Chapter 4 Lock #3
Just a sleeping omega in my bed. A pissed off president on the warpath. My whole club standing between them. And seven days before everything burned.
I shut the door behind me and let the quiet settle.
For a long second, I didn’t move. I just stood there with my hand still on the doorknob, staring at the shape in my bed like my brain hadn’t caught up to the last hour of my life.
Kellan didn’t stir.
He didn’t even twitch.
Just breathed slow, steady breaths that barely lifted the blanket. His hair was a mess across the pillow, his cheek pressed into the fabric like he’d found the softest place on earth and had no plans of leaving.
I should’ve stayed in the hall. I should’ve given myself space. I should’ve walked away before instincts got loud again.
Instead I stepped closer.
Quiet. Careful. Like I’d wake him if I breathed wrong.
The lamp on the dresser gave the room a low gold glow. It made the edges softer—the nightstand, the wall, the outline of his body under my blanket.
My blanket.
I didn’t think about that too hard.
I sat down in the chair by the bed, elbows on my knees, hands hanging loose between them. I told myself I was here to watch him in case he woke disoriented, in case he panicked, in case something went wrong.
But that wasn’t the whole truth.
His scent lingered in the air—warm, clean, slightly sweet, something that curled low in my chest in a way I didn’t have a defense for.
He smelled… safe.
No omega with half a brain should smell safe around me. Not tonight. Not after what I’d done.
But there he was, breathing slow like he’d settled into the calm center of a storm he didn’t know he was sleeping through.
I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.
“You’re trouble,” I muttered quietly.
He didn’t answer. Obviously. He just shifted, barely, turning a fraction toward my side of the room.
Instinct slammed through me so hard I gripped the edges of the chair to stay still.
My room wasn’t small, not by club standards, but suddenly it felt too tight. Too warm. Too filled with the wrong air.
I stood and moved to the dresser, pretending I needed space. I opened a drawer, then closed it. Pointless. I didn’t need anything.
I paced once, then twice.
It didn’t help.
Every slow inhale he took made me look over again. Every soft exhale tightened something under my ribs. The instincts sitting just under my skin pressed harder.
Protect.
Watch.
Stay close.
I wasn’t a rookie. I wasn’t an idiot. I knew what my body was doing. I just didn’t like it.
I dragged my hand through my hair. “Fuck.”
I wasn’t supposed to react like this.
Not to him.
Not right now.
Not ever.
I forced myself back into the chair. Sitting felt safer than standing; standing made me feel like I was going to move toward him without thinking.
Minutes passed quietly.
Or maybe it was longer. The night felt different in here—slower, heavier, like everything outside the walls had turned into white noise.
At some point, there was a soft knock on my door.
Three taps—Grim’s pattern.
I stood, crossed the room, and cracked the door open.
Grim stood there, arms crossed over his massive chest, beard bristling, eyes sharp in the dim hallway light.
“Any movement from their side?” I asked quietly.
He shook his head. “Not yet.” His gaze dipped past my shoulder to the bed. “He still out?”
“Yeah.”
Grim grunted, low. “Kid looks younger when he’s not yelling.”
“He wasn’t yelling.”
“No,” Grim agreed. “But he will be tomorrow.”
I didn’t argue.
He nodded once, slow. “You need anything?”
“No.”
He held my gaze a second longer, reading me in that way only someone who’s pulled you out of fire before can.
“That call was harsh,” Grim said. “Even for you.”
“He started it.”
“You finished it,” he said simply.
He wasn’t judging. Just stating facts.
“We’ll keep watch,” Grim added. “Fuse is in the war room. Wraith’s on the roof. Slate’s patrolling the east route. Nobody’s getting close.”
I nodded. “Good.”
Grim’s eyes flicked toward the bed again. “Lock…”
“Don’t.”
“I wasn’t going to say anything.”
“You were.”
He smirked. “Yeah. Was.”
We stood there for a beat.
“He’s safer in here than anywhere else,” I said eventually.
Grim scratched his jaw. “You sure that’s the only reason?”
My jaw tightened. “Go check the north cameras.”
He didn’t push further.
“Try to sleep,” he said.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re lying,” Grim said, not unkindly. “But okay.”
He turned and walked away, leaving me in the doorway with the weight of his words in the air.
I closed the door quietly and leaned back against it for a second, breathing out hard.
Sleep wasn’t happening. Not unless someone knocked me out first.
I stepped back toward the bed.
Kellan had shifted again, just slightly, his hand was near the edge of the blanket now, fingers half-curled like he’d reached for something in his sleep…
My chest tightened. Again.
I sat down on the edge of the bed before I could talk myself out of it.
Not close enough to touch him. Just near enough that if he woke up disoriented, I’d be there.
But as soon as I sat, my body relaxed.
Like my instincts finally got what they wanted.
Calm rolled through me in a slow, unwelcome wave.
I tried to lean back, to create distance, but it didn’t matter.
Being near him… settled something.
It pissed me off.
But I stayed.
The room was quiet except for his breathing and mine.
And somewhere halfway between a breath and a heartbeat, the truth slid in, quiet and sharp:
This wasn’t leverage anymore.
Not to my instincts. Not to whatever part of me had carried him inside like he was something fragile. Not to the hand that brushed his hair back without permission.
War was coming.
But the thing that scared me more was the way sitting beside him felt right in a way it shouldn’t.
I stared at the ceiling.
“What the hell are you doing, Lachlan,” I whispered.
No answer came.
Just Kellan, breathing soft against my pillow, already tangled in the center of everything.
And me, sitting there like gravity had shifted around him.
Waiting for morning.
Waiting for the fallout.
Waiting for him to open his eyes and change everything again.