Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Mia
Iwake up feeling like the most important thing in the world.
Rhys is pressed against my back, one heavy arm draped over my waist, his hand splayed possessively across my stomach. His breath is warm and even against my shoulder, his chest rising and falling in the slow rhythm of deep sleep.
Knox is on my other side, facing me, close enough that I can count his eyelashes. One of his legs is hooked over mine, tangling us together. His hand is resting on my hip, thumb tucked into the dip of my waist like it belongs there.
Declan is using my stomach as a pillow. His head is heavy on my midsection, his arm thrown carelessly across my hips, dead to the world.
And Eli is gone. I can tell without opening my eyes all the way. The spot where he should be, near my head, is empty. Cool. His scent is fading from the sheets there, which means he’s been up for a while.
I blink my eyes open. The blackout curtains are drawn, but the light bleeding around the edges is the bruised purple of dusk.
We slept all day, and my body still feels like it’s made of lead. The frantic, electric hum of the heat has finally snapped off, leaving behind a silence that rings in my ears. I’m sore in places I didn’t know had muscles.
I shift experimentally, trying to wiggle out from under the weight of three sleeping alphas.
The movement sends a fresh wave of soreness radiating through my pelvis, sharp enough to make me suck in a breath. My thighs complain immediately, the muscles there trembling and weak.
But more pressingly, much more urgently, there’s a very insistent pressure in my bladder that’s making itself known.
I need to get up.
I try to ease Declan’s head off my stomach without waking him. I slide my hand under his cheek, trying to lift him gently, but he’s a solid weight and my arms are shaking with the effort.
His eyes snap open immediately.
Those moss-green eyes blink up at me, hazy with sleep but sharpening fast. His gaze tracks over my face, reading something there that makes his expression shift into concern.
“Hey,” he murmurs, voice rough. “You okay?”
“Bathroom,” I whisper.
Understanding dawns. He lifts his head immediately, rolling off me. “Say no more.”
I try to sit up.
My arms shake with the effort. My core refuses to engage. I manage to prop myself up on one elbow before my strength gives out and I collapse back onto the pillows with a frustrated noise.
Declan is already moving, reaching for me. “Whoa, easy—”
Behind me, Rhys stirs. His arm tightens around my waist immediately, a sleepy growl rumbling through his chest. “Where’re you going?”
“Up,” I say, and try again.
This time I manage to sit upright. Barely. My head swims, the room tilting dangerously, and I have to brace both hands on the mattress to keep from toppling over. My thighs are trembling, muscles quivering like I’ve just run a marathon.
I swing my legs over the edge of the nest…and immediately remember I’m completely naked. Warmth floods my cheeks. In the clear light of evening, with my brain back online and mostly functional, the vulnerability of it makes my skin prickle. But there’s no time to be embarrassed.
I brace my hands on the edge of the mattress and push myself up.
My legs buckle the instant I put weight on them.
I don’t even have time to gasp before I’m falling, my knees giving out like they’re made of water instead of bone and muscle.
Strong hands catch me. Rhys is there faster than should be possible for someone who was asleep three seconds ago. His hands close around my waist, steadying me, taking my weight like it’s nothing.
“Whoa,” he murmurs, his voice still rough with sleep but shot through with concern. “Easy, sweetheart.”
“I’m fine,” I lie, even as my legs tremble against his shins. “I just need—”
“You can’t walk.” He’s already scooping me up, one arm under my knees, the other around my back, lifting me against his chest like I weigh less than air.
The sheet tangles around my legs. I grab for it instinctively, trying to preserve some shred of modesty, but Rhys just adjusts his grip and the fabric falls away entirely.
I make a small, mortified sound.
“Mia.” His voice is patient, almost amused. “I’ve had my mouth on every inch of you. Modesty is a little late.”
My face burns hotter. “That was different.”
“How?”
“I was—” I fumble for words. “Out of my mind. Heat makes you…it’s not the same when you’re thinking clearly.”
His arms tighten around me, pulling me closer to his chest. He smells like sleep and musk. The scent of a satisfied alpha. It makes something low in my belly flutter despite the exhaustion weighing me down.
“It is to us,” he says quietly, and there’s something in his voice that makes my breath catch. “Heat or no heat, Mia. We didn’t just want the pheromones. We wanted you.”
