"Anything." I kept my voice soft, encouraging. He was quiet for a moment, his jaw working, his pale eyes fixed on the horizon.
"This morning. When Kol scented you." He swallowed hard, his throat moving visibly. "What did it feel like?"
The question surprised me. Of all the things I'd expected him to ask, that wasn't it.
"It felt safe." I searched for the right words, wanting to give him the truth. "Like being wrapped in something warm. Like belonging." I paused, trying to articulate something I barely understood myself. "Like being claimed, but not in a bad way. Not possession. Just... connection."
Sawyer nodded slowly, his pale eyes fixed on some point in the distance, his thumb still tracing those nervous patterns on my hand.
"I've never scented anyone before that." The admission came out rough, reluctant, like he was dragging the words out of somewhere deep. His jaw was tight, his shoulders rigid. "Never let anyone close enough. Never wanted to." He paused, and when he spoke again his voice was barely audible, cracking slightly. "Until now."
My heart stuttered in my chest.
"Sawyer—"
"I'm not asking for anything." He cut me off, his voice gruff, his ears flaming red. His pale eyes were fixed determinedly on the horizon, refusing to meet mine. "Not expecting anything. Just... wanted you to know. That I think about it. About you." His jaw tightened. "About wanting you to smell like me as much as you smell like Kol."
The words hit me somewhere deep, somewhere I hadn't known existed.
"I think about it too." The confession slipped out before I could stop it, soft and honest. My cheeks were burning, but Ididn't look away. “I know you all didn’t scent me like Kol did…but I wouldn’t have minded."
Sawyer's breath caught audibly. His hand tightened on mine, his whole body going rigid.
"Not yet." His voice was rough, strained, like he was holding himself back from something. His pale eyes finally met mine, blazing with fierce emotion. "When you're ready. When I've earned it."
"You don't have to earn?—"
"Yeah." He cut me off, his voice fierce. His scarred hand rose to cup my face, his touch feather-light, reverent. "I do. I want to do this right. Want you to know who I am before you let me that close."
There was something underneath his words—a weight, a history, something he wasn't ready to say but wanted me to understand.
"Then tell me." I turned my face into his palm, feeling the rough calluses against my cheek. "Tell me who you are." Sawyer was quiet for a long time. His thumb traced my cheekbone, back and forth, like he was memorizing the shape of me. When he finally spoke, his voice was rough, each word dragged out like it cost him something.
"I grew up rough." His jaw was tight, a muscle jumping beneath the stubble, his pale eyes going distant with memory. "Dad was mean when he was sober, worse when he was drunk. Mom left when I was six. After that..." He shrugged, the motion sharp and pained. "Just surviving. Day to day. Whatever it took."
I didn't say anything. Just leaned into his touch and let him find his way.
"I did things." He paused, swallowed hard, his hand trembling against my face. "Things I'm not proud of. Hurt people. Stole. Fought because fighting was the only thing I knewhow to do." His voice dropped to barely a whisper, cracking with old shame. "I wasn't a good man, Aster. Not always."
"Was." I covered his hand with mine, pressing it more firmly against my cheek. "Past tense." He turned to look at me then, his pale eyes bright with something that might have been tears, his weathered face raw with vulnerability.
"You don't know what I did."
"I know who you are now." My voice was steady, certain. "The man who packed me lunch and taught me about his horse and trusted me with his quiet. That's who you are." Something cracked in his expression—a wall crumbling, a wound finally allowed to breathe. His breath shuddered out of him, his eyes closing briefly.
"I was twenty-three when I showed up here." His voice was rough, wondering, when he opened his eyes again. "Half-starved, feral. Hadn't slept under a roof in months. Didn't trust anyone, didn't want to."
"What happened?" I asked. Sawyer was quiet for a long moment, his thumb still tracing my cheekbone, his pale eyes distant with memory.
"Reid found me in the barn." A ghost of a smile crossed his weathered face, there and gone. "I'd snuck in looking for food, maybe a place to sleep. He walked in and I just—" He shook his head. "Attacked him. Didn't think, just reacted. Had my hand around his throat before I knew what I was doing."
My breath caught.
"He didn't fight back." Sawyer's voice cracked on the words, his eyes bright with old emotion. "Didn't yell. Just looked at me with those steady eyes and said 'You hungry?' Like I wasn't trying to kill him. Like I was just some stray who needed feeding."
Tears burned at my eyes. I blinked hard.
"He made me eggs." Sawyer's voice was barely a whisper now, rough with wonder. "Two in the morning, and he sat me down at the kitchen table and made me eggs and toast. Didn't ask questions. Didn't demand anything. Just fed me, showed me to a room, and said I could stay."
