Chapter 20
Bea
I'm on my hands and knees in my childhood bedroom, trying to build a nest that won't cooperate.
Every blanket is wrong. Every pillow feels like sandpaper against my overheated skin. My scent—baked apple and brown sugar, thick enough to choke on—fills the small room until I can barely breathe.
"It's wrong." I yank another blanket off the bed, frustrated tears burning my eyes. "Why is everything wrong?"
The door opens. Mom slips inside, her vanilla-lavender scent cutting through my panic like a lifeline.
"Oh, sweetheart." She kneels beside me, not touching, just present. "Your heat's starting."
"I know." My hands are shaking. "But I can't—this room is too small and it smells like childhood and nothing feels safe—"
"Because it's not the right space." Her voice is calm, matter-of-fact. "You can't have your first heat in your childhood bedroom with your brother across the hall, honey. You need privacy. You need room to fall apart."
The tears spill over. "I don't know what I'm doing."
"That's why you have a pack." She strokes my hair, careful and soothing. "Have you talked to your alphas about where you'll be?"
Before I can answer, Ben appears in the doorway. He's got one hand clamped over his nose and mouth, looking absolutely miserable.
"Seth's here," he says, voice muffled. "Says he needs to see Bea. Like, now."
Mom helps me to my feet. My legs are shaky, slick soaking through my underwear with every movement. "Go. I'll pack you a bag."
Dad and Papa are waiting at the bottom of the stairs. Neither of them tries to get close—smart alpha instincts when an omega's scent is this overwhelming—but the love on their faces nearly undoes me.
"You chose a good pack," Dad says. His voice is steady, grounding. "That takes courage, Bea. Trusting someone with this."
Papa's eyes are wet behind his glasses. "We love you. You know that, right? No matter what."
"I'm terrified," I whisper.
"That's okay." Dad's smile is gentle. "But you're going anyway. That's brave."
Seth is pacing on the front porch, but the second he sees me through the screen door, he goes still. His brown eyes track over my face, cataloging.
Then he opens the door and steps inside, moving with purpose.
"Hey." His voice is different. Calmer than usual. Confident. "How are you feeling?"
"Like I'm dying." It comes out as half-sob, half-laugh. "My room—I tried to nest but nothing worked and—"
"I know." He catches my hand, and his touch is cool against my burning skin. "That's why we're going to my place. Right now."
"Seth—"
"I have everything ready." He's already guiding me toward the door. "River and Grayson stocked the room this morning. Blankets, pillows, everything you need. But Bea, we need to go. Your heat's coming fast."
The deputy voice. The crisis management tone. It cuts through my panic better than anything else could.
This isn't shy, stuttering Seth who blushes when I tease him. This is Deputy Monroe—calm, focused, in control. It's weirdly hot seeing him like this, all take-charge and confident.
"Okay," I breathe. "Okay."
The truck is running in the driveway. He helps me in, then circles around to the driver's side. His scent—clean rain and cedar and fresh-baked bread—fills the cab, and I want to crawl into his lap and never leave.
Actually, I want to lick his neck. I want to taste his skin. I want to bury my face in his throat and breathe him in until his scent is the only thing I know.
The thought should horrify me. Instead, my mouth waters.
Seth pulls onto the street, driving with careful precision even though I can see his knuckles are white on the steering wheel.
A whimper escapes before I can stop it. Heat rolls through me, making my thighs clench. The slick is constant now, impossible to ignore.
Seth's hand finds mine. "Look at me."
I do.
"You're going to be okay," he says. Steady. Sure. "We're going to get you somewhere safe. You're going to build your nest. And then we're going to take care of you. I promise."
The tears come again, but this time they're relief.
His house appears—craftsman style, wraparound porch, safe—and I'm fumbling with the door handle before he's fully stopped.
"Easy." He's there, steadying me. "I've got you."
Inside smells like him. The living room is neat, comfortable, but I barely register it because he's already leading me upstairs.
"Second door on the right," he says, opening it.
I stop in the doorway.
The room is bare except for the bed frame with a stripped mattress. But against one wall—
Mountains of blankets. Piles of pillows in every size and texture. Fairy lights strung around the perimeter, casting everything in warm glow.
"We wanted you to have options," Seth says quietly. "Whatever you need."
I'm moving before he finishes speaking.
Into the room. Grabbing the softest blanket—fleece, butter-soft, perfect. My hands arrange it on the mattress without conscious thought.
Another blanket. Then another.
The instinct takes over completely. Building, layering, creating walls of softness and safety. Time stops meaning anything. There's just the nest. Just the desperate need to make it right.
Footsteps on the stairs. River and Grayson's scents join Seth's—pine and sawdust, ink and leather and spice. My pack.
But I can't stop. Can't think past the overwhelming need to build.
"Bea?" River's voice, careful. "Do you need—"
"Don't." It comes out sharp, desperate. "Don't touch anything. I have to—just let me—"
"Okay." Grayson's voice is calm. "We're right here. We won't interfere."
Good. Perfect. Because this pillow needs to go here, and this blanket needs to be folded just so, and the walls need to be higher—
"Sweetheart." Seth again, closer now. "When did you last drink water?"
