Chapter 28
Bea
Iwake up to River's mouth on my throat and his hand between my thighs, and for a moment I'm completely disoriented.
The nest. I'm in the nest, surrounded by soft blankets that smell like all of us—cedar and rain, pine and snow, ink and leather, all mixing with my cinnamon-apple. And River's warm body pressed against my back, his breath hot against my new claiming mark.
Then the bond flares to life, and I feel everything. His desire, his love, his possessive satisfaction at having me in our nest with his mark on my throat.
"Morning, baby," he murmurs against my skin. "Happy first day of being bonded to me."
I can feel Seth on my other side, still asleep, his bond humming with contentment. And Grayson—somewhere close, awake, watching us. I can feel his awareness through the pack bonds.
"You said you'd wake me up with your tongue," I protest sleepily, even as I arch into River's touch.
"Give me five minutes." His fingers slide inside me easily—I'm still slick from last night, still loose from his knot. "Getting you ready first."
Through the bond, I feel his satisfaction at finding me wet and ready. And I feel Seth stirring beside us, his awareness sharpening as he wakes to the scent of arousal in the nest.
I arch into his touch, already wet from his attention. The bond makes everything more intense—I can feel his pleasure at making me feel good, which makes me feel good, which makes him feel good, and it's a feedback loop that has me gasping within minutes.
"River, please—"
"Patience." But he's grinning as he kisses his way down my body. "I'm going to take my time with you."
He does. He spends what feels like hours between my thighs, learning exactly what makes me gasp and moan and beg. The bond means he can feel every spike of pleasure, adjust his technique accordingly, drive me right to the edge and hold me there.
"River, I swear to god—"
"What?" He looks up at me, his mouth wet and his eyes dark. "What are you going to do?"
"I'm going to—oh god—" He does something with his tongue that makes my brain short-circuit.
He makes me come twice before he finally, finally slides inside me. He wants to be able to move, to take me in every position he can think of.
And he does. We move through the nest together, the bond singing between us, learning each other's bodies all over again with this new connection.
By the time we finally collapse back into the blankets, breathless and satisfied, Seth is definitely awake and Grayson has left the room.
"Good morning," Seth says dryly, still wrapped in blankets on the other side of the nest. He's in his uniform, clearly been up for hours while River and I were... occupied. "Or should I say good afternoon?"
Through our bond, I feel his amusement and affection. And something else—pride. He's proud of me. Of us.
"Morning," I manage, my body pleasantly sore in all the best ways.
"You're very loud," Grayson observes from the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed. "Just so you know."
My cheeks heat. "We weren't—"
"You were definitely that loud," Seth confirms, grinning. "The whole neighborhood probably knows River bonded you."
Through our bond, I feel his amusement mixed with affection.
"Oh my god." I bury my face in a pillow. "I'm never leaving this nest again."
"Don't be embarrassed," River says, kissing my shoulder as he pulls me back against his chest. "I'm not."
"You should be."
"Why? You're my bonded omega. I'm allowed to make you scream my name in our nest."
"RIVER."
All three of them are laughing now, and despite my embarrassment, I'm smiling too. This is pack. This easy teasing, this comfort, this joy.
"Come on," Grayson says, pushing off the doorframe. "I made lunch. You need to eat."
"Food in the nest?" I ask hopefully.
"Nice try. Kitchen. Now." But he's smiling. "You need to replenish your energy."
"Why, are you planning to tire me out too?" I ask without thinking, then immediately regret it when his eyes go dark.
"Not yet," he says quietly. "But soon."
The promise in his voice makes heat pool low in my belly. Through both bonds, I feel Seth and River's awareness, their approval.
Two bonds are incredible. But there's space for one more. And my omega knows exactly who belongs there.
River helps me into one of his shirts and we make our way downstairs, though I have to lean on him. Seth trails behind us, his hand on my lower back, steadying me.
"Told you that you needed energy," Grayson says when we reach the kitchen. He's set out plates on the table—sandwiches, fruit, water.
I slide into a chair gratefully. "You're a mind reader."
"I can smell how much energy River burned through." He sets a plate in front of me. "Eat. All of it."
I do, suddenly ravenous. The three of them watch me with varying degrees of satisfaction—Seth content through our bond, River pleased with himself, Grayson quietly territorial.
"What?" I ask around a mouthful of sandwich.
"Nothing," River says, grinning. "Just like watching you eat. Means we took good care of you."
The next week settles into a new rhythm.
I wake up in River's bed most mornings—he's clingy in the best way, always pulling me back when I try to get up. Seth checks in through our bond constantly, little pulses of affection and concern that keep us connected even when he's at work. And Grayson...
Grayson watches.
Not in a creepy way. Just... aware. Present. Like he's waiting for something.
