50. Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty
Phoenix
D ew and sun-warmed petals mix with her wild after-rain scent, sharpening into something sweet, golden and feminine, musk that makes me want to bite her, mark her, drag her into my arms and taste every last inch.
It’s fucking intoxicating .
Soren and Asher are laser-focused on her. Their pupils are blown as much as mine probably are. Asher reaches between his thighs and clenches a fist around his cock to no doubt relieve the pressure of his shaft trying to spear through his pants.
Know the feeling. I’m so hard, mine probably has indents from my zipper that will take months to clear after feasting on her perfect breasts .
“Alpha…need…”
“What do you need, Tough Girl?” I ask.
Her eyes are nothing but black holes that devour my universe.
She’s past the point of being able to talk coherently.
She’s an adorable mess, half in and out of her evening gown, her hair in fly-away whisps around her face.
Her cheeks are flushed a delicious pink.
My cock throbs with the need to provide for her.
She shifts her balance, growing more agitated, sinking into her heat. I change my tack, taking any decision-making away from her.. I prop my knuckle under her chin and lift her gaze to mine, infusing some alpha bark into my words. “Calm, Omega.”
She inhales and a plume of her sweet scent almost makes me cum in my pants but it’s exactly what she needs. Her gaze moves past me to the sofa and a soft whine travels past her plump, rosebud lips.
“Take anything you need, and if you can’t find it, tell us and we’ll get it for you,” I rasp.
Emma moves to the blanket we’ve shared for late-night movies and lazy mornings. She buries her nose into the material and inhales deep . Her eyes flutter closed, her whole body softening in a way that makes my chest tight and hungry at the same time.
Everything in me wants to cross the room, gather her up, and lose myself in her, but I wait. She hasn’t come back to me. Not yet, and I know she would if her instinct guided her to do so.
“Do you think she’s…” Soren breathes.
“I fucking hope so,” I reply, because fuck me, this looks like nesting to me.
She begins to sort through the throw pillows.
She tests each one for some invisible measure only she knows, discarding a few, gathering the rest into a stack against her hip.
Then she moves straight toward me again.
The blanket and pillows slip from her arms and tumble to the floor as she winds her arms around my waist and buries her face in the side of my neck, right over my scent gland.
Her nose pushes against my skin, her breath warm and hungry as she inhales.
My pulse hammers down my spine, every drop of blood not already there, surging straight to my cock where it’s hard, pulsing so intensely it’s painful.
I’ll take this type of pain because having her here, scenting me while smelling like that, is imprinted on the inside of my skull.
My hands find her waist as need rips through me.
Every muscle in my body strains, desperate for more of that scent, that closeness, that overwhelming, hungry touch.
All coherent thought vanishes except the sharp, driving urge to claim her right here, to let every person in the entire world know she belongs to me—us—forever.
She tips her face up to me. Those bright blue eyes are swallowed by dilated pupils, so dark and wide they eclipse almost all traces of color.
She's radiant with something wild, trembling between need and instinct.
Her breasts are firm against my chest, nipples pointed and brushing heat through the fabric of my dress shirt.
Every one of my nerves lights up—my hands flexing on her waist, hungry for more.
She squirms in my hold, restless, her focus shifting to the fallen blanket and the pile of pillows at her feet. Frustration and longing war across her face. “You want those, don't you?” I ask, brushing my thumb along her jaw.
She nods, a high, needy whine spilling out of her throat as she tries to reach for them but can’t seem to break away from me, either.
Soren crouches down to gather them into his arms. “I've got them, Emma. I’ll bring them. Don’t worry.”
I hope to hell she’s going to let Soren take them to the nest, where we’ll spend our days tending to her heat.
Her hand slips into mine, warm and trembling.
I glance at my bond brothers, and Asher and Soren fall in step as she leads us down the hallway, bare feet silent on the wood.
There’s a new purpose in her step, her need running hotter and heavier with each pace toward her bedroom.
My instincts burn with the urge to help, to make this easier for her, to offer whatever she might need.
The same hunger from Asher and Soren flare through our pack bond.
Want. Need. The overwhelming urge to accept whatever she’ll give me. I’ll accept it like the greedy bastard I am. I’ll savor every last drop and thank the gods she deigned to give me anything at all .
Her small hand tightens on mine as she guides us and, as we enter her bedroom, my groan bounces off the walls.
The nest doors stand open.
Wide and inviting.
Scenting of sweet omega. Her essence is strong and pure, everything good this world has to offer.
