Evander #2
All week, I’ve been quietly wondering if I’m the one she’s least safe with, the one who can’t handle her as well as the others.
Silas knows when to step in and intervene. Isaac always seems to know exactly what to say. Even Harlan—bloody miracle that it is—is learning the best way to protect her.
I’ve spent the week trying not to overthink everything I do because the last time I thought I was taking care of her, I made her feel small.
“You don’t have to thank me for being your alpha, little daisy.”
“I do.”
She reaches for my hand without hesitation, rubbing her wrist against mine, scenting me with an unconscious desire.
“I’m grateful for you, Van. You’ve never wavered. Never once given up on me.” Cassie sniffles and wraps her arms around me, tightening her hold on my neck. “I love you, Evander.”
Holy fuck.
She’s going to realise she has the power to completely undo me one of these days.
“I love you, too,” I murmur, rocking us gently as she clings to me, my chest rumbling low and automatic under her ear.
I pull her closer to me, making sure I have a good hold on her blanket fort and her, before carefully standing up.
She barely weighs a thing, but fuck me, did Harlan have to buy his fucking blankets from the weight shop?
Cassie pulls back, frowning at me. “Where are we going?”
I grin. “Somewhere with fewer witnesses.”
Her eyes widen. “Van.”
“What? I was talking about your bedroom,” I tease, waggling my brows at her. “Means we can camp out, and you’ll feel much better.”
She nods. “But at least let me walk.”
I shake my head, fake growling as I tighten my grip. “You’re my prize, little omega, and I have no plans to give you up any time soon.”
Cassie’s strawberry cream scent thickens, even as she rolls her eyes at me.
“You’re ridiculous.”
I can’t help my grin. “And yet, you love me.”
Her smile softens. “I really, really do.”
The words hit just as hard the second time, and something inside me finally settles.
This isn’t the first time someone has told me they love me. Hell, it’s probably not even the hundredth.
And yet, this is the first time I’ve ever felt this level of love. It lands under my skin, rather than just in my ears.
I carry her up the stairs, each step creaking softly beneath our combined weight, before she can notice how tightly my fingers curl into the blankets around her.
Her arms remain looped around my neck, her cheek resting over my scent glands, every warm breath there settling my instincts a little more.
Mine.
My mate. My omega.
Mine to scent, mine to hold, mine to keep.
My daisy.
Not because I took her. Not because fate handed her to me. Because she picked me.
She actually picked me.
When I reach her bedroom, I nudge the door open with my foot, and the scents of the pack hit me before anything else does—her strawberry cream tangled up with the rest of us, thick enough to taste.
A pale glow slips around the edges of the fabric, leaving the room cool and softly lit. The piles of blankets all over her bed, and the floor, and the clothes spilling from her half-open suitcase make me grin.
Most of them are ours—not hers.
She’s amassed a collection of our things, and she’s got them tucked into every available corner. It’s fucking adorable.
I love her. I really fucking love her.
My shirt is draped across her pillows, and I’m pretty sure that’s Harlan’s jumper tangled with a blanket near the foot of the bed.
Our little thief.
Our perfect little thief.
The scents of our pack are layered so deeply in here that they’ve become part of the room itself.
I kick the door closed behind us and carefully lower her onto the mattress.
She keeps her arms locked around my neck, a small whine building in her throat when I don’t move closer.
“I thought you wanted to be more comfortable,” I murmur to her.
“I am.”
“Cassie, you’re still attached to me.”
She blinks innocently, tightening her grip even further. “Yes.”
Fuck.
I love this woman.
I climb onto the bed beside her before she decides to let go, pulling the blankets over us as she curls into my chest. The tension leaves her body almost immediately.
Her scent spreads through the room until mine answers it automatically, dark chocolate wrapping around strawberry cream without me even thinking.
For once, I got it right.
I brush my nose against her head, breathing her in until my head feels lighter. She’s still holding onto me, staying as close as she can.
She isn’t here because she needs me.
She’s here because she wants me.
“Can you tell me again?”
She doesn’t ask what I mean and doesn’t even hesitate in doing it.
“I love you.”
My eyes burn, and a low rumble tears out of my chest before I can swallow it down.
I’m fucking pathetic.
I don’t even care.
She lifts herself up and straddles my lap, looking down at me. I grin up at her, and her green eyes—lighter than mine, more spring than forest—are lit up in adoration.
She looks down at my lips, licking her own, before murmuring, “I love you, Evander Whitmore.”
