Chapter 32 – JUNIPER
Chapter
Thirty-Two
JUNIPER
T he nest calls to me like a siren made of soft things. I stand in the doorway of the walk-in closet, staring at the pile of blankets and pillows I've arranged on the built-in bench like they hold the secret of why my skin feels like it's trying to crawl off my body and start a new life without me.
Felix's sweatshirt is buried in the center, the one I stole this morning while he was showering. It smells like winter mornings and safety, but it's not enough. The nest feels empty, incomplete, like trying to paint a masterpiece with only one color.
You know what's missing, the shadows whisper, dancing along the walls. You know what you need.
"Shut up," I hiss at them, but my hands are already shaking, my thighs clenching involuntarily. The heat building under my skin isn't the gentle warmth of before. It's volcanic, threatening to erupt and take everything with it.
I press my palms against my eyes until I see stars. The suppressants are failing. Or maybe they never had a chance against four scent matches living in the same house, their pheromones seeping into every surface like expensive cologne.
Woods and bourbon and wine and sunshine. Four distinct scents that my omega hindbrain has filed under mine .
But they're not mine. They can't be mine. I have Felix, and Felix has me, and that's how it's always been. That's how it has to stay.
Except...
My eyes drift back to the nest, to the empty spaces that seem to mock me. My body knows what it wants and my heat is getting worse by the minute.
I need their scents. Just their scents. Not them, not their hands or their knots or their stupid handsome concerned faces. Just something that smells like them to make the nest complete, to trick my biology into thinking I have what it wants.
It's theft, technically. But I've stolen worse things for worse reasons.
The hallway is dark and quiet at this hour. Everyone's probably asleep, which makes this either genius or incredibly stupid. The shadows follow me, whispering encouragement and warnings in equal measure.
Sneaky little rabbit, they sing. Stealing from the wolves.
Bane's room is first, because it's closest and because if I'm going to get caught, might as well be by the mountain who looks at me like I hung the moon. His door is unlocked—trusting idiot—and I slip inside quiet as smoke.
His scent hits me hard. Woods and earth and that alpha musk that makes my knees weak. He's snoring softly, but he doesn't stir. The room is sparse, military-neat, everything in its place. I grab a black henley from his dresser, the fabric soft from wear, and clutch it to my chest like a prize.
One down.
Elias's room is next, and it smells like medical soap trying to cover wine and something deeper.
He's gone, but it doesn't surprise me the doctor is a night owl.
His closet is organized by color because of course it fucking is.
I snatch a blue button-down that probably costs a pretty penny and add it to my collection. He has six others, he won't miss it.
Archer's room makes my chest ache. There are photos on his nightstand, him with what must be his old unit, all grins and brotherhood before his world went to shit.
His scent is everywhere, sunshine and citrus and hope despite everything.
He's gone, too, even though I know for a fact he's a morning person, so I can't help but wonder if my soldier boy doesn't sleep soundly.
I snatch a worn t-shirt that says AIR FORCE across the front and try not to think about why my eyes are watering.
Carlisle's room is locked.
Of course it fucking is.
But I've picked harder locks with worse tools, and the shadows are practically buzzing as I work the picks I keep hidden in my hair. The lock clicks open after thirty seconds of coaxing, and I ease the door open.
The room is... not what I expected.
It's pristine, everything white and chrome and sharp edges, but there are weapons everywhere.
Knives displayed on the walls like art, guns in cases that probably cost more than cars, and what looks like a fucking sword mounted above the bed.
It's the room of someone who expects violence at any moment, who's prepared for war even in sleep.
He's as paranoid as I am. The thought makes something warm unfurl in my chest.
His scent is strongest here—wine and danger and that unique brand of insanity that shouldn't be attractive but absolutely is. I need something of his, something that smells like him, something?—
The closet door is slightly ajar, promising treasures within.
I pull it open and step inside, immediately surrounded by expensive fabrics and his scent concentrated enough to make my head spin. Everything's organized with obsessive care, shirts arranged by style and color, shoes that probably cost more than?—
The door slams shut.
The lock engages with a mechanical click that sounds like bones breaking.
Darkness swallows me whole.
"No no no no—" The words tumble out as I slam my palms against the door. It doesn't budge. Of course it doesn't. It's reinforced, probably bulletproof, definitely Juniper-proof.
