Chapter 4 #3
Making sure the fire’s burning keeps me busy. Wren watches me like he’s trying to learn while I work on it, and it’s so damn something I have to duck away and make sure I’m smiling where he can’t see it.
“How old are you?” He blurts out randomly at some point in the evening.
More getting to know each other. Alright. We’ll probably have to do some more of that if we’re not to go crazy stuck in here for a few days. “Twenty-seven.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “Oh.”
“Think I look older?” I ask with a smirk. “I hear that a lot.”
“You’re just so…big. Like, tall. Wide. Er, not…not in a bad way. Burly. Br-brawny. You know?”
I can’t help the chuckle that comes out of me. And the thought that pops into my head—he’s kinda cute when he’s mumbling.
“I’m aware. And you?”
For a moment, he doesn’t seem to understand what I’m asking.
I let him struggle a bit, enjoying the expression on his face.
When he realizes, he blinks and pushes the pretty honey-blond hair that falls over his eyes behind his ear.
“The same, actually. I asked because I wondered how we never ran into each other before. You said you’re from here, so… ”
“Before buying the store, my parents and I lived further up and east on the mountain. Overlooking Jones Lake. That way.”
“Oh. That explains it then.”
“Lotta people were forced out of there. Bad landslides. A bunch of houses got completely ruined, so the government ordered everybody to leave.”
Wren hums with interest.
As he sits there on the couch, his hands loosely resting in his lap, I notice his eyes getting heavy. Today’s been pretty stressful for him, I reckon. He must be tired. It’s probably time to sort out the whole sleeping situation.
“I’ll take the couch, and you can have the bed. It’s by the fire, so you can keep nice n’ warm.”
“Would you even fit trying to sleep on that?” he asks with a grimace, studying it skeptically.
It isn’t the best, but it’ll do. “I’ve slept on it before.
” A lie. “Besides, I did my time, remember? I’m used to much worse, trust me.
” Wren opens his mouth slightly, and I just know he’s going to argue back.
He has that ‘too polite to accept the better option’ way about him, so I jump in. “I insist.”
With a heavy sigh, he admits defeat.
Evenings here always bring stillness and comfort to me.
There were nights in the service when I would close my eyes just praying I’d be lucky enough to open them again in the morning.
Now that I’m settled here, I cherish the slow, calm winding down of the day.
Only…it feels very different with someone else around. It makes me jittery inside.
Wren sits on the bed, motionless, still in his jeans. Maybe he’s too tired. Maybe lost in thought.
I don’t know if I should offer him some of my clothes, but I think all of them would be far too big. I’ve already flicked the lights off, so only the fireplace illuminates the room.
When I turn to him from the couch, the warm yellow glow of the fire reflects on his pale complexion, making his blond hair look like molten gold and his skin glisten like porcelain. A tingle shoots down my stomach, fizzling out somewhere behind my belly button.
I’m being stupid.
Stupider than I usually am.
“You fancy anything before I crash out?” I ask.
He raises his eyes to me and shakes his head.
The way he puts his hair behind his ear, almost hugging himself with his arms, just sitting there on my bed, is not something I should stay hung up on, so I turn around and lie down.
I pull up the blanket Momma crocheted years and years ago.
That and the thick throw underneath me should keep me warm enough throughout the night.
The urge to turn my head and look at Wren is overwhelming, but I stare at the ceiling instead.
I hear movement. Shuffling of fabric. Judging by the sound, it’s probably Wren taking off his pants. No sane person would sleep in jeans. Sounds like torture.
The bed squeaks a little as he moves around on it.
My heart begins racing inside my chest the moment I try to remember the last time I changed the sheets. What if they smell? Crap, I should’ve thought about that.
I rub my forehead and turn to face the back of the couch. Wren was right. It is damn uncomfortable, but I’ve slept on the ground before. On the ground, standing up, half-conscious, with gunfire going off in the distance… I can deal with this for a few days.
“Listen, um…” Wren’s voice is tender and small, but even over the crackling of the fire and the howling wind outside, my whole body instantly attunes to it.
“I just wanted you to know I really appreciate your hospitality and…you helping me. You didn’t have to, so…
I’m sorry for intruding on…on your space like this.
