Chapter 19
Wyatt
It takes me fifteen minutes to walk off the urge.
I make it two blocks before the cold stops biting, then double back and stand across the street from Everhart Manor.
It glows. It pulses like a heartbeat. Inside, I know Emery is alone in that nest she built—layers of pillows, blankets, all our old shirts, maybe even the ones we thought we lost to the laundry.
I watch the windows go from dark to gold. The city is waking up, but I’m still wired for midnight.
I tell myself I’m just going to check on her. Maybe bring water. Maybe make sure she hasn’t actually died or combusted. I tell myself I can handle it, that I’m just stronger, more logical, more in control than Bastion or Ranier.
Yeah, okay. Fake it til you make it or whatever.
I let myself into the manor through the back door and leave my shoes on the mat.
Every inch of the downstairs hall smells like her.
By the time I’m upstairs it’s so thick I taste it in my mouth, cotton candy and something sharp, bright as summer lightning.
It goes straight to my head, then lower.
I press my hand to the wall and will myself to keep it together.
The house is empty. No Bastion, no Ranier. No one to stop me from making the dumbest decision of my year.
Or the most right.
Emery’s room is at the end of the hall. The door is closed but not locked. I knock. Once, soft. The answer is a whimper—small, muffled, but not in pain. More like the sound of someone who can’t make herself speak.
I push the door open.
The main light is off but the whole place is lit by fairy lights, pink and blue and purple, so soft it makes the air look wet.
The first thing that hits me is the heat—she’s got the window closed, so the room is a sauna, which is insane considering how naturally warm she probably feels right now.
I head over to the window and open it, also so fresh air can thin the absolutely thick scent of cotton candy and sex.
It’s only then I find Emery herself, curled in a corner of the nest, her knees drawn up to her chin.
She’s wearing a tank top and underwear, nothing else.
Her skin is flushed all over. Her hair is plastered to her neck and her body is slick with sweat.
There’s a small patch of wet on the sheets under her. Slick. A lot of it.
I freeze where I stand.
Emery just watches me. She’s shivering. One hand is between her legs, but not doing anything—just holding on, like she’s afraid she’ll split open if she lets go.
I stand there, the world spinning, until I can make myself move.
“Emery,” I say, and my voice cracks on the first syllable.
Emery stirs. She looks up at me, eyes huge and glassy and dark. There are tears on her cheeks, old ones, dried in sticky tracks.
She tries to say my name, but it comes out as a soft, cracked sound.
“Hey,” I say, gentle, “I just… came to check on you.”
Emery blinks, then shivers again, and I realize she’s not cold—she’s desperate.
Her body is running on empty, eating itself from the inside out.
The omega part of her is screaming for what her body needs, and the human part is just along for the ride.
She’s been brought food and water this entire time but those are not the things her body craves right now.
I move to the edge of the nest, careful, like I’m approaching a wounded animal. She’s so small like this. Small, but burning.
“Do you need water?”
She shakes her head, a tiny, miserable motion.
I kneel. The mattress sags under my weight, and she whimpers again, softer. Her scent is mind-bending up close. It was before her heat, too, but this is different. Every instinct I’ve ever had is lighting up, redlining. My mouth waters.
I swallow hard.
“You want me to go?” I mean it. She can send me away and I’ll go. I’ll run laps around the block until I forget how to want.
But she shakes her head again, faster, and then her hand reaches for my wrist. It’s barely a touch, more a suggestion than a grip, but it’s enough.
Emery says, “Don’t leave me,” and it’s so small I almost miss it.
I nod. “Okay.”
I look for a safe place to sit, as if such a thing exists. I spot the towels in a heap by the bed, the empty bottle of Gatorade, the half-finished sketch of Bastion that she’s torn in half. I sit at the edge, next to her, and wait.
Emery just breathes, shallow and fast, for a long time. I don’t move, don’t even blink.
Then she says, “It hurts.”
I know she doesn’t mean pain. I know what she means, but the words fail her. I let them hang there. “I can help.”
She shivers again, eyes closing tight.
“Is that—” I start, but stop. I’m not sure what I’m asking. Is that okay? Is that safe? Is that what you want, or what you’re about to regret in the morning?
She nods anyway.
