Chapter 31 #2
Harper went first. He cupped my face in his massive hands, calloused palms warm against my cheeks, and tilted my head back with a gentleness that made my breath catch.
His nose pressed to the curve of my throat, right where my pulse hammered, and I felt him inhale deeply—drawing my scent into his lungs like he was memorizing it.
His chest expanded against mine, his beard scratching softly as he rubbed his jaw along the column of my neck.
Slow. Deliberate. Claiming. His scent—pine and woodsmoke with moonshine, with an edge of heat beneath—sank into me, mixing with my own until I couldn't tell where he ended and I began.
I bared my throat to him completely, letting my head fall back, my fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.
Trusting him with the most vulnerable part of me.
A rumble of approval vibrated through his chest, low and satisfied, and he pressed a kiss to my pulse point—lingering there, tender and soft—before stepping back.
His gaze was nearly black when it met mine, pupils blown wide.
Remy stepped into the space Harper left, his hands finding my waist, thumbs tracing circles through my shirt.
He was gentler than Harper, almost reverent, like I was precious and he was afraid to break me.
He started at my wrist, lifting my hand to his mouth and pressing his lips to the thin skin where my pulse fluttered.
His breath was warm, his stubble rasping as he dragged his jaw across the delicate veins.
Then he did the same to my other wrist, his amber eyes never leaving mine.
When he moved to my neck, he took his time—nuzzling into the curve where my shoulder met my collarbone, breathing me in with a soft sound that was almost a whimper. His scent wrapped around me—honey and whiskey and warm summer nights—layering over Harper's until I felt drunk on it.
"Mine," he breathed against my throat, so quiet only I could hear, his mouth soft where it touched. "Ours."
Silas was last. He approached me slowly, giving me time to pull away if I wanted—but I didn't want. I reached for him, and he came, his pale eyes burning with an intensity that made my heart stutter.
He was the most thorough. He marked both sides of my neck, his scarred jaw rough against my sensitive skin, his exhales unsteady against me.
Then my wrists, his fingers wrapped around them like I might shatter.
Then he did what the others hadn't—he brushed his jaw against my temple, my hairline, scent-marking me in places that felt impossibly intimate.
His scent—ozone and river water and cold steel—settled over me like armor.
By the time he finished, I was trembling.
My knees felt weak, my skin oversensitive, every nerve ending alive and singing.
I could smell all three of them on me now—pine and honey and ozone, woodsmoke and whiskey and steel—all of it tangled together with my own apple cider sweetness until we smelled like one thing. One pack.
"Now you smell like us." Harper's words were thick with satisfaction, his hand finding my hip again, anchoring me. "Like pack."
I grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him down to my level. "Now take me inside. I want to add your gifts to my nest. And then..." I smiled, letting the heat show in my expression. "I'm going to steal all your shirts."
Remy laughed, bright and delighted, his whole body relaxing with relief. "Nesting?"
"Nesting." I confirmed, already reaching for Harper's collar. "You three are going to help me. That's an order."
We went inside, all four of us, and I led them up to my nest. Harper set the moonshine box on the shelf beside Marguerite's tarot cards. Remy leaned his guitar in the corner, within easy reach. Silas hesitated with the drawing, looking around for the right spot.
Gumbo was already there, curled in his usual corner by the door. He watched Silas approach with those ancient yellow eyes, his tail twitching once.
Silas crouched down, showing Gumbo the drawing, holding it steady so the gator could see. "For her." He said quietly, his scarred fingers gentle on the paper's edge. "To protect. Like you do."
Gumbo studied the drawing for a long moment. Then he slow-blinked—deliberately, unmistakably—and turned away. Silas placed the drawing on the low shelf near Gumbo's corner, propping it against the wall where I could see it from the nest.
"He approved." I breathed, wonder softening every syllable, one hand pressed to my chest where my heart raced.
"He's her family." Silas straightened, warmth flickering in his expression.
"Had to ask permission." Then they helped me nest. Harper donated his flannel without being asked, shrugging it off and handing it over with a look that made my toes curl.
Remy contributed the soft henley he was wearing under his jacket, pulling it over his head with a grin that promised mischief.
Silas simply removed his outer shirt and held it out, his gaze intent on mine.
I arranged them in my nest, weaving their scents through my pillows and blankets until everything smelled like pack. Like home. Like mine.
When I finally settled into the center, surrounded by their shirts and their gifts and their scents, I let out a sound I'd never made before—a long, low purr of contentment that seemed to come from somewhere deep in my chest.
All three of them went still, their gazes darkening.
"That sound." Remy's words came out strained, his hands fisted at his sides. "Chère, that sound is going to kill me."
"Good." I stretched out in my nest, letting them see how happy I was, how content. "Now come here. All of you. I want to fall asleep surrounded by my Alphas."
They came to me—Harper behind, Remy in front, Silas at the edge guarding the door. Just like before. Just like it should be.
I purred again, softer this time, and let myself drift.
Courted. Claimed. Pack.
Finally, finally home.