Sorry for being an idiot who didn’t plan well enough, crashed his car, and made it all your problem. ”
My heart keeps jumping inside my chest, but this time it feels different.
“I said that thing about community, didn’t I? Helpin’ each other is…in our nature. You were born here. Grew up here. You belong as much as anyone else. Don’t worry about it.”
He stays quiet after that. Something tells me he’s satisfied with that answer.
I wake up at some point in the night, trembling like a leaf. I guess not being right by the fire makes a difference after all. Quietly, I get up to go check on it, adding a few pieces of wood from the pile and moving stuff around with the poker.
I suppress the quiver going through me and rub my arms instead, trying to soak in the warmth of the flames for a bit before I sneak back to the couch.
Wren rolls over on the bed as I’m passing by, and to my surprise, he sits up, squinting at me. For a second, I’m not sure whether he’s really awake.
“Sorry. Was just tendin’ to the fire,” I whisper.
“You’re cold?” he asks, his voice all sleep-raspy.
“I’m peachy. Just gotta put some more clothes on.”
“Don’t want you to get sick because of me,” he grumbles. There’s a pause. I sit back down on the couch, so he continues, “Just…just sleep on the bed. It’s huge. It isn’t a big deal.”
I look at him with hesitation.
“I mean, if you want. I know this is…kinda awkward. We don’t know each other. I’m a stranger. That’s already weird enough. You know, me sleeping in your bed.”
He’s not a stranger, not really. He’s Wren Compton, son of Mrs. Compton, born and raised on Silverpine Mountain. That in itself makes him familiar enough to me to feel comfortable.
“So might as well get in here. I…I don’t take up that much space.”
“Compared to me?”
He can’t hide the snort that comes out. I struggle to see his features properly in the dark, but I think he’s smiling.
“Not what I meant,” Wren says, his voice lighter, more playful.
“I know. Just messin’ with you. I’m content to sleep on the couch, but if you want…?”
“Not that I want,” he says sharply. “It’s up to you, really, as the…” Wren cuts himself off, even though both of us get the implication of what he was about to say. ‘As the omega.’
It feels as unnatural to him to say it as it would to anyone.
Whether or not it’s an outdated belief, omegas are to be protected and respected by alphas, being the carriers of life and…
all that. That sort of mentality is more strongly adhered to in rural parts like here, but also taught as a general rule, even if modern society moves more toward the philosophy of equality and against strict second gender roles.
But that never really applied to me, did it?
Everyone who looks at me feels an instant disconnect. A paradox, almost. Their eyes see one thing, and their minds, knowing I’m an omega, insist on needing to see a different sort of view. The two don’t match. They don’t quite fit.
That’s probably why Wren is the only alpha that’s ever been in my bed.
I pinch the bridge of my nose and lightly shake my head. Gods, I’m tired. I’m not thinking straight.
As another shiver rocks my body, I snicker. “The room usually ain’t this cold. Must be the blizzard,” I say as I stand, still feeling a little uneasy as I face the bed and Wren in it. He politely scoots to the side.
“Come on. After spending a night in my car, I can confirm that sleeping in the cold is the wors—”
I glare at him in horror. “What? You slept in your car? Last night? All night?” This man is completely out of his mind. He has absolutely no regard for his life at all.
There’s a shy frown on his face when I sit next to him. “Let’s just get some shuteye, alright?” he mutters and swiftly faces away from me.
I have to admire the way he backed out of that conversation, but that makes him no less idiotic for doing what he did.
Sleeping in the car at this time of the year, in this weather, then nearly driving himself off a cliff to his death…
Maybe the dual gods have put him in my path to save him from himself.
I sigh and start settling down.
“Good night,” he whispers after a moment. He sounds hesitant and…delicate.
“G’night, Wren. Sleep tight.”
I’m not cold anymore, at least. My body’s enveloped in the heat under the blanket. We don’t touch, but I know he’s right there, his warm skin so close to mine.
I lie still, savoring that sensation. It’s almost alien because of how damn long it’s been.
But it’s nice. So nice…feeling his pulse faintly echo through the mattress.
Sensing every inhale and exhale in the subtle movements of the blanket covering us both.
And the strong, alluring scent of licorice gently seeping into my nose…
I let out a soft moan, sinking into the comfort of it.