85. Chapter Eighty-Five
Chapter Eighty-Five
I t had been three days since the intense heat had subsided, and I had spent two days recuperating and sleeping deeply as my body rejuvenated and the bond solidified. Today marked my first venture out of the comforting cocoon, and I was ready to begin unpacking my belongings. The others had taken the initiative to retrieve my things and had spoken with my landlord to ensure everything was in order.
I was officially living with them now—my pack. A warm smile spread across my face as I surveyed the room that was now 'mine,' a space where I could express my own style and preferences. Although I would continue to sleep in the communal pack room, I relished the idea of having my own sanctuary, just as each member of the pack had, a personal retreat when solitude was desired.
I pause in the doorway of my new space, still taking in the reality that this is mine. The room is beautiful in its emptiness—tall windows letting in streams of morning light, pale blue walls that remind me of dawn skies, hardwood floors that gleam with care. My boxes are stacked neatly in the center, waiting for me to transform this space into something that's truly my own.
"What do you think?"
I turn to find Elias watching me from the hallway, his expression warm and curious. There's something different about him now—about all of them—since the marking. A steadiness, a certainty that wasn't there before. Or maybe it's me who's different.
"It's perfect," I say, meaning it. "I never thought I'd have something like this."
He steps closer, his hand finding mine with easy familiarity. The touch sends a pleasant warmth through me.
"Like what?" Elias asks, his thumb tracing circles on my palm.
I gesture around the room, then to him, trying to encompass everything in one movement. "This. A pack. A home that feels right. People who..." I trail off, still finding it difficult to articulate the depth of what I've found here.
"People who love you," he finishes for me, his hazel eyes soft with understanding.
I nod, feeling a blush rise to my cheeks. The marks on my neck pulse with a pleasant warmth, as if responding to his proximity. In the three days since my heat subsided, I've discovered that each mark has its own distinct sensation—Lucian's throbs with steady strength, Elias's radiates gentle warmth, Soren's tingles with playful energy, and Finn's pulses with calm reassurance.
"It's still hard to believe sometimes," I admit, leaning into his touch. "That this is real. That I get to have this."
Elias smiles, pulling me closer until I'm nestled against his chest. "Believe it," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. "You're stuck with us now."
I laugh at this, “I don’t think I mind too much.”
Elias smiles, wrapping his arms around me. "Good, because those marks are permanent."
I lean against him, still marveling at how easily my body fits with his, with all of them. The connection between us feels both brand new and ancient, as if some part of me has always known them.
"Need any help unpacking?" he asks, glancing at the boxes stacked neatly in the center of the room.
"Actually..." I hesitate, then decide to be honest. "I think I'd like to do this part myself. To really make it mine, you know?"
Understanding flashes in his eyes. "Of course." He presses a kiss to my forehead. "I'll be downstairs if you need anything. Lucian's working from home today, Finn's in his workshop, and Soren..." He pauses, a smile quirking his lips. "Well, Soren said something about a surprise, so be prepared for anything."
"That's mildly terrifying," I laugh, though warmth spreads through me at the thought of Soren's unpredictable nature.
I laugh, feeling a flutter of anticipation at what Soren might be planning. "With Soren, I'm learning to expect the unexpected."
Elias grins, squeezing my hand once more before releasing it. "Smart woman. I'll leave you to it, then."
As he turns to go, I feel a sudden urge to keep him close, just a moment longer. "Elias?"
He pauses, looking back at me with raised eyebrows.
"Thank you," I say, meaning it for more than just the room. "For everything."
His expression softens, understanding the depth behind my simple words. "Always, Lydia." With one last warm smile, he disappears down the hallway, leaving me alone with my boxes and my thoughts. I stand alone in the center of the room, savoring the quiet and the potential. I've never had a space that was truly mine before—not like this, not with the freedom to make it exactly what I want without worrying about landlords or temporary leases or the constant need to keep things minimal in case I needed to leave quickly.
