Kol was gone—he must have slipped out sometime before dawn—but his scent lingered on the pillow beside me, orange blossoms and warmth soaked into the fabric. I pressed my face into it and breathed deep, something settling in my chest.
I made my way downstairs still wearing Reid's flannel over my sleep shirt, my feet bare on the wooden steps. The kitchen was full of the usual morning chaos—Kol at the stove flipping pancakes with more enthusiasm than skill, Sawyer at the tablewith coffee and a newspaper, Reid reviewing something on his phone with a furrowed brow. But it was Nolan who looked up when I entered, his green eyes taking in my appearance with gentle assessment—the borrowed flannel, the sleep-mussed hair, the lingering vulnerability in my expression.
"Morning." His voice was soft, warm, carrying across the kitchen like a gentle touch. He was leaning against the counter with a mug in his hands, steam curling up toward his freckled face, his sandy hair still damp from a shower.
"Morning." I managed, tugging self-consciously at the hem of Reid's flannel, suddenly aware of how it swallowed my frame.
"Kol mentioned you had a rough night." Nolan set down his mug with a soft clink and crossed to me, his movements unhurried, his scent reaching me before he did—eucalyptus and honey, steady and calming. His green eyes were gentle as they searched my face. "Want to take a walk? I can fill in some gaps about what you're experiencing."
I glanced at the others—Kol giving me an encouraging smile from the stove, his amber eyes warm and knowing; Sawyer watching with quiet attention, his pale blue gaze steady and undemanding; Reid looking up from his phone with soft dark eyes that crinkled slightly at the corners—and nodded.
"Yeah." My voice came out rough, uncertain. "I think I'd like that." We walked out past the stable, the morning cool and bright around us, dew still clinging to the grass and sparkling in the early light. Nolan's scent drifted to me on the breeze—eucalyptus and honey, grounding and familiar.
"So." His voice was gentle as we fell into step together, his pace unhurried, matching mine. "You've moved past scent-seeking into full nesting."
"Is that what it's called?" I wrapped my arms around myself, hugging Reid's flannel tighter against the morning chill. "Iunderstood the scent thing after you explained it. But this—the furniture, the needing to build walls?—"
"It's a deeper instinct." Nolan took my hand, his fingers warm around mine, his grip gentle but steady. "Scent-seeking is about immediate comfort. Nesting is about long-term safety. It's your Omega preparing a space she intends to stay in." His green eyes met mine, soft and serious, bright with quiet emotion. "It means you've stopped planning your escape route."
The words made my breath catch, something tightening in my chest.
"I didn't realize I was still doing that." My voice came out rough, cracked. "Planning to run."
"Part of you probably was." Nolan's thumb traced soothing circles on my hand, gentle and rhythmic. "Old habits. Survival instincts. But the nesting means those instincts are finally quieting. Your body believes you're safe here—safe enough to build something permanent."
We walked in silence for a moment, his words sinking in, settling into my bones.
"Kol said the others would want to contribute." I glanced at him, curiosity and uncertainty warring in my voice. "To the nest."
"They will." Nolan smiled gently, his green eyes crinkling at the corners with warmth. "It's traditional—when an Omega nests, courting Alphas provide offerings. Soft things, comfortable things, items with their scent. It's a way of asking to be part of the nest without demanding access."
"Without demanding access?" I repeated, my brow furrowing with confusion.
"The nest is sacred space." Nolan's voice was firm but gentle, his green eyes holding mine with quiet intensity. "Entirely yours. No Alpha enters without explicit invitation, no matter how manyofferings they've given. We can provide for it, but we would never presume to enter without your permission."
Something eased in my chest—a fear I hadn't consciously acknowledged, a tension I hadn't known I was carrying.
"I didn't know that." My voice was rough with relief, my fingers tightening around his. "That it would be mine. That I'd have control."
"Complete control." Nolan squeezed my hand, his green eyes fierce with sincerity. "Always."
That evening, the offerings began.
First, a soft green blanket appeared outside my door, folded neatly on the hardwood, smelling of eucalyptus and honey. Nolan. A note was tucked into the folds, written in neat, precise handwriting:
For your nest. If you want it. —N
An hour later, there was another knock—too brief to be a visitor, just a tap to let me know something had been left. When I opened the door, an overstuffed pillow sat on the threshold, cloud-soft and smelling of whiskey and woodsmoke. Reid. No note—just his scent, warm and grounding, soaked deep into the fabric.
Before bed, a third offering appeared: a flannel shirt, soft from years of washing, smelling of sun-baked grass and wind. Sawyer. It was wrapped around something small and heavy—a smooth stone, the kind you might find by a riverbed, worn perfect by years of water. I didn't know why he'd included it, but something about its weight felt necessary. Grounding. Like him.
Finally, just as I was about to turn off the light, one last knock. When I opened the door, Kol stood there in the hallway, not leaving something but holding something out, his honey-blond hair falling across his forehead, his amber eyes uncertain and hopeful.
"I know you already have the hoodie." His voice was soft, almost shy, his amber eyes flickering between my face and the item in his hands. "But I wanted to give you something on purpose. Not just something you found." He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing visibly, his cheeks flushing pink. "It's my favorite. I've had it since I was eighteen. I thought you might want something that really matters."
He was holding a worn t-shirt, practically falling apart at the seams, the fabric soft from countless washes. It smelled so strongly of him—orange blossoms and warmth—that I could taste it from the doorway. I took it with trembling hands, my fingers brushing his, tears spilling down my cheeks before I could stop them.
"Thank you." My voice cracked, breaking on the words. "Kol?—"
