice was gentle, cutting through my spiraling explanation with soft precision. His hand moved into my line of sight, palm up on the mattress between us, an offering rather than a demand. "It's okay. You don't have to explain."
I looked up, found his green eyes warm and understanding, no judgment in their depths. His sandy hair fell across his forehead in soft waves, and his freckled face was open, patient, waiting.
"You've been doing that a lot." His voice was quiet, thoughtful, each word chosen with care. His thumb traced an absent pattern on the bedspread, a nervous gesture that belied his calm tone. "Seeking out our things. Our scents. You touched the back of Reid's chair yesterday after he got up from dinner. You moved Kol's hoodie from the couch to your room—I saw you do it, even though you put it back this morning."
The heat in my cheeks spread down my neck, burning like a brand. I hadn't known anyone was watching. Hadn't known I was being so obvious about this—this thing I didn't understand, this compulsion I couldn't control.
"I don't know why I'm doing it." My voice came out rough, cracked with embarrassment and something else—fear, maybe, or confusion, or both tangled together until I couldn't tell them apart. I set my coffee mug on the nightstand with trembling hands, needing something to do with them that wasn't clutching at fabric that smelled like someone else. "I don't know what's happening to me."
"I do." Nolan's voice was gentle, certain, and when I looked at him his green eyes were soft with understanding, with a kindness that made my chest ache. He shifted closer on the bed, his knee brushing mine through the covers, a deliberate touchthat sent warmth spreading through my body. "Can I explain? There's some things about Omega biology that I think you need to know."
I nodded, not trusting my voice, my heart hammering against my ribs.
Nolan took a breath, his chest rising and falling beneath his soft henley, and when he spoke his voice was calm and steady—the voice of a doctor delivering difficult news with as much gentleness as possible.
"You've been on suppressants for thirteen years." The words landed in my chest like stones, heavy with implication. His green eyes held mine, gentle but unflinching, his freckled face serious and kind. "Cheap suppressants, from what you've told me. The kind that don't just suppress your heats—they suppress everything. Your scent, your instincts, the biological drives that make an Omega an Omega."
I swallowed hard, my throat clicking with dryness.
"Yeah." My voice came out hoarse, barely above a whisper. I dropped my gaze to my hands, twisted together in my lap, my knuckles going white with tension. "It was easier that way. Safer. People couldn't tell what I was if they couldn't smell it."
"I know." Nolan's voice was soft, thick with understanding and something that sounded like grief—grief for the girl I'd been, maybe, for all those years of hiding and running and being afraid. His hand moved slowly, deliberately, coming to rest over my twisted fingers, warm and grounding. "But you haven't been on them for—how long now?"
I tried to think, tried to calculate through the fog of the past few weeks.
"Three weeks, maybe?" My voice came out uncertain, wavering. I'd run out before I got here, hadn't had the money or the connections to get more, and by the time I'd been hired I'dbeen too tired and too scared to try. "Maybe a little longer. I ran out before I came here."
Nolan nodded slowly, his thumb tracing gentle circles over my knuckles, his green eyes soft with something that looked like relief mixed with concern.
"That's what I thought." His voice was quiet, measured, each word chosen with care. He shifted closer, his shoulder brushing mine, his scent wrapping around me in a wave of eucalyptus and honey that made something in my chest loosen. "Your body is healing, Aster. After thirteen years of being suppressed, your natural biology is coming back online. The scent-seeking, the comfort in pack scents, the way you're sleeping better surrounded by Alphas—that's all normal Omega behavior. It's just new to you because you've never been allowed to feel it before."
Normal Omega behavior. The words echoed in my head, foreign and strange.