I open the first box, pulling out my small collection of books. They look almost inadequate compared to the built-in shelves that line one wall, but as I arrange them carefully, I feel a sense of satisfaction. My books. My shelves. My room in my pack's house.
The marks on my neck pulse pleasantly as I work. I'm halfway through a box of clothes when I hear a light knock. Turning, I find Soren leaning against the doorframe, a mischievous glint in his purple eyes.
"How's the nesting going, lavender girl?" he asks, his gaze traveling around the room, taking in my progress.
"It's not nesting," I protest, though I can't help smiling at his teasing. "It's just... organizing."
"Mmm-hmm," he hums, clearly unconvinced. "Whatever you want to call it. You're making a mess. Are you sure you don’t need help?”
I roll my eyes, but can't suppress the smile tugging at my lips. "I'm pretty sure this is the opposite of making a mess. I'm creating order from chaos."
Soren pushes off from the doorframe, sauntering into the room with his typical fluid grace. "Perspective, lavender girl. One person's order is another's boring monotony." He picks up a small ceramic figurine from an open box—a little fox I've had since childhood—examining it with curious fingers. "Cute."
"It was my grandmother's," I explain, watching as he turns it over in his hands. "One of the few things I have from her."
Something softens in his expression. "It suits you," he says, placing it carefully on the windowsill where a shaft of sunlight catches its glazed surface. "Quick, clever, beautiful."
I feel a blush rise to my cheeks at his words. Even after everything we've shared, Soren still has the ability to catch me off guard with moments of unexpected tenderness.
"Was there something you needed?" I ask, trying to hide my flustered reaction by turning back to my unpacking. "Or did you just come to critique my organizational skills?"
Soren grins, moving closer until he's standing just behind me. I can feel the heat of him, smell his distinctive scent that now seems as familiar to me as my own. "Actually," he murmurs, his breath warm against my ear, "I came to steal you away for a bit."
I turn to face him, raising an eyebrow. "Steal me? I just started unpacking."
The boxes will still be here later. My surprise, however, requires good timing," Soren says, his voice dropping to that playful tone that always makes my stomach flip. "And I promise it will be worth the interruption."
I glance at the boxes surrounding me, then back at Soren's expectant face. His excitement is contagious, a vibrant energy that's impossible to resist.
"Fine," I concede, setting down the stack of books in my hands. "But this surprise better be good."
"Oh, it is," Soren assures me, reaching for my hand. His fingers intertwine with mine, the casual intimacy of it still new enough to send a pleasant shiver up my arm. "Trust me."
The mark he left on my neck tingles as he leads me from the room, a pleasant warmth that spreads across my skin.
I follow Soren through the house, curiosity building with each step. His hand remains firmly clasped in mine, his thumb occasionally stroking my skin in a way that sends little sparks up my arm. The playful energy radiating from him is contagious, and I find myself smiling despite my interrupted unpacking.
"Where are we going?" I ask as he leads me down the stairs and through the living room.
"Patience, lavender girl," he replies, throwing a mischievous grin over his shoulder. "You'll see soon enough."
Soren leads me through the kitchen, where I catch glimpses of our packmates engaged in their own activities. Elias kneads dough with practiced hands, flour dusting his forearms. Lucian sits at the island, papers spread before him as he reviews what looks like contracts or business documents. Finn hunches over a notebook, sketching something with intense concentration.
"We'll be back later," Soren announces as we pass through. The three men look up, various expressions of knowing amusement crossing their faces.
"Have fun," Elias calls, a smile playing at his lips.
"Don't tire her out too much," Lucian adds, his dark eyes meeting mine with a warmth that makes my mark pulse.
Finn simply nods, his steady gaze following us as Soren pulls me toward the back door. "Bring a jacket," he suggests quietly. "It is a bit cold outside from the rain.”
Soren pauses at Finn's words, then reaches for a light jacket hanging by the door. "Always practical, Finn," he says, but there's fondness in his teasing as he helps me into the jacket. His fingers linger at my collar, adjusting it with unexpected care.
