Chapter 34
Rennick
I’m standing in the middle of a big box store, obnoxious fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, following after my mate as she disappears down another aisle with a shopping cart she can barely see over.
Everything about it should be irritating.
The noises. The smell of strangers, the cheap detergent they use to mop the floors, and artificial perfumes.
The way people have no sense of personal space and walk too closely.
On any other day, it’d all put me on edge and have me searching for the nearest exit.
Instead, I happily watch after Noa and the way she moves through this place as if nothing else exists.
It’s the kind of single-minded focused usually reserved for a hunt.
She flits from one department to the next, hands skimming fabric, pausing to press material between her fingers or against her cheek.
Her head tilting as she weighs textures, weights, and degrees of warmth with reverent deliberation.
It’s not about what looks right. It’s only about what feels right.
I’m almost positive she stopped being aware of what she’s doing about ten minutes into our arrival.
Her omega nature has taken over completely, guiding her from one item to the next.
Driven by pure instinct, the rest of her seems to have gone dormant.
I push a second cart behind her, already loaded down with what I’m pretty sure is a mix of necessities and things she hasn’t consciously realized she’s collected yet.
We came here for Hattie and Elio. Nesting supplies.
Clothes. Things they need but won’t outright ask for.
Maybe something small for Siggy if Noa spots the right thing.
But at this point, I’ve stopped trying to tell what’s meant for the Nightingales and what Noa’s quietly claimed for herself.
I don’t question her and I sure as hell don’t stop her.
No, I could watch her do this all day.
It’s the simplicity of it that throws me.
Running errands with my mate. It’s such a mundane task, and I never believed I’d earn this moment.
Not after how close I came to losing her before we could reclaim what was originally stolen from us.
The way she softens and relaxes in my presences fills my chest with a weight I welcome—gratitude braided tightly with awe.
Moments like this pull my thoughts forward, toward a future that finally feels within reach.
It’s one where the coven has been dealt with, Cathal is nothing but a name I don’t have to hear anymore, and this simple, unremarkable peace is something we get to keep.
The cart in front of me creaks softly under the weight of Noa’s haul as I follow her up another row lined with pillows and blankets.
One would think between the two overflowing carts, that she realistically already has enough of both, but nesting doesn’t work that way.
You don’t count or try to rationalize. You just respond to whatever that innate itch tells you.
And it’s not as if I’m concerned with the cost.
Apex Equity Group, my business with Rook, has exceeded all initial expectations.
That success is the reason I’ve been able to step back from the day-to-day dealings and put my focus on things that need it most. Leading this pack.
Protecting my mate. We have competent people in place now, managing the logistics and the endless coordination that once demanded my frequent involvement.
And one day when Rook’s father steps down and it’s his turn to step into the mantle of pack Alpha, Rook will take advantage of the same freedoms and reap the benefits I have.
At present, that benefit looks a lot like getting to watch my mate fall in love with another throw pillow.
For that I consider myself a lucky bastard.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and the interruption has irritation flaring before I can stop it. I check the screen and see Canaan’s name.
Canaan Roarke: You keeping an eye on the weather down there? Conditions are getting rough up here.
Shit.
No. I haven’t been watching anything beyond Noa. I’ve been standing here pretending the world will hold still if I don’t look too closely at it.
Rennick Fallamhain: How bad?
The response comes fast.
Canaan Roarke: Rosie’s guessing ten inches or more by now. Was just flurries for the first few hours but when it decided to come down, it didn’t fuck around.
The message comes with a photo attached. Taken from my back deck. The lake that usually stretches out beyond it is completely gone, swallowed by white and falling snow. The trees are bowed under the weight of it. It’s a damn near whiteout.
I glance up instinctively, checking where Noa is. She’s moved farther up the aisle and is debating between two nearly identical sets of sheets. She’s safe. She’s warm. She’s blissfully unaware.
I pull up my weather app and start checking conditions.
For here. For the road that leads us back to Silverthorne.
