"Okay. I can do that."
"You don't have to—"
"Shut up. I've been living in Marie's room. I didn't exactly think about how that would hit you. That's on me. Give me ten minutes."
He rolls out of the nest, muttering something about smell-based discrimination, and pads down the hall.
The second he's gone, I sag.
The nest smells like him and her and me and Eli all layered together. It should be comforting.
Instead, it smells like a reminder.
I press my face into my pillow and try not to cry.
This is what I wanted, right?
Drake here. In my nest. Choosing me for a night, even if Ragon nudged him.
Then why does it feel like I'm doing something wrong just by asking him not to bring another omega's scent into my bed?
Water runs.
I listen to every sound.
Ten minutes. Twelve. Fourteen.
He comes back damp and barefoot, T-shirt clinging to his shoulders, hair wet and curling.
He smells different.
Still Drake—citrus sharp, warm salt, a faint medicinal clean—but the sugar-soft vanilla edge is gone, scrubbed away.
My omega sighs in relief so loud I almost hear it.
"Better?"
"Yeah. A lot."
He climbs back in, moving slower this time. When he settles, I edge closer automatically, my body relaxing against his.
"I'm sorry. I know that was..."
"Neurotic?"
"Demanding. Little bit crazy."
He snorts. "Vee, this is literally the least crazy thing you've asked for this month."
I pinch his side. "Rude."
"I mean it." He catches my hand. His expression turns serious. "If I'm going to be in your nest, I can at least make sure I'm not dragging someone else's into it. That's basic courtesy. I just needed you to say it out loud."
My throat tightens. "You're not mad?"
"I was prickled. For a second. My pride did that thing where it's like 'how dare anyone not want me exactly as I am,' and then I remembered you've been eating scraps while I took whole meals somewhere else."
A tiny, wounded sound escapes me.