"Ready for an adventure?" he asks, purple eyes gleaming with anticipation.
I can't help but smile at his enthusiasm. "Lead the way."
He guides me through the back door and into the garden. The air is fresh after the recent rain, carrying the scent of wet earth and green growing things. Droplets cling to leaves and petals, catching the light like tiny prisms. Soren's hand remains firmly clasped in mine as he leads me along a winding stone path.
We pass through the garden and toward a section of the property I haven't fully explored yet. The path narrows, winding through a small copse of trees whose branches form a canopy overhead. Filtered sunlight dapples the ground, creating shifting patterns that dance with our movement.
"Almost there," Soren says, his excitement palpable in the quickening of his step. The mark he left on my neck tingles pleasantly, responding to his proximity and emotion.
"If you're leading me into some secret garden to have your wicked way with me," I tease, "I should warn you that I'm still recovering from my heat."
Soren's laugh is bright and genuine, echoing in the quiet garden. "Tempting," he admits, squeezing my hand. "But no, this is something else entirely."
The path opens suddenly into a small clearing, and I stop short, breath catching in my throat. Before us stands a structure I hadn't noticed before—a small, elegantly designed studio with large windows that catch the afternoon light.
"What is this?" I ask, though something in me already knows the answer.
Soren's smile is softer now, less mischievous and more genuinely pleased. "Your studio," he says simply.
I stand frozen, unable to process what I'm seeing. The studio is perfect—a single room with floor-to-ceiling windows on three sides, allowing natural light to flood the space. The fourth wall appears solid, painted a soft neutral color that would make an ideal backdrop. The roof has skylights, adding to the abundant illumination.
"My... studio?" I repeat, my voice barely above a whisper.
Soren's hand squeezes mine gently. "We noticed you didn't have a dedicated space for your art at your old apartment," he explains, his usual playfulness subdued by something that might be nervousness. "Lucian mentioned you were always setting up and taking down your easel. That seemed inefficient."
I'm still staring at the building, unable to form coherent thoughts. "When did you...?"
"We've been working on it since you came here to stay when your mom was in town. We started it then, Finn is very good at working fast.” Soren told me, his voice soft as he looked at me with such a loving look that had my heart in my throat.
My breath catches as I stare at the studio, emotions washing over me in waves. The thoughtfulness of this gesture is overwhelming—they noticed my cramped working conditions, recognized my need for a dedicated space, and created this... sanctuary.
"Soren," I whisper, my voice thick with emotion. "I don't know what to say."
His purple eyes soften, a rare vulnerability crossing his features. "Say you'll use it? We thought you might want somewhere to really work, without having to pack everything away each time." He tugs my hand gently. "Come see inside."
I follow him toward the studio, still dazed by the reality of this gift. As we draw closer, I notice the craftsmanship of the building—the careful joinery of the wood, the precise installation of the windows, the subtle details that speak of meticulous attention.
"Finn built it," Soren explains, noting my examination. "Designed it too. The man's a perfectionist.”
"Lucian helped with the heavy lifting. Elias and I mainly got in the way and provided moral support." He told me as I continued to look at the building in front of me.
"It's beautiful," I breathe, taking in every detail as we approach the door.
Soren releases my hand to produce a key from his pocket. The small brass object gleams in the sunlight as he offers it to me. "Your studio, your key," he says, a hint of his usual mischief returning. "Though I reserve the right to visit occasionally. For inspiration, of course."
I take the key with trembling fingers, turning it over in my palm. It feels substantial, significant in a way that transcends its physical weight.
He opens the door, stepping aside to let me enter first. The interior takes my breath away. The space is open and airy, with a wooden floor that gleams in the natural light streaming through the windows. Built-in shelves line the solid wall, empty and waiting to be filled with supplies. A large sink occupies one corner, with cabinets beneath that I imagine contain storage space.
In the center of the room stands an easel—not my old, wobbly one, but a sturdy, professional-grade piece that must have cost more than I'd ever spend on myself.
