Chapter 19
Tessa
The power comes back on sometime around dawn.
I know because the refrigerator hums to life and the bedside lamp flickers on, casting the nest in sudden soft light.
I’ve been lying awake for what feels like hours, staring at the ceiling, counting the minutes until I can escape to the bathroom without waking anyone.
The cabin has been quiet all night, just the sound of three alphas breathing around me, and my own heartbeat pounding in my ears.
The heat is over. I knew it the moment I woke up—that desperate, clawing need that’s been driving me for days is just..
. gone. No burning under my skin. No hollow emptiness demanding to be filled.
Just a bone-deep exhaustion and an ache between my thighs that reminds me exactly how thoroughly I’ve been used.
And my brain. My brain is back online for the first time in what feels like forever, which means I can’t hide behind biology anymore.
When the lights flicker on and the refrigerator hums to life, I nearly cry with relief.
“Power’s back,” Ben mumbles against my hair, arm tightening around my waist.
“Mmm.” I keep my voice neutral. Sleepy. “I’m going to shower.”
He makes a sound of acknowledgment and lets me go. I slip out of the nest carefully, avoiding Milo’s outstretched hand and Elijah’s leg, and pad across the floor to the bathroom.
The door clicks shut behind me, and I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.
The face in the mirror stops me cold.
I look... wrecked. My hair is a tangled disaster. My lips are swollen, bitten red. There are shadows under my eyes from barely sleeping, but my skin is flushed, almost glowing in a way I’ve never seen before.
And the marks.
God, the marks.
There’s a hickey on my neck the size of a golf ball—Ben’s work, I think, though it’s hard to keep track.
When I let my shirt fall, I can see more scattered across my chest like a constellation.
Fingertip bruises on my hips, purple and tender.
Beard burn on my inner thighs that makes me wince just looking at it.
I look like a woman who’s been claimed. Thoroughly, repeatedly, by three different alphas.
Because I have been.
The hot water is a revelation.
I stand under the spray for a long time, letting it wash away the sweat and the dried slick and the scent of three different alphas that’s been layered into my skin for days.
I scrub myself clean—maybe too clean, maybe trying to scrub away more than just the physical evidence of what happened.
The soap stings against the marks, but I don’t stop.
By the time I step out, steam filling the small bathroom, I almost feel like myself again.
Almost.
Because the heat might be over, but I remember everything. Every touch. Every whispered word. Every moment where I stopped being Tessa-the-event-planner and became something else entirely. Someone who begged. Someone who needed. Someone who let three alphas see her completely unraveled.
I grip the edge of the sink and force myself to breathe.
I can do this. I can walk out there and be normal. Professional. I’ve coordinated events through worse than this. I’ve managed crises, soothed egos, juggled impossible schedules. I can handle one awkward morning-after conversation.
I get dressed in my clothes—wrinkled, but now dry—and finger-comb my damp hair into something presentable. The hickey on my neck is impossible to hide without a scarf, but I don’t have one. I’ll just have to brazen it out.
Deep breath. Shoulders back.
Time to face them.
The main room is quiet when I emerge. Ben is in the kitchen, making coffee, his movements a little too careful.
Milo is folding blankets from the nest, not meeting anyone’s eyes.
Elijah is by the window, staring out at the snow-covered landscape like it holds the answers to questions no one’s asking.
They all turn to look at me.
The silence stretches.
I can feel it—the weight of everything we’re not saying. Now we’re... what? I don’t even have a word for it.
“Coffee?” Ben offers, his voice a little too casual. A little too bright.
“Please.”
He pours me a cup. Our fingers brush when he hands it to me, and I pull back too quickly—an instinct I can’t control. Something flickers across his face—hurt, maybe, or confusion—before he smooths it away with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“So.” Milo sets down the blanket he’s been folding. His bartender’s charm is muted this morning, careful. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine.” The word comes out clipped. Too professional. I try again. “Good. Better. The shower helped.”
More silence.
Elijah hasn’t said anything. He’s still by the window, but I can feel his attention on me like a physical weight. Watching. Waiting. That’s what he does.
Everyone is being so careful. So polite. Like we’re strangers who happened to share a taxi, not four people who spent days tangled together in ways I’m still trying to process.
I take a sip of coffee, burning my tongue. The pain is grounding.
“The roads should be clear by now,” I say, because someone has to say something. “We should probably head back to town. I’m sure you all have things to do.”