Water. The word doesn't make sense.
He appears at the edge of my vision, holding out a glass. "Please. Just a few sips."
I take it because his scent is soothing. Because somewhere under the instinct, I know he's right.
The water is cold. Grounding.
"Better?" he asks.
I nod, shoving the glass back at him, then return to the nest. There's a blanket that's not quite—
Another wave of heat crashes through me. Harder this time. I gasp, doubling over, and suddenly Seth is there.
Not touching. Just close. His scent wrapping around me.
"It's okay," he murmurs. "You're okay. Just breathe."
But I can't breathe because my skin is on fire and I need—I need—
My hands find his shirt. Fisting in the fabric. Pulling him closer.
"Bea—"
"Please." I'm pressing my face to his chest, breathing him in—rain and cedar and safety. My mouth opens against the fabric. I want to taste his skin. Want to lick the salt from his throat. Want to nuzzle into him until I'm saturated in his scent. "Please, I need—"
His arms come around me carefully. "I know. I've got you."
And god, it helps. His solid warmth against me, his scent flooding my senses. The shaking eases slightly.
But then my hands are moving. Sliding under his shirt, desperate for skin contact. My fingers find the warm planes of his stomach and I make a sound that's almost a whine. Needing more, needing everything—
I freeze.
What am I doing?
Horror floods through me and I jerk back, stumbling. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean—"
"Hey." Seth catches my arms, firm but not harsh. "Bea, look at me."
I can't. Can't face the rejection I know is coming.
"Look at me," he repeats. Not harsh, just... steady. Sure.
I force my eyes up.
His expression isn't angry. Isn't disgusted. He looks calm. Understanding.
"You're close to heat," he says quietly. "Your instincts are taking over. That's normal. That's okay."
"But I just—I grabbed you and—"
"And I didn't mind." His thumb strokes the inside of my wrist, soothing. "Bea, you're not doing anything wrong. Your omega instincts are screaming at you to touch your pack, to scent us, to make sure we're real and here and not going anywhere."
The words pierce through my panic.
"I scared myself," I whisper.
"I know." His voice is so gentle. "But you don't have to be scared of what you need. Not with us."
"What if I can't control it? What if I—"
"Then we'll take care of you." Seth cups my face, making me hold his gaze. "That's what we're here for."
"You're going to finish your nest." Grayson's voice comes from behind me, dark and sure. "Get everything ready. And then when your heat hits—really hits—we're going to be right here. Touching you. Holding you. Giving you everything you need."
My breath hitches. "Promise?"
"I promise." Seth's voice catches slightly on the words—there's the Seth I know, the sweet anxious one hiding under all that deputy confidence. He leans forward, pressing his forehead to mine. "You're s-safe with us, Bea. Always."
The certainty in his voice—the complete lack of doubt—makes my chest ache.
"Besides," Grayson adds, and I can hear the smirk in his voice. "Can't wait to watch you have your wicked way with our shy deputy here. Pretty sure you're going to blow his mind."
"Grayson," Seth mutters, but there's no real heat in it.
Despite everything—the fear, the heat building under my skin, the desperation—I almost laugh.
"Okay," I breathe. "Okay."
"Good." Seth steps back, already pulling off his sweatshirt. "Now, do you want our scents in your nest?"
Yes. God, yes.
He hands me the gray sweatshirt—still warm from his body, saturated with his scent. I clutch it to my chest, breathing deep.
"Mine too." River is shrugging out of his flannel. Pine and sawdust cling to the fabric.
Grayson's leather jacket comes off. Ink and leather and spice, dark and perfect.
I take all three, arranging them carefully in the center of my nest where I'll sleep. Where we'll all sleep.
Their scents blend with mine until the room smells like pack. Like home.
The nest is perfect now. Blankets layered in concentric circles, soft against skin and weighted for security. Pillows forming protective walls. Their clothes scattered throughout—territory markers, scent claims, promises.
I sit back on my heels, surveying my work.
"It's beautiful," River says quietly.
"You're beautiful," Grayson corrects, looking at me instead of the nest.
Another wave hits—stronger, demanding. I whimper, wrapping my arms around myself.
"Come here." River's already moving toward me, hands gentle as he helps me to my feet. "Let's get you settled."
"We're right here," Seth adds softly. "Whatever you need."
Grayson's dark eyes track every tremor, every shiver. "Your heat's close. You can feel it."
I nod, unable to form words as another rush of heat floods through me. More slick, soaking through my underwear, sliding down my thighs. My skin feels like it's burning from the inside out.
"Then let's take care of our omega," River says, and the possessive certainty in his voice makes me whimper.
I look at my three alphas. My pack. Their scents are overwhelming—pine and sawdust, rain and cedar, ink and leather and spice—mixing with my desperate cinnamon-apple until the room is thick with need.
"I can't—" My voice breaks. "It's too much, I need—"
"We know." Grayson's voice is dark, sure. "And we're going to give you everything."
The heat crashes over me again, harder this time, stealing my breath. My knees buckle.
Seth catches me. "I've got you."
They're already here. Already touching me. Already keeping their promise.
And god, I'm going to let them.