Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
ASTER
The fire crackled in the stone fireplace, casting dancing shadows across the living room walls.
I was curled up on one end of the worn leather couch, a mug of tea warming my hands, watching the flames lick at the logs.
Dinner had been simple—pot roast that had been simmering all day, potatoes, fresh bread that Nolan had pulled from the oven just as we sat down.
I'd eaten until I was full, really full, for the first time in longer than I could remember.
Now the dishes were done, the kitchen cleaned, and somehow I'd ended up here instead of walking back to the bunkhouse. No one had asked me to stay. No one had pressured. I'd just... stayed.
Reid was in the armchair closest to the fire, his long legs stretched out in front of him, a glass of whiskey dangling from his fingers.
The firelight caught the silver threading through his dark hair, softened the hard lines of his weathered face.
He looked relaxed in a way I hadn't seen before—the constant tension in his broad shoulders finally eased, his dark eyes warm as they watched the flames dance.
Nolan sat on the other end of my couch, close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating from him, far enough that I didn't feel crowded.
He had a book in his lap, though he hadn't turned a page in twenty minutes.
His green eyes kept drifting to me, soft and watchful, his sandy hair glowing gold in the firelight.
Kol was sprawled on the floor in front of the hearth like a contented cat, lying on his stomach with his chin propped on his hands.
His honey-blond hair was tousled and falling across his forehead, his amber eyes reflecting the flames, his whole body loose and relaxed in a way his restless energy rarely allowed.
Sawyer had claimed the other armchair, positioned slightly back from the group, half-hidden in shadow.
He had a beer in his hand that he hadn't touched in half an hour, and his pale blue eyes were watchful, tracking the room with that quiet intensity of his.
His auburn hair looked almost black in the dim light, his copper stubble catching glints of orange from the fire.
It was peaceful. Warm. The kind of evening I'd imagined other people had—the kind I'd never let myself believe I could be part of.
"So." Kol's voice broke the comfortable silence, and he rolled onto his side to look up at me, propping his head on his hand.
His amber eyes were curious but gentle, unusually careful, his usual bouncing energy banked to something softer.
His free hand picked absently at a loose thread on the rug, nervous energy finding a quiet outlet.
"Can I ask you something? You don't have to answer if you don't want to. "
My hands tightened on my mug, an automatic response to the shift in atmosphere.
"You can ask." My voice came out steadier than I expected, though my fingers still gripped the warm ceramic like a lifeline. I kept my eyes on the fire, letting the heat of it seep into my skin, grounding myself. "Doesn't mean I'll answer, but you can ask."
"Fair enough." Kol sat up slowly, crossing his legs beneath him, his movements deliberately unhurried, giving me time to adjust to his closer position.
His amber eyes found mine, bright with firelight and something that looked like genuine care, his head tilting slightly to one side like a curious puppy.
"Where did you come from? Before here, I mean. Before Thornwood."
The question hung in the air, heavy despite Kol's gentle delivery. I could feel the others' attention shifting toward me—not demanding, just present. Waiting.
I took a breath. Let it out slowly.
"Everywhere." The word scraped out of my throat like sandpaper, rough and raw. I stared into my tea, watching the steam curl upward in lazy spirals, avoiding their eyes. "Nowhere. I've been moving for... nine years, give or take. Never stayed anywhere long."
"Why?" Kol's voice was barely above a whisper, his amber eyes wide and liquid with emotion, his whole body leaning toward me like he could absorb my pain if he just got close enough.
His scent—orange blossoms and warm honey—intensified, wrapping around me in a wave of comfort.
His hands had stilled on his knees, fingers curled tight.
"Kol." Reid's voice was a low warning from his armchair, not harsh but firm, cutting through the quiet with quiet authority. His dark eyes had sharpened, flicking to the younger Alpha with a silent reminder to tread carefully, his weathered face stern but not unkind.
"It's okay." I surprised myself by saying it, surprised myself more by meaning it.
