Chapter
Sixteen
ROAN
She was trembling by the time I got her to her room.
Wren didn’t weigh much—barely anything at all—but the determination in her kept me from just sweeping her up in my arms. She carried so much more right now than just this burning need. The weight of everything she’d hidden, everything she was still trying to hide, even from herself.
I was careful and minimized the contact to just hovering close in case she stumbled. Maybe I was too careful, but I didn’t thinkthatwas possible. I didn’t let my skin touch hers, not once. I had gloves on, sleeves pulled down, jacket buttoned to the collar. She was a bonfire, and I didn’t want to go up in flames.
Not without permission.
She was quiet, mostly, but twitchy. Her body fought between exhaustion and instinct, nerves shot from the overexposure of the day. Her scent—gods, her scent—was thick, syrupy sweet, soaked in suppressed heat and tangled anxiety. It clawed through every restraint I had like it was looking for a way in.
I straightened the blankets as she stared at the bed, almost belatedly realizing they were wrecked from her restlessness. Once she’d laid down, I pulled them up to cover her. Her eyeswere already half-closed, whether in sleep or just lost in the haze, I wasn’t sure. Still, better to just tuck her in.
“No,” she murmured. Her fingers fluttered out, reaching—not consciously, not quite—but the motion sent a jolt through me. Her hand was bare. My instincts surged, pushing past the walls I’d spent years building. I jerked back and snatched the throw blanket at the end of the bed, wrapping it around her in one swift motion before her fingers could graze mine.
Her eyes blinked open, hazy and confused. “Why can’t I—” she shifted again, frowning. “You’re so warm. Why can’t I touch you?”
Because I wouldn’t survive it.
“You agreed to let me help you sleep,” I said, voice low. “That’s all we agreed on.”
She opened her mouth like she might argue, but then the scent of her deepened again—warmth, frustration, longing. It caught in my throat like smoke. I forced myself to breathe through my mouth.
“You’re hiding yourself,” I said before I could stop the words. “Suppressants?”
Wren didn’t answer right away. Her eyes flicked to mine, sharp despite the haze, and for a moment I saw the real her—omega, fighter, survivor. Then her lashes lowered, and she nodded.
“Over a decade,” she murmured. “They’re not illegal. Not really.”
“No,” I said, jaw tight. “They’re not endorsed either. There’s a reason for that.”
“They let me survive,” she whispered. “They let me... live the way I needed to.”
And gods help me, I wanted to be angry. Iwasangry. At her. At the system. At whoever had made her think suppressingsomething so fundamental was the only way she could be safe, be free.
But she was barely holding on. Her face turned into the blanket, cheek pressing into it like she was trying to disappear again, burrow away from the reality she’d peeled back just enough to show me.
“Sleep,” I told her. It came out more like a command than I intended.
She fought it. Of course she did. Her body was wound tight with lingering adrenaline, tension, scent. But the exhaustion was winning. Slowly, her muscles loosened, her breath slowed.
I sat with her, holding her carefully—arms circledaroundthe blanket, never under it. My head tilted back against the wall behind her bed, and I stared at the ceiling like it might offer me some way out of this storm.
Her breath feathered against the side of my throat. Her warmth soaked into my chest through layers of fabric and resolve. Every inhale was torment—sweet, sharp musk that wanted to sink its teeth into me andstay.
I stayed still. Locked it down. Iron-fisted control.
She’d let me in this far. That was all she’d consented to. And I’d earned that much—barely. I wasn’t about to betray it.
But the more I held her, the more I thought about all the ways she’d kept this hidden. The more I reframed every look, every tense breath, every time she flinched away from her own biology.
And the angrier I got.
I kept that locked down, too.