He really is a paranoid bastard.
And okay, sure, I'm breaking and entering and that probably gives him reason, but still. He couldn't have seen me coming when he had this put in.
The shadows explode into chaos, their whispers becoming screams.
Trapped! Trapped! The walls are closing in!
My chest constricts, lungs forgetting how to work.
The darkness presses in from all sides, and suddenly I'm not in Carlisle's closet anymore.
I'm back in the hole at the Serpents' Den, where they threw me when I bit Evan's hand, where the walls were wet with things I didn't want to identify and the only sound was my own screaming.
"HELP!" The word tears from my throat, raw and desperate. I pound on the door hard enough to split my knuckles. "Someone—fuck—HELP ME!"
The shadows are laughing now, cruel and vicious.
No one's coming. You'll die here. Alone in the dark like you deserve.
My nails claw at the door, at the walls, at anything that might give way. The heat from my impending heat makes everything worse, turning the small space into an oven. I can't breathe. Can't think. Can't?—
Light floods the space as the door flies open.
Carlisle stands there, blue eyes wide with confusion that quickly shifts to understanding. "Juniper?"
I launch myself at him before my brain can stop me, wrapping around him like he's the only solid thing in a world made of shadows. He catches me easily, those deadly hands suddenly gentle as they hold me against his chest.
"Can't breathe," I gasp against his neck. "Can't—the dark—I can't?—"
"Shh, little hellcat. You're safe. You're out." His voice is different, stripped of its usual sardonic edge. "Just breathe with me. In through your nose, out through your mouth."
Footsteps thunder in the hallway, and then Archer's there too, sunshine scent mixing with wine as he drops to his knees beside us.
"What happened?" His hands hover near me, not quite touching, like he's afraid I'll shatter.
"She triggered the closet trap," Carlisle says, still holding me as I shake apart in his arms. "Must have picked the lock to get in."
"I need Felix," I whimper, hating how small I sound. "Please, I need?—"
"I'll get him." Archer's already moving, and I hear him calling down the hall.
Carlisle stands with me still wrapped around him like a particularly clingy koala, carrying me to his bed with surprising care. "You're burning up," he murmurs, pressing the back of his hand to my forehead. "Heat?"
I nod against his shoulder, too exhausted to lie.
"Felix!" Archer's voice carries from the doorway, and then Felix is there, silver eyes wild with concern as he takes in the scene.
"What's wrong?" He's beside me in an instant, gathering me into his arms, and I melt into his familiar scent.
"She must have triggered my closet security when she broke in," Carlisle explains, and there's something almost apologetic in his tone. "Locks from the inside. She was trapped."
"Why the fuck do you even have that?" Archer scolds.
"I keep my favorite trophies in there," Carlisle says defensively.
Something tells me he's not talking about trophies he won playing sports, but that's a mystery for a time when I'm not barely able to breathe.
"Juney." Felix's voice is soft, grounding. "Look at me. You're safe. You're not there anymore."
He knows exactly where my mind went. He always knows.
"Breathe with me," he instructs, his hand on my chest, feeling the rabbiting of my heart. "In for four, hold for four, out for four."
I follow his count, matching his breathing, letting his presence chase away the worst of the shadows. They retreat to the corners, grumbling but subdued.
"Better?" he asks after several cycles.
I nod, finally able to form coherent thoughts. That's when I realize I'm still clutching the stolen clothes like my life depends on it.
Carlisle notices too, and that dangerous smile returns, though it's softer than usual. "Sorry, little thief. I didn't think you'd actually manage to pick the lock or I would have warned you about the trap."
"Just wanted a shirt," I grumble against Felix's chest. "Wouldn't have taken anything valuable. Unless it was just sitting out, then it's fair game."
Carlisle actually laughs, the sound bright and genuine. "You're welcome to anything of mine, hellcat. No lock picking required."
"She's going into full-blown heat," Archer observes, and I can feel his clinical gaze assessing my symptoms. "Look at her—she's been nesting."
Felix's hand presses against my forehead, and he hisses. "You're burning up. We should get you to your nest."
He stands with me in his arms like I weigh nothing, and I clutch the stolen clothes tighter. They smell like pack, my hindbrain supplies helpfully. They smell like home.