I looked up from my mug, meeting Kol's eyes first, then letting my gaze travel to each of them in turn—Reid's steady watchfulness, Nolan's gentle concern, Sawyer's quiet attention.
"You shared with me. This morning, and.. . and before. It's only fair."
Nolan shifted closer on the couch, not touching but present, his knee settling inches from mine. His scent—eucalyptus and honey—joined Kol's, layering over me like a weighted blanket, warm and grounding. His green eyes were soft, his freckled face open and patient.
"You don't owe us anything." His voice was gentle as morning light, his green eyes holding mine with careful tenderness.
His hand moved to rest on the cushion between us, palm up, an offering he didn't push me to take.
His sandy hair fell across his forehead as he tilted his head, watching me with that quiet attention that noticed everything.
"Your story is yours to share when you're ready. If you're ever ready."
"I know." And I did—that was the thing. I believed him. Believed all of them. It was a strange feeling, trust. Uncomfortable and unfamiliar, like wearing shoes that didn't quite fit yet. "But I want to. I think."
I took another breath, deeper this time, and let the words come.
"I was in foster care." My voice went flat, detached—the only way I knew how to talk about this without falling apart.
My eyes fixed on a spot on the worn rug, tracing the faded pattern of flowers and vines.
"From age seven. My parents—I don't remember them much.
They died, I think. Or left. No one ever really told me. "
The fire crackled and popped, filling the heavy silence. I felt Reid's attention sharpen like a blade being drawn, felt the weight of his gaze on me, but I didn't look up.
"I got moved around a lot." The words kept coming, pulled from some deep place I usually kept locked and barred.
My fingers had gone white around my mug, knuckles standing out sharp beneath my skin.
"Different homes, different schools. I was.
.. difficult. That's what they always said.
Too quiet, too watchful, too feral." I laughed, but there was no humor in it—just a hollow, broken sound that echoed in the warm room.
"Turns out they were right about that last part. "
"You were a child." Reid's voice was rough, barely controlled, scraping out of his chest like it cost him something.
I looked up to find his dark eyes blazing with something fierce and protective, burning in his weathered face like coals.
His jaw was tight, a muscle jumping beneath his stubbled skin, his hand clenched around his whiskey glass hard enough that I half-expected it to shatter.
His scent had shifted—whiskey and woodsmoke sharpening into something almost dangerous, the smell of a storm rolling in.
"You were a child trying to survive. That's not difficult. That's strong."
The conviction in his voice made my chest ache, made my eyes burn with tears I refused to let fall. I had to look away, back to my cooling tea.
"I ran when I was sixteen." My voice was steadier now, falling into the familiar rhythm of recitation, the facts I'd repeated to myself so many times they'd worn smooth like river stones.
"Didn't age out, didn't wait for permission.
Just... ran. No diploma, no GED, no nothing.
Just the clothes on my back and whatever I could stuff in a backpack.
" I laughed, the sound hollow and brittle.
"I'd been on suppressants since I presented—state-provided, the cheapest kind.
They kept me... manageable, I guess. Less likely to cause problems. Stole a three-month supply on my way out the door. "
"Suppressants." Nolan's voice was tight, his usual gentle calm cracking to reveal something harder underneath, something sharp with professional concern and personal anger.
His green eyes had darkened like storm clouds rolling over a meadow, his jaw setting in an uncharacteristically hard line.
I could practically see him doing the math—years of cheap suppressants, the damage they could do to an Omega's system.
His hand on the cushion had curled into a fist, knuckles going white. "Since you were twelve? For how long?"
"Thirteen years, give or take." I shrugged, the gesture feeling hollow and defensive even to me, my shoulders hunching slightly.
"Four years of state-issued ones, then whatever I could find after.
Bought them off the back of trucks, stole them when I had to, went without when I couldn't get them.
" I stared at my cold tea, unable to meet his eyes.
"They made it easier to hide what I was.
Most people couldn't even tell I was Omega. Still can't, sometimes."