She goes completely still in Nate’s arms.
“We built this room the year you left,” Lucas says from beside me. “Nate designed the layout. Researched what omegas need for nesting—spent weeks getting everything perfect. I picked the lighting, the colors.”
“And I planted a garden outside that window.” I point to the dormant beds visible through the glass, bare now in winter. “Roses and lavender. Everything you loved. They’ve been blooming every summer for nine years. Waiting for you.”
Cara’s breath shudders out of her.
Nate lowers her onto the mattress, but she doesn’t let go of him. Her hands are fisted in his shirt, her eyes fixed on the room around her.
“The door’s been closed for years,” Nate says, his voice cracking. “We couldn’t bear to look at it. But we never changed anything. Never stopped believing you’d come home.”
“Nine years,” she whispers. “You built this nine years ago?”
“The first year,” I confirm. “Right after you left. We were so sure you’d come back. We wanted you to have somewhere safe. Somewhere that was yours.”
She pulls away from Nate. Stands on shaky legs, one hand braced on the mattress. Her fingers trail along the window seat, the built-in shelves. She picks up a pillow, presses it to her face, and inhales.
When she turns around, tears are streaming down her cheeks.
“You built me a nest.” Her voice breaks on the word. “Before I even knew I needed one.”
“We always knew.” I close the distance between us, cup her face in my hands. Her skin is hot under my palms—fever-warm, pre-heat flushed. “We knew you’d come home eventually. We just had to wait.”
“Nine years.” She’s crying harder now, tears spilling over my fingers. “You waited nine years.”
“We’d have waited ninety.” I brush my thumbs across her cheekbones, catching the tears. “You’re ours, Cara. You’ve always been ours.”
She makes a sound—half sob, half laugh—and then she’s kissing me.
It’s not soft. Not careful. Her mouth opens under mine and I groan, my hands sliding into her hair, tilting her head back so I can taste her properly. She’s sweet—honeyed—and underneath it, the salt of her tears and the heat of her building need.
Her scent explodes around us. Slick-sweet-desperate. I feel it pulse through me, straight to my cock, and I growl against her lips.
Behind us, Nate makes a rough sound. I can smell his arousal spiking, sharp and hungry, mixing with hers in the air.
I force myself to pull back before I lose control completely. My forehead presses against hers. We’re both breathing hard.
“Hi,” I manage.
“Hi.” She laughs shakily, tears still wet on her cheeks. “Missed you.”
“It’s been two days.”
“Longest two days of my life.”
“Get in line,” Lucas says—and then he’s turning her face toward him and kissing her too.
Different from me. Slower. More deliberate. His hand cups the back of her neck, angling her just right, and I watch her melt into him with a soft moan. When he finally pulls back, her lips are swollen, her eyes glazed.
“Line’s moving fast,” she mumbles.
“We’re efficient.” His voice is strained, his pupils blown dark. “It’s a medical skill.”
Nate makes a low, wanting sound. She turns to him, reaches for him, and he meets her halfway. This kiss is rougher. Desperate. His hand fists in her hair and she whimpers against his mouth, pressing closer.
When they break apart, her eyes have changed. Darker. Focused in a way they weren’t a moment ago.
She looks around the room—at the blankets on the shelves, the pillows stacked in the corners, the nest we built but never finished.
