I’d held her gaze, unflinching. “Iamenjoying myself.”
And I had been. Sitting beside her. Listening to her tear into the absurdity of the team’s spending habits, her dry commentary laced with subtle fondness. She never once tried to outshine the room. She didn’t have to, she justwasthe brightest part of it.
I should have known then.
A part of medidknow. But I buried it. For her sake. For the team. For the lines we weren’t allowed to cross and the futures we thought we were protecting.
I looked at her now—soft in sleep, but not peaceful. Her face twitched faintly, like even in dreams she was battling something. It wasn’t fair. That she’d had to fight so long. That she’d taken suppressants for a decade just to survive the world as it was.
Suppressants weren’t illegal, no. But they weren’t safe either. Not really. Not for long.
Some studies suggested that they masked more than scent. They dulledeverything. Even instincts. Even pain.
What had she given up to live like that?
As aggravating as that thought was, I wanted to know what had I missed—by letting her?
My grip tightened fractionally around her blanket-wrapped form, but I didn’t let myself move. Didn’t let myself feel theway her breath still danced over my throat, the way her warmth soaked into me.
I let myself look at her now. Reallylook.
I’d stopped avoiding the truth. I was done pretending I didn’t know what this was between us. What it had alwaysbeen.
When her heat passed, we were going to talk. No more guessing. No more hiding. No more letting her carry it all alone.
Whatever it was—whatever she'd been afraid of—I’d take it. Piece by piece, if that’s what she needed.
But not tonight.
Tonight, I held her.
I held her and I waited.
The door creaked open with the softest whisper of hinges, and I didn’t need to look to know it was Jay.
His scent hit first, all cool linen, tea tree oil, and that quiet steadiness that was as much a part of him as his pulse. He moved carefully, silently, like he understood exactly how delicate this space was. Which, knowing Jay, he probably did.
He held two bottles of water and a bag that smelled like something warm and savory—bread, broth, maybe rice. Nutrients she’d need when she woke, and more that he clearly meant for me.
I looked up as he crossed the threshold, then back down at Wren, who hadn’t stirred. Her brow twitched once, but the fitful sleep held. For now.
Crouching low, Jay set the food down on the desk without a sound, then straightened and passed me one of the bottles.
“You need to eat,” he said, his voice pitched low, barely above a whisper. “And drink. Especially if you’re not planning to sleep.”
I took the bottle, twisting the cap one-handed and drinking half in one go. I hadn’t realized how dry my throat was. “I will,” I said.
Jay gave me a look. Not skeptical—just firm.
“I will,” I repeated, then nodded toward the wrapped bundle of omega warmth in my arms. “When she’s deeper under. I don’t want to shift her right now.”
He glanced at her, his expression unreadable, but his nostrils flared just slightly. That was the first confirmation. The second came a beat later when his jaw tightened, just a flicker of strain that most wouldn’t catch, but I wasn’t most people.
“White-knuckling it?” I asked, just enough edge to my voice to let him know I saw it.
Jay exhaled slowly. “I’m not immune, Roan. None of us are. But I’mtrained. I’m fine.”
Hewastrained and had years of mental discipline, medical knowledge, scent desensitization drills, the works. Still. Wren’s heat was potent, even suppressed. The fact that a beta like Jay was feeling it said a lot about how far things had progressed—and how much she must’ve been suppressing.
