Something cracked open in my chest at that word. Pack. I'd been hearing it for weeks now, had started to let myself believe it might be true, but hearing it like this—smelling the proof of it on my own skin—made it real in a way nothing else had.
"My turn next time." Nolan's voice was warm, teasing, breaking the intensity of the moment. But when I looked at him, his green eyes were soft and serious underneath the humor. "If you want."
"And mine." Sawyer's voice was rough, barely more than a growl. He wasn't looking at me—was staring down at his coffee like it held the secrets of the universe—but his ears were red, andhis scent had gone sharp and wanting in a way that made my stomach flip.
Reid didn't say anything, but when I glanced at him, his dark eyes were burning with something fierce and possessive. He gave me a small nod, an acknowledgment, a promise.
"I'd like that." My voice came out rough. I looked around the table at the four of them—Kol still glowing with happiness, Nolan smiling gently, Sawyer studiously avoiding eye contact, Reid watching everything with quiet satisfaction. "All of you. I'd like that."
Kol threw his arms around me again, pulling me into a hug that smelled like orange blossoms and burnt eggs and something that felt an awful lot like home. For the first time in my life, surrounded by four Alphas who wanted nothing more than to leave their mark on me, I didn't feel trapped.
I felt found.
CHAPTER TWENTY
ASTER
I was still floating from breakfast when Sawyer found me.
Kol's scent clung to my skin, orange blossoms and warmth layered over the house smell I'd already absorbed, and every time I caught a whiff of it something settled deeper in my chest. The others had scattered after the meal—Reid to his office, Nolan to the clinic, Kol to whatever chaos he was creating in the barn—and I'd wandered out to the porch, not quite ready to be alone but not sure where I belonged.
The screen door creaked behind me, and I turned to find Sawyer standing there, his pale blue eyes fixed on my face with an intensity that made my breath catch. He was dressed for work—worn jeans, a flannel with the sleeves rolled up to reveal scarred forearms, boots that had seen better days. His copper hair was windswept, his weathered face unreadable. His scent reached me on the morning breeze—sun-baked grass and wind and something wild underneath, something that made my pulse quicken in ways I didn't fully understand.
"Come on." His voice was rough, barely more than two words, but there was something underneath them—an invitation, a question he wasn't quite asking. He jerked his chin toward the stable, his jaw tight, his pale eyes holding mine with an intensity that felt like a physical touch.
I should have asked where. Should have wanted more information before agreeing to follow this silent, scarred man I barely knew. Something in his eyes told me this mattered—that he was offering something he didn't offer lightly.
"Okay." My voice came out softer than I intended, a little breathless. I pushed off from the porch railing, my heart already beating faster. "Let me get my boots."
Something flickered in his expression—surprise, maybe, or relief—before his face settled back into its usual stoic mask. He nodded once, a short sharp motion, and stepped off the porch, heading toward the stable without looking back to see if I followed.
I followed. By the time I'd laced up my boots and grabbed a jacket, Sawyer had two horses saddled and waiting. Copper nickered softly when she saw me, and I felt a rush of affection for the gentle bay mare who'd carried me on my ride with Reid.
"You remembered." The words slipped out before I could stop them, soft and wondering, my hand coming up to stroke Copper's velvet nose. Sawyer glanced at me, one eyebrow raised slightly, his pale eyes curious beneath the fall of his copper hair.
"That I liked Copper." I clarified, feeling heat climb my cheeks at his steady attention. My hand stilled on Copper's neck, suddenly self-conscious. "You could have picked any horse."
"She's good for you." His voice was gruff, matter-of-fact, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. He was already mounted on his own horse—a sturdy gray mare with intelligent eyes—the reins gathered loosely in one scarred hand, his postureeasy and natural in the saddle. "Her name's Scout. Had her eight years now. She's stubborn as hell, but she's never let me down."
There was something in his voice when he talked about the horse—a warmth that softened the rough edges, a tenderness he didn't show for much else. His free hand came up to pat Scout's neck, the gesture absent and affectionate.
"Scout." I repeated the name, filing it away, watching the way his weathered face relaxed when the mare turned her head to lip at his boot. "Suits her. She looks smart."
"Too smart." His pale eyes crinkled slightly at the corners—not quite a smile, but close. His voice had gone almost fond, roughened by something that sounded like genuine affection. "Always knows when I'm trying to get her to do something she doesn't want to do. Gives me this look like I'm the stupidest person she's ever met."
I laughed before I could stop myself—a real laugh, surprised out of me by the unexpected humor—and Sawyer's head turned toward me, something shifting in his expression. His pale eyes went wide for just a moment, his lips parting slightly, his whole body going still like he'd just witnessed something rare and precious.
"That's the first time I've heard you laugh around me." His voice was quiet, almost wondering, rough with an emotion I couldn't name. His scarred hands had tightened on the reins, his knuckles going white, like he was holding himself back from something. "It's a good sound."
Heat flooded my cheeks, spreading down my neck, and I didn't know what to say to that. Didn't know how to respond to this silent, scarred man who noticed things like the sound of my laugh and spoke about them like they mattered.
"You coming?" His voice had gone gruff again, like he was embarrassed by his own admission. He clicked his tongue andScout moved forward, but his pale eyes lingered on my face for a moment longer, soft and searching.
I mounted up, trying to mimic the easy grace he'd shown and probably failing miserably. Copper was patient beneath me, standing steady while I found my balance and adjusted my grip on the reins. We rode out of the stable yard and into the morning, the sun just starting to warm the air, the ranch spreading out around us in shades of gold and green. Sawyer's scent drifted to me on the breeze—sun-baked grass and wind and that wild undertone—mixing with horse and leather and the sweet smell of dew-damp grass.
We didn't talk at first. The silence stretched between us, filled only by hoofbeats and birdsong and the whisper of wind through the grass. I kept waiting for it to feel awkward, for the urge to fill the quiet with meaningless chatter to overwhelm me.
It didn't.