I reach out, slow, and touch her hair. It’s damp, softer than I expect. She leans into it, almost purring, and her mouth falls open just a little.
I stroke her head, then her shoulder, and she melts into the touch. The tremor in her bones settles, just a bit.
“You’re burning up,” I say. “You need to eat, or—”
“I can’t,” Emery says. “Can’t keep anything down.”
I nod, helpless.
She opens her eyes. “Wyatt?”
“Yeah?”
“Will you…” She trails off, but the meaning is clear.
I squeeze her shoulder. “Anything. Tell me.”
She bites her lip, then lets it go. “Will you touch me? Please.”
The word “please” nearly breaks me. She’s never used it before, not with me, not with anyone.
I say, “Yeah. Of course.”
Emery rolls toward me, slow and heavy, then buries her face in my shirt. She smells like herself and also like something new—wild, sweet, feral. My head spins. I put my hand on her back, palm flat, and rub slow circles. She shudders. Her breath hitches.
Her body is so hot it’s almost feverish. I want to pull her into my lap, wrap myself around her, and never let go. Instead, I keep the pressure gentle.
I don’t want to push boundaries. I also don’t want to get stuck in my own head. The last time I was with an omega was Charlotte and that ended so poorly it’s scarred me.
Until Emery. Until her relentless desire to be in and stay in this pack. And then Ranier wants nothing but to push her out anyway. It’s doing my head in, but everything about Emery is setting it right in this moment.
Emery whimpers again. It draws my attention back to the present.
Her tank top is soaked through. I can see the dark circles around her nipples, the flush spreading all the way to her stomach.
Emery twists, half onto her back, and looks at me with glassy eyes. “Can I… will you… I want to kiss you.”
My heart kicks so hard I’m sure she hears it.
I lean down. Our faces are inches apart. Her lips are soft, parted, already shining with the heat of her. I press my mouth to hers, gentle, just a brush.
She whimpers. It’s not a sound of pain—more like relief. She grabs the front of my shirt and pulls me in harder. I go. I let her set the pace, let her take what she needs. Her mouth is wild, needy, frantic. Her tongue slides over mine, and I feel my control dissolve.
I brace my hands on either side of her, trying not to crush her, but she pulls at me with all the strength she has. Her nails dig into my back, sharp through the fabric. Her legs wrap around my thigh, locking me in.
I kiss her like I’m drowning. She kisses back like I’m the only thing keeping her alive.
When we break apart, she’s gasping. Her eyes are full of tears.
I thumb one of them away. “Hey, are you okay?”
She nods. “Just… a lot.”
I know. For both of us.
I move to pull away, but she won’t let me. She drags my hand down, over her ribs, to the hot, damp skin above her underwear.
She says, “Please,” again, and this time it’s a whisper.
I hesitate, one last time. “Are you sure?”
She laughs, wet and shaky. “If you don’t, I’ll actually die.”
I grin. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”
Her laugh turns into a gasp when I slip my hand under the waistband of her panties. The heat there is unreal. She’s slick already, so much it soaks my fingers instantly.
I slide one finger over her clit and she jerks, back arching, mouth open. Her hands clench the blanket. She bites her lip so hard I’m afraid she’ll bleed.
“Easy,” I say, but she shakes her head.
“Don’t want easy,” she says. “I want you.”
I kiss her again, slow this time, while my hand works between her legs. The taste of Emery is summer and sugar, salt and tears, and it completely undoes me. She trembles beneath my hands, so delicate it feels like she might collapse if I don’t keep her together.
She’s soaked, more than I expected, slick pooling so fast it feels like some physical law is breaking in her body.
My thumb finds her clit again and I circle it, gentle at first, the way you’d stroke the petal of a rare flower—but Emery is not delicate, not right now.
She’s all raw need, the edges of her personality blurred by it, so when her hips buck against my hand I let her set the tempo and press a little harder.
The moan she lets out is nothing like her usual voice.
It’s deeper, hungry, edged with something wild.
She bites my lower lip and pulls, hard enough to sting, and I smile against her mouth because I want to see how far she’ll push me.
I flick my wrist and she gasps as two of my fingers enter her.
She bucks again, and then she’s grinding against my fingers like she wants to climb inside me.
Her hands fly to my hair, pulling, and I let her because it grounds me.