Chapter 51
Willow
I don’t know how long I lie there, cradled by the weight and warmth of their hands, but eventually we move. My body hums like a plucked string, overplayed and breathless but… whole. Soothed.
Graham carries me—carries me—into the bedroom. Still knotted and full, each step reminding me of the pleasure I just experienced.
The lights are dim. Carson unties my arms, releasing them.
The sheets are cool against my back. Someone, Hunter, brushes my hair back from my forehead as if he can’t stop touching me.
Carson’s hand smooths along my calf as he settles beside me, and Graham’s arms are braced on each side of me as he hovers above me.
I’m surrounded.
And when Graham finally pulls out, it’s slow. Careful. There’s no pain. Only warmth.
Only this strange sense of completion curling inside of me. It feels like how I’d think being stitched back together would feel.
I think I sigh. Or maybe I melt. Hard to tell.
“Color?” Carson murmurs from beside me.
“Still green.”
Hunter huffs out a breath. “Omega,” he mutters under his breath. Then he shifts, eyes scanning the room, looking for something.
I blink up at him. “What are you doing?”
He meets my eyes. “You need a nest.”
I blink again, surprised at how that hits me. How it lands. The words wrap around me, gentle and unexpected, pulling free an ache I can’t name.
“I—what?”
Hunter shrugs, but there’s something warm in his expression.
“All omegas do. Might not need it every day, but after something like that?” He nods to the bed, to the bruises on my thighs I didn’t even realize happened in the moment, and the dazed look still swimming in my eyes.
“You’re gonna want one. Even if you don’t realize it. ”
“Softest thing I’ve ever heard him say,” Carson drawls, sliding down the bed until his head rests on my stomach. “Should’ve recorded it.”
“I’ll make one,” Graham says quietly. “You won’t have to lift a finger.”
Something clutches deep in my chest. And this time, it isn’t desire. It’s something heavier. Something that feels dangerously close to tears.
Loved. This is what loved feels like.
Not sweet or gentle—not with them. But safe. Grounded. Kept.
I’m not sure I can breathe around it.
Graham's hand strokes down my arm, anchoring me there, his lips brushing the crown of my head.
“You’re ours now, omega,” he whispers. “Let us take care of you.”
And somehow, for once, I don’t want to run.
I think I fell asleep for a few minutes because when I stir again, the bed is a little emptier.
The room is dim, soft shadows dancing along the walls, but there’s movement—quiet and careful.
I blink, lifting my head off Graham’s shoulder, and watch as Carson drags an armload of blankets from the linen closet.
Hunter is pulling extra pillows from the couch, muttering something under his breath about "too firm" and "she likes the soft ones. "
Graham’s hand glides along my bare back. “They’re building you a temporary nest.”
A soft noise escapes me. Embarrassed. Touched.
“Why?” I murmur.
“Because you need one,” Graham answers simply. “Because you’re ours to take care of.”
Carson dumps the blankets at the foot of the bed, then pauses and grins at me. “It’s a starter nest,” he says with a wink. “We’ll get you a real one later. Nesting room. All the works. Heated floor. Soundproof walls—”
“Extra plush,” Hunter adds, tossing a pillow onto the mattress. “All your favorite fabrics. Whatever scent calms you.”
Graham slides off the bed to help them, and I sit up slowly, the soreness in my body a delicious ache, and watch as these three—my bodyguards, my captors, my…everything—reshape the bed into a soft fortress. My fortress.
Hunter throws down the final blanket, then straightens. “Come here,” he says gently, crooking a finger.
I crawl forward, sinking into the mess of blankets and pillows with a sigh that borders on a purr. Graham slips in behind me, wrapping one strong arm around my waist. Carson flops down in front of me, his fingers instantly finding my hip, tracing lazy shapes.
Hunter drops onto the bed behind Graham, but he doesn’t stay distant. He presses his hand to my thigh, warm and steady.
It’s makeshift.
But it’s perfect.
The heat of their bodies surrounds me. Their scents—butter pecan ice cream, hot cocoa with marshmallows and whiskey, and that brown sugar and coffee—wrap around my senses, soothing something raw in my chest.
“You like it?” Carson murmurs.
I press my cheek to his chest and nod. “It’s perfect.”
“We’ll build you a real one,” Graham says against my hair. “A space all your own.”
“With a locking door so the world can’t get in,” Hunter adds.
“With my favorite alpha hoodies in every corner,” I tease softly.
Carson smirks. “You’re gonna have to fight me for them.”
I laugh—quiet and free—and something warm unfurls in my chest. I don’t need the locking door. I don’t even need the real nest, not yet. Because right now, I have this.
Them.
Their touches anchor me. Their voices ease the last of the ache in my heart. And when I finally let my eyes fall closed, it's not fear that follows me into sleep.
It's the sound of their breathing. The warmth of their skin.
And the knowledge that, for once, I’m home.
I wake warm.
Not just from the pile of blankets cocooning me or the comforting weight of bodies pressed close on either side, but from something deeper—something slow and honey-sweet, pooling in my chest and bleeding into every limb.
For a moment, I don’t move.
I just…breathe.
The scent of their musk wraps around me, filling me with the feeling of safety. It’s layered, soothing, pack-scented. My pack. All mine.
Graham’s arm is heavy across my waist, his hand possessive even in sleep. Carson is curled along my back now, his nose tucked into my hair, and Hunter is close, too—his foot brushing mine under the blankets, the quiet rhythm of his breathing keeping time with mine.
I shift slightly, the aches in my muscles a whispered reminder of how I got here—of all the ways they’ve shown me I’m wanted. That I’m more than just an omega to protect. More than a job. More than a responsibility.
They could’ve stayed guards.
But they didn’t.
And I could’ve kept pretending none of this mattered. That my heart wasn’t cracking open every time one of them touched me, making me feel precious.
But I didn’t.
I stare at the ceiling, my fingers curling into the soft edge of Carson’s hoodie that somehow made its way into the nest during the night. It smells like him—marshmallow and safety—and I press it to my nose before I can stop myself.
There’s no mark on my neck anymore.
No fading scar to remind me of Landon and the promise he broke. There’s nothing biological telling me who I’m supposed to love. And that used to scare me.
But now, it’s freedom.
Because this—this messy, slow-burning, undeniable something I’ve found with Graham, Carson, and Hunter—was never about biology.
It was a choice.
Mine.
And waking up tangled in limbs and blankets and the steady thrum of home beneath my ribs? It feels so much better than anything biology ever gave me.
I turn my head, brushing my nose against Graham’s bare shoulder, and I whisper so softly it almost disappears into the morning light:
“I choose you.”
I don’t expect a response. Don’t even know if he’s awake. But his hand tightens on my hip a moment later, his thumb stroking once—lazy, comforting.
Acknowledging.
Claiming.
And I let myself fall back into that warmth, tucked between all the people I never expected to need.