For the mountain passes that will take us back up to Fallamhain territory.
As of right now, the roads are still open, but the forecast doesn’t offer much reassurance beyond that.
The radar doesn’t show the snow letting up, and I’ve experienced firsthand how fast the passes will close when the plows can’t get in or keep up.
Over the years, pack members have gotten stranded in town because they waited too long.
I don’t want to risk getting trapped on the wrong side of the pass.
Not when Noa is with me.
The possibility of being snowed in here overnight puts me on edge in a way I don’t like.
Not because I question my ability to protect her, but because I know that it would unsettle her.
She won’t rest knowing she’s cut off from the people who need her, from the ability to reach them if something goes wrong.
Keeping her away from home for most of the day was already pushing the edge of my comfort, especially with her heat looming.
A ‘super heat’, as I’ve since learned. Not all heats announce themselves.
Some arrive without warning. And this one…
this one isn’t something I’m willing to gamble with.
Not when I know what’s at stake. I want her in the safety of our home before it finds her.
I text my second-in-command back.
Rennick Fallamhain: We’re wrapping up now. On our way soon.
Then I tuck the phone away and start walking, already hating that I have to ruin this for her.
Noa stands before a display, clutching a knit pillow to her chest. Soft-looking and hunter green.
The exact shade as the first hoodie of mine I gave her, the one she wore until it was ruined by blood and mud during the attack on Ashvale.
The first thing she’d ever used as nesting material—whether she was aware she was doing it or not.
There’d been too much damage to it to salvage it.
I don’t need to ask who this pillow is for. The way she’s holding it answers that question for me—that thing was coming home with us the second her pretty eyes landed on it.
“Hey, baby?”
“Yeah?” She looks up, still slightly disconnected, her eyes hazy from whatever omega trance she’s been hovering in.
Then her gaze sharpens as it takes in my face, and the change in her is immediate.
She reads me too easily. Concern eats away at her as she sets the pillow back on the shelf and shifts toward me.
“What’s wrong? Did something happen at home? ”
Home. How easily she throws that word around makes something gentle flare behind my ribs.
Stepping around my cart, I reach for her, my hands settling on her upper arms and rubbing gently as if I can erase the worry from her skin.
“No, it’s nothing like that. Everyone’s okay,” I assure her, keeping my voice low to avoid accidentally setting her anxiety off again.
“But Canaan just checked in. The weather’s turning fast and the snow is really coming down up there.
If we don’t leave soon, we risk getting stuck on the wrong side of the pass if they close the roads. ”
“Shit, okay,” she breathes. Her face falls, disappointment flashing across her features before she can smother it. She glances between the two carts, taking in all the supplies she’s gathered. Noa’s eyes dart back to me. “Do we have time to check out at least?”
She appears nearly horrified at the thought of abandoning a single piece of her bounty and it sparks a fierce, almost protective tenderness in me. Snowstorm be damned, I’m not about to deny my omega the things she’s gathered with such care.
“We’ll make time,” I tell her, already leaning down to steal a quick kiss.
Her lips are warm against mine—almost hot—and she yields to the kiss so completely it nearly knocks the breath from me.
Her body fits close to mine, and then closer still, as if distance has suddenly become intolerable.
When I finally pull back, she doesn’t retreat.
She stays right there, breath shallow, eyes bright and unfocused.
It’s the pretty pout and the way she looks like she’s contemplating protesting the contact ending too soon that has me smiling down at her—despite the tension and sense of urgency curling in my gut.
“Come on, sweet girl,” I murmur, guiding her back toward her cart.
As we move, I reach for the hunter green pillow she abandoned and drop it into the pile without hesitation.
She gives me a shy smile, the kind that tells me she doesn’t think I noticed how she’d been clinging to it.
I keep my eyes locked on hers as I reach for the top shelf and grab the matching green blanket she missed because of her height.
The second I add it to the cart, her face lights up, a genuine flash of delight that makes me want to send a note of gratitude to the Goddess for gifting me this female to spoil.