Haven is my home. Ginny. And my mom. Hale, Jude, Creed, and Atticus. They’re all my home. Just like I said months ago when I was asked what my favorite smell was and I said ‘home’.
Only now, home doesn’t smell like pineapple and chili. Like lavender and fresh laundry.
Now it smells like spiced cranberries, cut grass, honey and whisky soaked leather, coffee and parchment and the snap of a thunderstorm.
Home sounds like Courtland laughing too loud and Piers humming in the kitchen.
Home feels like Forsythe’s hand steady at the small of my back. Like sitting cradled in Thayer’s lap. Like Grieves’ ever watchful gaze tingling over my skin.
Home is in Granton with my family, but it’s alsohere.With them. With my pack.
As soon as the realization hits, I can shake off the command, not quite as easily as water off a duck’s back, but pretty close. I blow out a breath, and nod slowly, keeping my eyes averted from the queen watching my every move. I don’twant her to know she doesn’t have that power over me, don’t want her to try again with something that might actually stick. “Yes, your majesty,” I say in what I hope is an appropriately cowed voice. “I will do as you command.”
She sniffs, eyes me for a bit longer and then says, “Excellent.” Apparently finished with our conversation she stumps out of the flat without another word, no doubt certain that her bark will hold and I will somehow find my way back to Granton, with no assistance from her or anyone at the palace.
I’m not the least bit surprised by that.
She’s gotten what she wanted and trusts her dominance to see it through.
It’s still there, technically. I can feel it. But rather than an oppressive weight like Frederick Bell’s commands had been, this is like… a hair that’s gotten loose from a ponytail and is tickling against your shoulder. You can feel it, but it’s more annoying than anything.
And actually, the more I think about it, the more I realize how sloppy her command was. She only ordered me to go home. She didn’t say I couldn’t call any member of the pack and tell them what was going on. She didn't order me to leave them a breakup letter or anything. Just ‘go home’ as if the rest of it was implied.
As if that would have been enough to keep us from ever seeing each other again.
I realize she must not have a lot of experience barking at people. Which on the surface is a good thing, but what it probably just means is that she’s used to her orders being followed without the added dominance.
It works in my favor, though, so I’m not going to argue about it.
I stand in the living room staring at the closed door for the longest time. I may have worked my way around the command,but it still triggered my trauma, and I’m still trembling from the fear of it.
Deep breaths, Ren, a voice that sounds an awful lot like Forsythe rumbles in my head.Can’t have my omega passing out on me.
Right. No passing out.
Five things you can see, bubbles.
My eyes fly around the room. Court’s sketchbook open to a drawing of me and Piers. Thayer’s cardigan, slung over the back of the chair. Forsythe’s chessboard, set up midgame that he’s playing against himself. A pair of hand wraps, discarded on the coffee table by Grieves after this morning’s workout. The book Piers was reading last night before we went to bed tucked between the cushions of the couch.
Four things you can feel, Pix.
The plush rug under my bare toes. The cool air from the AC unit blowing against my skin. The tickle of the ends of my ponytail on my shoulders. My heart thundering in my chest.
Good girl, killer. Tell me three things you can hear.
The honking of a car outside. The whirr of the refrigerator in the kitchen. The music someone left playing to make me feel not quite so alone in the empty flat.
Two things you can taste, little bird.
The mint toothpaste I’d used to brush my teeth. The vanilla flavored lip balm on my lips.
One thing you can smell,Cor mea.
I take a deep inhale, filling my lungs to their full capacity. The scents of all my pack swirl together into one toe-curling smell that makes everything in me loosen.
Home.I smell home.
My legs give out and I sink onto the couch, moving Piers’ book to the table. A few more deep breaths and I’ve stopped shaking.