"You need to talk to him," River says one morning as we're making breakfast.
"About what?"
"About the fact that you've been thinking about bonding him for three days straight." He taps his temple. "I can feel it through our bond. The want. The fear. The anticipation."
"It's complicated."
"It's not." He turns to face me fully. "You want him. He wants you. The only thing stopping you is fear."
"What if I'm not ready?"
"Then you're not ready, and that's okay." His hand finds my hip, grounding. "But Bea? I don't think that's what this is. I think you're scared of how much you want him."
He's not wrong.
Grayson is different than Seth and River. Seth needed me—his sweetness and nervousness made me feel safe, needed, cherished. River wanted me—his confidence and playfulness made me feel desired, beautiful, claimed.
But Grayson... Grayson sees me. Every part of me. The good and the bad and the ambitious and the vulnerable. And bonding him means letting him see even more.
"I'm terrified," I admit.
"I know." River kisses my forehead. "But you're also brave. And when you're ready, he'll be there."
A few days later, I'm deep into a marketing proposal when I hear footsteps on the stairs.
Grayson appears in my doorway, leaning against the frame with two coffee mugs in his hands.
"Brought you coffee," he says, holding one out. "You've been up here for three hours."
I glance at the clock. Shit. "Has it really been three hours?"
"Yep. River tried to bring you lunch but you told him to 'go away, I'm working.'"
"I did not—"
"You absolutely did. He's downstairs pouting."
I take the coffee gratefully. "In my defense, I was on a roll."
"What are you working on?" He doesn't wait for an invitation, just walks in and plops down on the small couch I'd squeezed into the corner.
"Proposal for that Italian restaurant in Pine Valley. You know, the one we went to on our first pack date?"
" Bella Notte?"
"That's the one. They want to update their social media presence."
"Let me guess—their current Instagram is a disaster?"
"It's actually worse than a disaster. It's tragic." I pull up their Instagram on my laptop and turn it around. "Look at this."
The latest post is a blurry photo of pasta with the caption "Yum!"
Grayson stares at it. "That's... actually terrible."
"Right? And look at this one." I scroll to another post—an out-of-focus picture of what might be lasagna. The caption is just "Food."
"Oh my god."
"There's more." I'm grinning now, scrolling through. "This one is literally just a photo of a fork. No caption. And this is my personal favorite—a selfie of what I assume is the owner's thumb covering half the lens with 'Come eat!' in the caption."
"Who's running their social media?"
"The owner's nephew. He's doing it 'for the experience.'"
"He's not getting good experience."
"No, he is not." I set down my laptop. "So I'm pitching them on actual useful content. Food photography that's in focus, behind-the-scenes kitchen shots, chef specials, maybe some pasta-making tutorials."
"Sounds like you're saving them from themselves."
"Someone has to." I take a sip of coffee—perfect, exactly how I like it. "Why are you really here? Besides bringing me caffeine."
"Can't I just want to hang out with my favorite omega?"
"I'm your only omega."
"That makes you my favorite by default."
I throw a pen at him. He catches it without even looking.
"Show off," I mutter.
"You love it." He's grinning now, spinning the pen between his fingers. "Seth's at work. River's gaming downstairs. I'm bored."
"So you came to bother me?"
"Exactly." He stretches out on the couch, making himself comfortable. "Tell me more about terrible restaurant Instagram. I'm fascinated."
"You're mocking me."
"I'm not. I genuinely want to know what happens to the nephew when you take over his Instagram empire."
"He'll probably cry."
"Good. That thumb photo deserves tears."
I laugh despite myself, turning back to my laptop. "Well, if you're going to stay, you have to be quiet. I need to finish this proposal."
"I can be quiet."
He lasts approximately two minutes before: "That font is terrible."
"Grayson."
"I'm just saying. Comic Sans? Really?"
"That's the restaurant's current brand font."
"And you're keeping it?"
"No, obviously I'm changing it. See? Right here in the recommendations section."
He leans forward to look at my screen, and suddenly he's very close. I can smell his scent—ink and leather and something spicy that makes my heart race.
"Much better font," he says, his voice lower.
"Thanks."
"You're good at this. The marketing stuff."
"I know."
He laughs—a real laugh, the kind that makes him look younger. "Confident. I like it."
"Someone wise once told me to own what I'm good at."
"Sounds like a smart person."
"He has his moments." I save my work and turn to face him properly. "Okay, you win. I need a break anyway. What do you want to do?"
"Show me more terrible Instagram accounts."
"Are you serious?"
"Completely. This is the most entertainment I've had all week."
So I do. We spend the next hour going through the worst small business social media accounts we can find, critiquing everything, laughing until my sides hurt.
And it's easy. Comfortable. Like we've been doing this forever.
Like pack.