Emma glances over her shoulder as she hesitates on the threshold of the nest. Anxiety flickers in her eyes, unsure and vulnerable. Tart bitterness coats her scent as she hesitates.
I squeeze her hand. “It’s okay, sweetheart. This is your space. You do whatever you need to do. No one here will ever hurt you for being who you are. This house, this nest, is all safe. You’re safe.”
“Safe.” The word floats on her exhale.
“Your nest is beautiful, Omega. Please finish it for us,” Asher’s deep rumble seems to be what she needs.
Soren’s breath punches out of his lungs when she takes the blanket and pillows from his arms, her scent billowing pure and sweet again. She lingers for just a moment and with a resolve that pierces through me, steps into her nest.
Asher and Soren flank me. Awe roots us to the spot as she sinks to her knees on the nest mattress.
The ceiling is lower here, making the space feel sheltered and cocooned.
Soft golden lights line the perimeter, casting a gentle, steady glow that warms the walls and chases away every harsh shadow.
In the center of the floor, the massive sunken mattress stretches nearly wall to wall, a cloud built for safety and comfort.
For a pack.
She must have already been working on building her nest. Blankets are already woven together around the mattress, forming a thick, protective lip.
Emma’s work is intricate. Woven with patience and care, each fold and twist is deliberate.
My breath stutters as I realize she’s woven pieces of our clothing into the design.
I see my shirt, Soren’s sweater and Asher’s workout T-shirt .
She must have done this after I claimed her here. Giving in to her instincts so that her future included us.
Her nest is alive with us. The clothing she has chosen is rich with our scents tangled among the wool and the fleece, reinforcing her space.
It’s not just fabric. It’s comfort, protection, and memory braided together.
My dark coffee, Asher’s whiskey and dry leather, Soren’s woodsy smoke mix with Emma’s wild honeysuckle and the freshness of vanilla—the scents blend in the closed, soft air, turning the room into a haven none of us have ever truly known before now.
She drops to her knees, determination and longing splayed across her features, and buries her nose in the blanket before she weaves it into the design.
She arranges the pillows, stacking and layering them, each placement precise, building up the borders and softening the middle.
Her hands work with a gentle purpose, her whole being poured into this act of creation.
“So fucking beautiful,” I breathe.
This is more than beautiful. This is sacred, raw, drenched in everything she’s fought to reclaim.
I’m in awe. She is, right now, everything an omega should be, and we get to witness it.
Be part of it. A lump rises in my throat as I stand at the threshold, overwhelmed by the courage, beauty, and love radiating from her and the space she’s claimed as her own.
Emma rises to her feet, her hands twisting in the fabric of the last pillow.
She’s agitated, skin flushed, chest rising and falling with shallow, rapid breaths.
The air shimmers with her need, tension radiating from her.
She whines as her gaze snaps to Asher, our bond flaring with desire before she moves to him.
She presses her nose to the side of his throat and inhales. She rubs her cheek along his jaw and down toward his collarbone, marking him with her scent. The sound that comes out of her is low, urgent. A distinctly feminine omega growl, rich with possession and ownership.
Then her hands fist in the hem of his shirt, tugging. She snarls when it doesn’t come free, the impatience and agitation spilling out of her in a frustrated whine .
“Here, Moonbeam, let me,” he starts, but she cuts him off with another omega growl. He gets the message and peels off his shirt, then stands motionless as she yanks at his waistband, demanding the rest of his clothing.
She nearly tears his pants apart in her urgency, leaving him bare.
Asher shudders, his hand wrapping reflexively around his thick cock, arousal written clear in his eyes as he watches her scoop the pieces of clothing that aren’t splattered with blood and hauls the bundle back to the nest where she layers it carefully on the base, each piece becoming part of her growing haven.
Then her gaze fastens on Soren. His own desire simmers under tight control as she comes to him.
She wraps herself around him, breathing in his scent, nose trailing from his neck to his chest as she devours him with that same hungry, instinct-ravaged fervor.
Her hands are rough, tearing at his jacket, shirt and pants until he’s bare, too.
Soren leans down, catching her mouth in a deep, hungry kiss, letting her taste him as she rips away his clothing piece by piece.
With his scent added to her prize, Emma turns back to her nest, working quickly, layering Soren’s clothes with Asher’s, building the walls stronger, higher, more complete.
Then she lifts her head, pinning me with her brilliant, black-blown gaze. The entire world narrows down to the space between us. I can’t move. My heart pounds as she steps closer, grips my shirt, and yanks it open.