6. Fen
FEN
M y footsteps are muffled against the worn carpet as I approach Eliana's door, and I hesitate as I stand by the door. I know why she's always in her room—it's because of Kael. She's scared of him, and I don't blame her. I would be too. As a beta, my role is to be the one in the middle, but for an omega, I suppose it can be overwhelming to be with someone like him. Someone who isn't used to having someone see into his emotions. To someone like Kael, that's like walking around naked—something he can't do. He's just not that type of alpha, unlike Rhys.
She missed dinner again, this is the third time this week, and when I'd knocked earlier, her voice had been strained, dismissive in a way that wasn't like her.
I raise my hand to knock, then pause. Something feels different. The air itself seems charged, carrying an unfamiliar sweetness that makes my pulse quicken inexplicably. My beta senses, usually so steady and unremarkable, are picking up something that makes the hair on my arms stand on end.
"Eliana?" I call softly, pressing my palm against the cool wood of her door. "I brought you some tea."
The silence stretches long enough that I almost turn away, but then I hear it, a soft whimper, barely audible but so full of distress that my hand is already turning the knob before I can think better of it.
The scent hits me like a physical force as the door swings open. Sweet and intoxicating, it wraps around me with an intensity that makes my knees weak. Heat. The realization crashes over me just as I take in the scene before me.
Eliana is curled on her bed, her dark hair a mess across the pillows, her usually bright eyes now glazed and unfocused. Her oversized sweater—some soft cream thing she'd thrown on against the winter chill—has slipped off one shoulder, showing off the curve of her collarbone, while the hem has ridden up around her wide hips. The fabric clings to her full breasts, rising and falling with each quick breath, and her thick thighs peek out where her sleep shorts have twisted up. Every curve of her body looks even better like this, all flushed and heated despite the cold outside. When she turns toward me, her pupils are so blown out her eyes look almost black.
"Fen," she breathes, and fuck, my name has never sounded like that before, as if she needs me to breathe.
Every logical part of my brain is telling me to back the hell away, close the door, let her deal with this alone or call someone who actually knows what they're doing. But my feet are glued to the floor, and when she reaches for me with those shaking fingers, I'm done for.
"Your suppressants," I manage, my voice coming out way rougher than I meant it to. "When did you last—"
"Forgot," she whispers, and the shame in her voice hits me right in the chest. "I forgot, and now I can't Fen, please. It hurts."
The tea mug slips right out of my hands, hitting her hardwood floor with a sharp crack that makes us both jump. The sound seems to echo in the thick air between us. I step forward before I can think about it, pulled by something that's way beyond logic.
"What do you need?" The words are out before I can stop them, and they sound more confident than I feel.
She looks up at me through those long lashes, and I can see the battle happening on her face—want fighting embarrassment, instinct against everything she's been taught. When she finally speaks, her voice is barely there.
"I need..."
I move toward the bed slowly, making sure she can see what I'm doing. Her room is a mess—clothes scattered everywhere, books fallen off her nightstand, the room looks like a tornado hit it. Her bedsheets are tangled, pillows thrown around, and there's this sweet, intoxicating scent hanging in the air that's making my head spin. The winter wind rattles her windows, but inside it's warm, almost stifling with the heat pouring off her.
The mattress dips when I sit down next to her, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from her skin but not quite touching. My heart's hammering so hard I'm sure she can hear it.
"It's okay," I say, reaching out to brush some hair away from her flushed face. My fingers barely touch her cheek, but she leans into it with this soft sound that goes straight through me and settles somewhere low in my gut. "You're safe. I'm here."
"I can smell you," she says suddenly, eyes fluttering shut. "You smell like home. Like safety." Her hand finds mine, fingers lacing together with surprising strength. "Is that normal? For a beta?"
My scent has never been anything special—not like the commanding thing alphas have or the sweet pull of omega pheromones. But something's definitely changed in the last few minutes. I feel more solid somehow, more present, like her need is pulling something out of me I didn't even know was there.