Something deep and satisfied inside me flutters at those words. I exhale, letting my head drop against his shoulder as he carries me across the room.
The ensuite door is already cracked open. He nudges it wider with a bare foot and steps inside onto the cool tile, lowering me onto the toilet seat with careful hands. Even sitting, my legs tremble, muscles jumping under my skin with residual exhaustion.
“Can you—” I start, then stop, mortification flooding through me.
I can’t ask him to leave. I’ll fall over if I try to stand again.
But I also can’t pee with him standing right there, watching me with those dark, intense eyes.
Rhys seems to read my mind. His mouth quirks into something that’s almost a smile.
“I’ll be right outside,” he says. “Call if you need me.”
He steps out and pulls the door mostly closed, leaving it cracked just enough that he’ll hear if I fall.
I take care of business as quickly as possible, my face burning the entire time. When I’m done, I try to stand to wash my hands. My legs immediately start shaking again, threatening to dump me on the tile.
“Rhys,” I call out, hating how small my voice sounds.
The door opens immediately. Rhys fills the doorway, his dark gaze sweeping over me, checking for injury. He crosses the tile without a word, sliding his warm hands around my waist. The floor drops away as he hoists me up effortlessly, and sets me on the edge of the sink so I can reach the faucet.
I wash my hands in silence, acutely aware of his presence behind me, his hands hovering near my waist in case I sway.
When I’m done, he wraps me in a massive, fluffy towel that feels like being wrapped in a cloud, and picks me up again.
Rhys carries me back toward the nest, but when we pass the door leading to the hallway, a scent stops me.
Garlic and butter, something rich and savory drifting up from downstairs, mixed with the warm, comforting smell of chicken broth simmering on the stove.
My stomach clenches with sudden, desperate hunger.
“Eli’s cooking,” Rhys murmurs against my hair.
“What time is it?”
“Almost seven. You slept through the afternoon.”
Seven at night. No wonder the light looked so strange through the curtains.
Instead of taking me back to the nest, Rhys adjusts his grip and carries me downstairs.
The living room opens up first, but it’s quiet.
The bank of monitors on the long desk is dark.
Cables are zip-tied out of sight, and the keyboards are squared against the edge of the desk, waiting.
He sets me down carefully on the couch, propping me against a mountain of pillows that he arranges.
The towel slips down my arm as he pulls away, exposing my shoulder to the cool air.
I reach for it, but he beats me to it.
His hands are gentle as he pulls the edges of the towel back up, tucking the fabric securely over my chest. His knuckles brush my collarbone, lingering for a split second before he pulls away.
“Stay,” he says, then heads for the kitchen.
The light outside the windows is fading fast now, the sky shifting from dusky purple to deep indigo.
I hear sounds drifting in from the kitchen.
Eli moving around in there, the soft clink of dishes, the gentle bubble of whatever he’s making on the stove.
It smells savory and rich, and my stomach twists with a hunger so sharp it almost hurts.
The quiet breaks with the heavy thud of feet hitting the landing above. The sound rolls down the stairs, getting louder until Knox appears, shirtless in black boxers. He looks rumpled and sleepy, rubbing a hand over his face, but when he sees me on the couch, his whole expression softens.
“There’s our girl,” he murmurs, his voice rough with sleep.
Dropping to the floor, he wedges himself between my legs.
His head comes to rest on my thigh like it’s the only pillow he’s ever wanted, and one of his hands settles on my other leg while his thumb strokes idle, possessive circles on my skin.
I stiffen instinctively, my heart thundering against my ribs, but Knox just nuzzles deeper into the fabric of the towel.
“Quit buzzing,” he mumbles into my leg, sounding half-asleep. “You’re ruining my nap.”
Declan appears next, already dressed in joggers and a t-shirt that makes him look put-together despite the sleep still clinging to the edges of his expression. He’s carrying a mug, moss-green eyes tracking straight to me.
“Orange juice,” he says, holding it out. “You need to hydrate. You lost a lot of fluids.”
I take it, but my hands are shaking badly enough that the juice sloshes dangerously close to the rim. Declan notices immediately. His hands wrap around mine, steadying the ceramic, and guides the mug to my lips.
“Drink,” he murmurs.