Ben and Milo exchange a look—that silent communication thing they’ve already developed, the kind of thing packs do. The kind of thing that makes my chest tight for reasons I don’t want to examine.
“Tessa,” Milo starts, his voice gentle, “maybe we should talk about—”
“Actually.” I set down my coffee cup. My hands are steadier when I have something to do, something to organize. Work. Work is safe. “I wanted to ask you something, Ben. About the Valentine’s fundrasier.”
He blinks at the subject change. “The fundraiser?”
“The bachelor auction.” I pull out my phone—dead, of course, but the gesture is automatic. “I’m still one short. I know I asked before, but I was hoping… Will you do it?”
The question hangs in the air.
Ben stares at me like I’ve grown a second head. Behind him, Milo’s expression shifts to something I can’t read. Even Elijah turns from the window.
“You want to talk about the bachelor auction.” Ben’s voice is flat. “Right now.”
“The festival is almost a week away. I’m behind on planning because of the storm. If I don’t confirm participants by Friday—”
“Tessa.” His voice is gentle. Too gentle. “I can’t do the auction.”
Something cold settles in my stomach. “Why not?”
He opens his mouth to answer, but before he can speak, there’s a knock at the door.
Everyone freezes.
Milo moves first, crossing to the door and pulling it open. Deputy Nate Thorn stands on the porch, snowflakes dusting his dark uniform, looking exactly as stoic and professional as always.
“Morning.” Nate’s eyes sweep the room, taking in the four of us, the rumpled nest in the corner, the tension thick enough to cut. His expression doesn’t change. “Got a call that you folks were stranded out here. Wanted to make sure everyone was okay.”
“We’re fine,” Ben says, and there’s an edge to his voice I’ve never heard before. “Who called?”
“Milo texted to let us know.” Nate’s gaze finds me, takes in the hickey on my neck, the damp hair, the careful way I’m holding myself. “Ms. Lang. Milo mentioned your car was still stuck on Ridge Road. Ben, I assume you’ll be towing it back to your shop?”
Ben nods, jaw tight. “I’ll get it handled.”
“Good. In that case, Ms. Lang, I can give you a ride into town if you need one. Save you waiting around.”
And just like that, I have an exit.
“That would be great.” The words come out before I can think about them. “I need to check on my apartment. Make sure the pipes didn’t freeze.”
“Tessa—” Ben starts.
“I just need some time.” The words come out sharper than I intend. I force myself to take a breath, to soften my voice. “Please. Just... give me a few days. To figure out my head.”
The silence that follows is deafening.
“Okay,” Milo says quietly. “Whatever you need.”
I finally make myself look at them. Ben’s jaw is tight, but he nods. Milo’s expression is careful, controlled. And Elijah—Elijah just watches me with those steady eyes and says, “I’ll wait.”
Two words. That’s all. But something in my chest cracks.
I turn away before I can do something stupid like cry.
“Thank you.” I’m moving toward the door, grabbing my coat and my bag from where I left them by the kitchen counter. “For everything. For your help during the storm. I really appreciate it.”
The words are formal. Distant. Professional. The kind of thing you say to acquaintances, not to three men who just spent four days inside you.
I can feel their eyes on my back. Can feel Ben wanting to say more, Milo’s careful restraint, Elijah’s silent intensity. But they’re giving me what I asked for.
“Ready when you are,” I tell Nate, and I’m out the door before I can change my mind.
The truck is warm, the heater blasting against my frozen fingers. I stare out the window at the snow-covered trees, my hands clasped tight in my lap to keep them from shaking.
Nate doesn’t say anything for the first mile. He’s always been like that—quiet, professional, the kind of deputy who observes more than he speaks. It’s one of the things I’ve always appreciated about him at town events. He does his job without fuss or drama.
“So,” he says finally. “Rough couple of days?”
I let out a breath that’s almost a laugh. “You could say that.”
“Storm was a bad one. Lot of people got stranded.”
“Mmm.”
Silence again. I watch the snow blur past, white and pristine, the blizzard’s destruction hidden under a fresh layer of beautiful, unmarked snow.
“For what it’s worth,” Nate says, “Milo sounded worried when he texted. Asked me to come by as soon as the roads were clear. Said you might need an out.”
My throat tightens. Of course Milo called. Of course he noticed I was panicking before I even fully realized it myself. That’s what he does—reads people, anticipates their needs, smooths over the rough edges.