"It's not much." Reid set my bag on the bed, his voice almost apologetic, his dark eyes watching my face for a reaction. He rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous gesture I'd never seen from him before. "We can get you whatever you need. More furniture, decorations, whatever makes it feel?—"
"It's perfect." My voice came out hushed, awed, as I turned in a slow circle taking it all in. My hand trailed across the dresser, the bedpost, the soft curtains framing the window. "Reid, it's—no one's ever—" I stopped, my throat closing around the words. Reid crossed the room in two strides and pulled me into his arms again, his chin resting on top of my head, his scent surrounding me.
"It's yours." His voice was fierce, absolute. His hand stroked down my spine, soothing and possessive. "For as long as you want it. Forever, if you let us."
I pressed my face against his chest and breathed him in—whiskey and woodsmoke and home—and let myself believe, just for a moment, that forever might be possible.
The others found out at dinner.
I was already at the table when Kol came bounding in, his honey-blond hair windswept and his amber eyes bright with whatever adventure he'd been having. He threw himself into his usual chair, already talking about something that had happened with one of the goats, when he stopped mid-sentence and sniffed the air.
"You smell different." His brow furrowed, his head tilting to the side like a curious puppy. His nose twitched as he inhaled again, and then his eyes went wide, his whole face splitting into a grin so bright it was almost blinding. "Wait. You smell like the house. Like—more like the house. Like you've been—" He whipped around to look at Reid, then back at me, practically vibrating out of his seat. "Did you move in? Are you living here now? Like, for real?"
"Kol." Nolan's voice was gentle but firm from where he stood at the stove, a spatula in one hand. His green eyes were warm with quiet amusement, his freckled face soft with a smile he was trying to hide. "Maybe let her answer before you explode."
"I'm not exploding, I'm excited, there's a difference." Kol turned back to me, his amber eyes shining with barely contained joy, his hands gripping the edge of the table like he might launch himself across it. "Well? Is it true? Please say it's true."
I glanced at Reid, who was watching the exchange with a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth. He caught my eye and nodded slightly, giving me permission to share—or maybe just reassuring me that it was real, that I hadn't imagined the whole afternoon.
"Yeah." My voice came out soft, almost shy. I wrapped my hands around my water glass, needing something to hold onto. "Reid offered me a room. I said yes."
Kol made a sound that could only be described as a squeal and was out of his chair before I could blink, rounding the table to pull me into a hug so enthusiastic it nearly knocked me off myseat. His scent enveloped me—orange blossoms and warmth—and his arms were tight around my shoulders, holding on like he never wanted to let go.
"This is the best day." His voice was muffled against my hair, his whole body practically vibrating with happiness. "This is the actual best day. I'm so happy you're staying. I mean, I knew you were staying, but now you're staying staying, and that's so much better."
"Kol, you're crushing her." Sawyer's voice was a low rumble from the kitchen doorway. I hadn't heard him come in, but there he was, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed, his pale blue eyes watching the scene with something that might have been warmth lurking in their icy depths. His copper hair was damp from a shower, his weathered face carefully neutral—but I could see the slight curve at the corner of his mouth. The almost-smile he was trying to hide.
Kol released me with obvious reluctance, but he stayed close, hovering at my shoulder like he was afraid I might disappear if he let me out of arm's reach.
"You're okay with this?" I found myself asking, looking around the table at all of them—Kol still practically bouncing beside me, Nolan smiling softly from the stove, Sawyer a steady presence in the doorway, Reid watching everything with quiet satisfaction. "All of you? I mean, this is your house, your space, and I'm?—"
"You're pack." Nolan's voice was gentle but certain, cutting through my spiraling doubt. He'd set down the spatula and was leaning against the counter, his green eyes warm as they held mine. "Or you will be, when you're ready. Either way, you belong here. You have since the day you arrived."
"What he said." Kol dropped back into his chair but immediately scooted it closer to mine, close enough that our shoulders nearly touched. His amber eyes were soft now, sincerein a way that made my chest ache. "This is your home too. We want you here. All of us."
I looked at Sawyer, still silent in the doorway. He met my gaze without flinching, those pale blue eyes steady and sure.
"Good." That was all he said, his rough voice carrying a weight of meaning far beyond the single word. Then he pushed off from the doorframe and crossed to the table, taking his usual seat across from me. His hand reached out as he passed, brushing against my shoulder—the briefest touch, there and gone, but it left warmth in its wake.
Something in my chest cracked open—not painfully, but like a door finally swinging wide after being stuck for years. I looked around the table at these four Alphas who had somehow become mine, who had given me a place and a purpose and a room of my own, and felt tears burning at the backs of my eyes.
"Thank you." My voice came out rough, cracked with emotion. I had to blink hard to keep the tears from falling. "I don't—I don't know how to?—"
"You don't have to know anything." Reid's voice was warm, steady, coming from my other side. His hand found mine under the table, his fingers threading through mine and squeezing gently. "You just have to be here. That's enough."
It shouldn't have been enough. It couldn't possibly be enough, this broken, feral thing that I was. But looking at their faces—open and warm and wanting nothing but my presence—I almost believed it.
That night, I couldn't sleep. Not because I was uncomfortable—the bed was soft, the room warm, the sheets smelling of cedar and clean linen. Not because I was scared—though the old fear still lurked in the corners, it was quieter now, muffled by the knowledge that four Alphas slept just down the hall.
I couldn't sleep because the room felt wrong.
I lay there in the dark, staring at the ceiling, and something itched beneath my skin. The bed was too neat, the dresser too empty, the whole space too impersonal. It didn't feel like mine. It felt like a hotel room, a temporary stop, a place I was passing through rather than a place I belonged.
Without quite deciding to, I got up.
The dresser was the first thing I moved, pushing it from the wall opposite the bed to the wall next to the window. Then the bed itself, shoving it diagonal into the corner so it was tucked against two walls instead of floating in the middle of the room. I rearranged the pillows three times, stacking them, spreading them out, stacking them again.
It still wasn't right.
