I stood in thedoorway of Presley's room, my shoulder pressed against the frame, watching her sleep.
She'd built a nest. Not just an omega nest that they liked from day to day. The kind with soft blankets, a million cushions and soft lighting all around. It was more than that.
This was her natural instinct preparing for her heat.
I hadn't helped her. Hadn't even suggested it. But sometime between the bath and now, her omega instincts had taken over. The bed was piled with blankets and pillows, arranged in a careful circle with a hollow in the center where she'd curled up like a cat.
She wore my shirt again. The green rugby one. It had ridden up in her sleep, exposing the curve of her hip, the pale skin that I'd touched, tasted, worshipped just hours ago.
And there under her head were more clothes. Shirts, sweatpants, tee-shirts all spread around the nest.
I groaned, but didn’t want to wake her. Her face was peaceful now, but that peace wouldn't last.
Omegas in heat were feral creatures. Sweet and soft one moment, demanding and desperate the next. Presley would be no different, no matter how gentle she seemed when she was lucid.
I'd seen heats before. I'd helped omegas through them. But this felt different.
Because she was ours.
Or she could be, if we didn't mess this up.
Her scent filled the room. Rain and vanilla, thick and intoxicating, calling to every alpha instinct I had. My body responded immediately, heat pooling low in my stomach, my cock stirring despite having been inside her twice already today.
I wanted to go to her, but forced myself to stay in the doorway.
She needed rest. Her body needed to prepare for what was coming.
And I needed to not be a bastard who woke a sleeping omega just because I wanted to bury myself in her again.
Footsteps behind me made me turn.
Hastings and Fritz stood in the hallway, both looking like they'd run a marathon. Hastings' tie was gone, his shirt wrinkled, his hair mussed in a way I'd never seen. Fritz's jacket was slung over his shoulder, his eyes dark and hungry.
"You made it," I said quietly.
"Barely." Hastings moved to stand beside me, his gaze finding Presley in the nest. His jaw tightened. "How is she?"
"Sleeping. For now."
"And her heat?"
"Building. The spray and a nice bath bought us time, but not much." I looked at him, at the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands were clenched into fists. "She'll wake soon. And when she does, it'll hit hard."
Fritz joined us at the doorway, the three of us crowding into the frame like we couldn't bear to be more than a few feet from her.
"She built a real nest," Fritz said, something like wonder in his voice.
"She did."
"Has she nested before?"
"I have no idea. I didn't ask." I should have. I should have asked her a thousand things. But there hadn't been time, and now she was asleep and we were standing here like idiots, staring at her like we'd never seen an omega before.
Hastings stepped into the room.
I caught his arm. "Don't wake her."
"I'm not going to wake her." He shook me off, moving closer to the nest. He stopped at the edge, his hands going to his pockets like he didn't trust himself not to reach for her.