"I don't know," I admit. "But I feel it too. This connection."
She opens her eyes then, studying my face like she's trying to memorize it. The intensity makes me feel completely exposed. "Will you stay? Please? I know you don't have to, I know this isn't your job, but I—"
"Hey." I squeeze her hand. "Of course I'm staying. As long as you need me."
The relief that hits her face is so intense it steals my breath. She shifts closer, and I can feel the tremor in her muscles, the way her body seems to be at war with itself. Without thinking, I open my arms, and she flows into them like water, like she was always meant to be there.
The second our bodies line up, something clicks. Her soft curves mold perfectly against my smaller frame, her head finding that spot on my shoulder like it belongs there. The sweet scent of her heat mixes with something earthier, warmer—something that's definitely coming from me, and I'm slowly realizing this is my body responding to hers.
"Better?" I ask, lips brushing her hair.
She nods against my throat, and I feel her breathing start to even out a little. "How is this possible? I thought betas couldn't... that they didn't..."
"Yeah, me too." My hand finds her back, tracing slow circles through the soft fabric of her sweater. The wool is so thin I can feel the heat of her skin underneath. "Maybe the rules aren't as set in stone as everyone thinks."
We stay like that for a while, and I watch the tension slowly drain from her body. She's still flushed, still burning up, but that desperate edge to her breathing has calmed down. She's soft against me now, trusting in a way that makes my chest tight.
Her room feels like a cocoon around us. The fairy lights she has strung around her mirror cast everything in this warm, golden glow. There's a half-finished puzzle on her desk, some landscape thing with a thousand pieces, and her easel in the corner has a painting she's been working on—abstract swirls of blue and green that somehow look exactly like how I feel right now. Her bookshelf is crammed full, books stacked horizontally on top of the vertical ones, and there's a coffee mug with old tea in it sitting on her windowsill.
"Tell me what you feel," I murmur against her hair. "Help me understand."
She's quiet for so long I think she might not answer, but then her voice comes, soft and wondering. "Like I'm not in my own skin. Like there's something inside me that needs completion. And you..." She tilts her head to look up at me, her eyes clearer now but still dark with something that makes my pulse skip. "You make it quiet. When you touch me, when you hold me, it's like all the noise in my head just stops."
I get it more than she knows. The constant hum of thoughts in my head has settled into something deeper, more focused. Every sense feels cranked up to eleven, all of them tuned specifically to her. I'm aware of every shift in her breathing, every tiny movement she makes, the way her scent changes as she relaxes.
My hands seem to have a mind of their own, one still tracing patterns on her back while the other plays with her hair. It's so soft, softer than I imagined it would be, and when I run my fingers through it, she makes this quiet sound that makes me want to do it again.
"Is this what bonding feels like?" she asks, her fingers playing with the buttons on my shirt.
The word hits me like a bolt of lightning. Bonding. I've heard about it, sure—that rare, intense connection that can happen between people during vulnerable moments. I always thought it was an alpha-omega thing, something tied up with dominance and control and all that bullshit. Not whatever this is.
"I think so," I answer honestly. "Though this feels different from what I've heard."
She shifts, propping herself up on one elbow to study my face. Her hair falls in dark waves around her shoulders, and the movement makes her sweater slip, showing off that elegant line of her collarbone. I have to clench my free hand to keep from tracing it with my fingers.
"Different how?"
I try to find the right words for what's happening between us. "All the stories make it sound violent. Overwhelming. Like losing your mind." I reach up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, amazed by how soft it is. "This feels more like finding something I didn't know I was looking for."
Her smile is fucking radiant, transforming her already gorgeous face into something that stops my heart. "Yes. Exactly like that."
The heat is still there—I can see it in the flush painting her skin, feel it in the way her body moves with this unconscious sensuality that's driving me crazy. But it's not the desperate, painful thing it was when I first walked in. Now it's something warmer, more purposeful.
