"Killian, I haven't finished?—"
"The ritual can wait." He's already heading for the stairs, barely holding back a growly yawn that vibrates through his whole torso. "You need actual rest. In an actual bed."
"I'm fine."
"You're running on fumes." He adjusts his grip, pulling me closer against his chest. "That's the opposite of fine."
I want to argue with him. Sort of. The research is important, the new moon is approaching, and there's still so much shit to figure out. But my aching muscles have other ideas, relaxing into his warmth.
I kind of like being carried like this.
Killian carries me up the stairs and down the hall to my room. He sets me on the bed with surprising gentleness for a giant wolfshifter, then leans down to press a soft kiss against my forehead, his hair falling forward and brushing against the bridge of my nose.
"Need anything?"
I hesitate. The nightmare still clings to me like spiderwebs and I find myself thinking I actually don't want to be alone right now.
"Would you... stay?"
Killian's expression shifts. Something warm and fierce and vulnerable flickers across his features, like I've just offered him the entire world on a silver platter.
"Yeah," he says quietly. "I can do that."
He climbs into the bed beside me, settling against the pillows and pulling me against his side. His arm wraps around my shoulders, heavy and warm and reassuring. He doesn't try anything, doesn't let his hands wander, doesn't push for more. Just holds me.
I'm actually drifting toward real sleep when the door crashes open with all the subtlety of a wrecking ball.
"What the fuck!" Sean's voice booms through the room. "No one told me a cuddle pile had been started!"
"There's nocuddle pile," Killian growls possessively, his arms tightening around me. "Go away."
"Looks like a cuddle pile to me." Sean's already crossing to the bed, grinning like a maniac. "And I refuse to be excluded from cuddle-pile-related activities. It's my right as a bona fide pack member."
"Technically, we're not officially a pack until we fill out the paperwork," Killian grumbles.
"Details."
"Sean—"
But Sean is already diving onto the bed, the mattress bouncing dangerously under the gigantic alpha's weight. He burrows in on my other side, pressing his nose against my neck and inhaling deeply.
"Mmm. Witch-scented."
Despite everything—the nightmare, the exhaustion, the chaos of the past few days—a laugh bubbles up from my chest. "Did you justsmellme?" I playfully shove him off. Or try. It's like trying to push away a grizzly bear. "I'm not a candle, Sean."
"Abso-fucking-lutely." He sniffs again, making an exaggerated show of it. "My favorite perfume. Notes of old magic, forest after rain, and—" Another sniff. "—Killian's Old Spice? Is that wolfthorn? Talk about on the nose. Gross, dude. Get your scent off our mate, it's ruining the vibe."
"You're the one who barged in," Killian points out dryly.
Sean ignores him, pulling out his phone and tapping rapidly at the screen. "Group text time."
Killian groans. "Could you not?"
"Bro, it's my duty as the official frat communications director."
"Did you seriously just make up a whole position?"
Sean ignores him.