A shudder runs down my spine, and I gently tug her hair, wanting to be able to kiss her.
Her lips part against mine, soft and eager, and I take the invitation greedily.
One hand cups her cheek while the other slides around her waist, keeping every inch of her tucked inside my scent.
She rocks against my hips, by accident I think, and deepens the kiss, giving her entire self to me.
“I adore you,” I murmur against her mouth.
Another kiss, another rock of her hips, another ache in my dick.
“I’m so fucking proud of you,” I add.
I kiss the corner of her lips, then her cheek, her jaw—anywhere I can reach—as she holds herself above me.
“You’re clever. Talented. Stronger than anyone gives you credit for—and I mean that.”
I tuck her hair behind her ears, and her eyes are wide and full of shock.
“Van—”
“I love you.”
Her fingers tighten in my shirt, and I pull her down for another kiss, my dark chocolate and coffee scent entwining with her own. My tongue darts over her lips, and her whine of desperation has me giving an answering rumble.
The scent of her slick, of her arousal, floods the room, and I want to bury my face in it.
“I love your laugh. I love your ridiculous blankets. I love that you steal everything we own and somehow make us grateful for the privilege,” I continue, peppering kisses to her lips between each word.
She giggles breathlessly, but I can’t stop admitting to it.
The words have been building for too long.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, kissing her again. “For being too much. For pushing too hard. For thinking I knew what you needed before I’d even listened to you. For—”
Cassie pulls back. Her scent shifts with her surprise, and my stomach drops before she even speaks.
“What do you mean?”
I blink at her, surprised by the sudden shift in her behaviour. “I mean I’m sorry.”
“I heard that.” Her brows draw together, and she moves to get off me. She sighs, but my hold keeps her right where she is. “Fine. I won’t move, but I want you to tell me exactly what you mean by being too much.”
I look away, but she catches my jaw and guides me back towards her. Apparently, she’s learning to take what she wants when we try to hide something.
Terrifying little daisy.
“I nearly ruined everything the first time we met,” I say bitterly, rubbing my thumb over the old scars on my knuckles without meaning to. “I walked into that room, decided I understood your entire life within five minutes, and behaved like a fucking prick.”
Her lips twitch. “Just a little…”
“No, it was one of the most catastrophic mistakes I have ever made.”
She ducks her head. “You were trying to help.”
“I don’t want to do that again,” I admit. “I don’t want to overwhelm you until loving me feels more exhausting than leaving me.”
Her expression crumples, but where I expect the sour edge of tears in her scent, there’s only resolve.
“Oh, Van.”
Oh, fuck.
Her voice is full of fucking pity.
Fuck.
She leans over me, placing both hands around my face, cupping it with her warm, small hands.
“I don’t need you to be anything but yourself,” she says, her green eyes never leaving mine.
I shake my head. “You didn’t like me very much when we met.”
“I didn’t like what you did,” she corrects. She strokes her thumbs beneath my eyes. “But you were authentically yourself. You were loud and arrogant and completely convinced you could fix everything wrong in my world.”
“Not helping your argument here, little daisy.”
Her smile flickers. “But you were kind, Van, even when you were wrong. You kept trying and never once gave up on me—on us. You listened to what hurt me, and you changed what you were doing.”
“But it’s still not enough,” I say, shaking my head. “I’m not like the others. I can’t just know what to do. I’m trying so fucking hard to be someone who actually gets it right for you.”
Cassie presses her forehead against mine, her breath warm against my lips, and I feel her breathe me in, too—like she needs the coffee and chocolate of me as much as I need her.
Fuck, I can still taste her.
I want her again.
Need her.
Need her writhing above me, whimpering, and wanting.
“I’ve never needed you to become quieter or smaller. I don’t want some careful version of you that’s scared to say or do anything.”
“But—” I try to interrupt.
“I need you to actually hear me when I say no. To believe me the first time,” she says softly.
Her scent wraps around me, open and certain, every instinctive reassurance she doesn’t even realise she’s giving me. There’s no fear, no shame, no anxiety.
“And you do,” she whispers. “You notice me. You listen to me. You love me.”
Her lips brush mine, so soft and gentle.
“I love the Evander you’ve shown me. I don’t want to try and fall in love with someone you’re pretending to be out of some misguided attempt to give me what you think I want.” She blushes, her scent sweetening. “The man in front of me has always been enough.”
Something inside me breaks.
Or heals.
Fuck knows.
I pull her fully against my chest, bury my face against her scent glands, and breathe until my instincts finally stop pacing.