She leans down, and for a second I think she's going to kiss me. My heart pounds against my ribs as her face gets closer, her breath warm against my lips. But instead, she presses her forehead to mine, eyes closing as she breathes me in.
"I can feel you," she whispers. "Not just physically. Inside. Like you're becoming part of me."
I know exactly what she means because it's happening to me too—this slow, sweet interweaving that seems to be going on somewhere deeper than thought. My brain keeps trying to analyze it, to figure out the mechanics of what's happening, but every time I get close to an explanation, the sensation gets stronger and my thoughts scatter.
The room feels smaller now, more intimate. Her bedside lamp casts long shadows across the walls, and outside I can hear the wind picking up, rattling the old windows. But in here, wrapped up in each other, it feels like we're in our own world.
"Are you scared?" I ask, because I am, a little. This is completely uncharted territory.
She thinks about it seriously, her thumb tracing patterns on my chest that leave trails of fire in their wake. "No. Surprised, maybe. Overwhelmed. But not scared." She opens her eyes, meeting my gaze head-on. "Are you?"
"A little," I admit. "This is huge. Life-changing. And we're making it up as we go."
"Together," she says firmly. "We're making it up together."
That simple statement settles something restless in my chest. Together. Yeah, that sounds right. Whatever this is, whatever it means, we'll figure it out side by side.
I become aware of how her body fits against mine—her full breasts pressed against my chest, the soft curve of her hip under my hand, the way her thick thigh is thrown over mine. Every point of contact feels electric, sending little shocks through my system. She's so warm, so soft, and she smells incredible—like vanilla and something floral, mixed with the sharper scent of her heat.
"You're beautiful," I say without thinking, and immediately feel my face heat up. But she just smiles, this shy, pleased expression that makes my chest tight.
"So are you," she says, and I can tell she means it.
Her fingers trace the line of my jaw, and I have to bite back a groan. Everything she does, every tiny touch, seems amplified. The bond between us pulses stronger, and I can feel her emotions mixing with mine—contentment, wonder, and underneath it all, a deep sense of rightness.
The light outside has faded to deep purple, and I realize we've been here for hours. Time moves differently in this bubble we've created, measured not in minutes but in heartbeats, in the rhythm of our breathing that's somehow synced up.
Eliana's getting heavier against me, her body finally giving in to exhaustion as the heat cycle runs its course. But even as she gets drowsy, she keeps touching me—a hand on my chest, her leg over mine, like her subconscious won't let her break the connection.
Her room smells like us now, our scents mixing and layering until I can't tell where hers ends and mine begins. It's intoxicating, this new smell that's uniquely ours.
"Fen?" Her voice is thick with sleep.
"Mmm?"
"Thank you. For staying. For not running when you figured out what was happening."
I press my lips on her head, breathing in the scent that's already becoming as familiar as my own. "Where the hell would I run to? We’re snowed in.”
It’s my attempt at a little joke, and to soften the mood. She makes this contented sound, burrowing deeper into my arms. Within minutes, her breathing evens out into deep sleep, but I stay awake, marveling at the weight of her trust, the way she's completely given herself over to my care.
The bond between us pulses gently, this warm current flowing back and forth, carrying comfort and security in both directions. I've heard people talk about bonding like it's claiming someone, marking territory. But this feels more like recognition—acknowledging something that was always there, just waiting for the right moment to show itself.
As the night gets deeper around us, I let myself imagine what comes next. Tomorrow Rhys and Kael will question what happened between us. But right now, with Eliana soft and trusting in my arms, the future doesn't feel scary—it feels full of possibilities.
I close my eyes and sink into the bond, feeling it get stronger with each passing moment. Whatever comes next, we'll handle it together—beta and omega, connected by something rarer and more incredible than either of us ever hoped for.
In the quiet darkness of her room, surrounded by the mixed scent of our connection, I finally let sleep take me, my last thought a whispered promise to the woman in my arms: I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. We have all the time in the world to figure this out.