"This is..." I trail off, overwhelmed by emotion as I turn in a slow circle, taking in every detail. "Soren, I can't believe you all did this."
He watches me from the doorway, an uncharacteristic softness in his expression. "We wanted you to have a space that was truly yours," he says. "Somewhere you could create without limitations."
I move slowly through the studio, my fingers trailing over surfaces, absorbing every detail. The shelves are waiting for my supplies, the walls bare and ready for inspiration. It's more than just a room—it's possibility, potential, promise.
"The lighting was Lucian's obsession," Soren explains, following me into the space. "He researched the optimal orientation for natural light. Something about north-facing windows being best for artists? I stopped listening after the third lecture, but I think he got it right."
A laugh bubbles up through my emotion. "He did," I confirm, noting how the windows face to capture indirect light rather than harsh direct sunlight. "It's perfect for consistent lighting throughout the day."
Soren grins, pleased with this confirmation. "The sink was Elias's contribution. He insisted you needed proper water access for cleaning brushes and... whatever else artists clean."
I laugh at Soren's typical vague understanding of my artistic process. "He's right. Water is essential." I move to the sink, running my hand over the deep basin that would easily accommodate cleaning even my largest brushes. The thoughtfulness of each detail makes my heart swell.
"And this..." I turn to the easel standing proudly in the center of the room. It's beautiful—solid wood with brass fittings, adjustable to various heights and angles. "This is..."
"That was from all of us," Soren says, moving closer until he's standing just behind me. "Finn found it from some artisan woodworker he knows. Said it was the best."
I reach out to touch the easel, my fingers tracing the smooth, polished wood. "It's incredible," I whisper, emotion threatening to overwhelm me again. "Everything is incredible."
I smiled at Soren,"And what was your contribution? You have mentioned everyone but yourself.”
His smile turns mischievous again. "Besides my devastating charm and moral support?" He walks to what I had assumed was a closet door and opens it with a flourish. "This."
Inside is a small but luxurious chaise lounge, upholstered in rich purple fabric that I immediately recognize as matching Soren's eyes. Beside it stands a small table and a reading lamp.
"Your modeling couch," he declares, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. "For when you decide you simply must capture my perfect form for posterity."
I burst into laughter, the sound bright and unrestrained in the sunlit studio. "Of course you would," I say, shaking my head at his playful vanity. "A purple chaise lounge. How subtle."
Soren grins, not the least bit apologetic. "Subtlety is overrated. Besides," he adds, his voice dropping to a more sincere note, "I thought you might want somewhere comfortable to sit sometimes. To think, or sketch, or just... be."
The thoughtfulness behind his typically flamboyant gesture touches me deeply. I move to the chaise, running my hand over the soft fabric. It is comfortable, I realize as I sit down experimentally. Perfect for long hours of contemplation or quick breaks between painting sessions.
"Thank you," I say, the words wholly inadequate for what I'm feeling. "Not just for this—" I gesture to the chaise, "—but for all of it. For thinking of this. For..." I trail off, struggling to articulate the depth of my gratitude and love for these four men I had in my life.
Soren's typical playfulness softens, and he sits beside me on the chaise, his thigh pressing against mine. "We want you to be happy here," he says, his voice gentler than usual. "To have everything you need."
"I am happy," I whisper, overwhelmed by the realization of just how true that is. "Happier than I ever thought possible."
The mark on my neck—his mark—tingles pleasantly as he reaches up to touch my face, his fingers tracing the curve of my cheek with unexpected tenderness. "Good," he says simply. "That's all any of us want."
For a moment, we sit in comfortable silence, the sunlight streaming through the windows creating patterns on the wooden floor. I lean against him slightly, savoring his warmth as our scents mixed together, with the lingering scenes from Lucian, Finn and Elias.
I smiled as I curled more against Soren, feeling more at home than I ever have and couldn’t wait to see what the future with all of them would hold.
For I knew with them in my life, it would be a good one.