Like us.
He kisses my cheek, then the corner of my mouth, chaste and reverent. "Better?"
"Addicted."
His smile is rueful. "We'll work on a manageable dosage."
"Good luck. You cut me off again and I'm stealing your laptop and signing you up for seventeen knitting newsletters."
He huffs a laugh and pulls me back into his chest. "There she is."
For the first time in a long time, I fall asleep in my nest with an alpha wrapped around me.
For the first time in a long time, the empty spaces in my body feel a little less hollow.
***
The next few days, I'm bad.
From an etiquette standpoint.
From a survival standpoint? My instincts would argue I'm finally doing something right.
I wake up with my face mashed into Eli's neck, his scent thick in my nose, and every cell in my body screamsmine.
I follow him.
Not on purpose at first.
He goes to make tea; I wander into the kitchen five minutes later like a magnet. He sits at the table with his tablet; I end up on the floor at his feet, shoulder pressed to his knee, fingers playing with the hem of his sweatpants.
"Vee," he says at one point, amusement in his voice, "you're orbiting."
"Shut up. I'm recalibrating."
He indulges it.
Of course he does.
His hand finds my hair whenever I'm within reach. My scent—once flattened and bitter—starts to warm again, layers of comfort threading through all the old fear.
Drake tries, once or twice.
He'll come into the room, see me perched on the arm of Eli's chair like a nervous bird, and his mouth will twist with guilt. He'll pat his lap, beckoning.
"Come here, Vee. Let me spoil you a little. Eli's going to get a cramp."
His scent is tangled now, though.
Where it used to reach for me without hesitation, it curls toward Marie by default. She's often nearby—leaning on the counter, flipping through her planner, or sliding onto his lap a second after he invites me.
I try to go to him anyway.
My body hesitates.
I step into the circle of his arms and his hand lands on my hip.
Warm, familiar, comforting.
