Chapter 37 #2
I watch them for a moment, wild and intense.
The whole room has gone somewhere I can't follow.
Cliff is fucking Elowen with a relentless intensity of a man operating entirely on instinct, his jaw tight and his eyes black and his hands on her hips like he's forgotten how to be gentle and doesn't particularly care.
Across the bed, Raff is the same, his rhythm deep and grinding, his face pressed into the back of Adam's neck, one hand fisted in the sheets beside the unconscious omega's head.
Both alphas are so deep in rut they've stopped being people and become something downright feral, claiming their omegas with a single-minded focus that leaves no room for anything else.
And Elowen. She's so completely gone.
Her eyes are blown out wide, her beautiful body rolling and bouncing, every inch of her practically glowing. She looks like she’s in a trance, her conscious mind somewhere far away. Her body knows what it needs and takes it.
I'm the only one in this room who is still fully present.
And it feels weirdly lonely in a way I wasn't expecting.
My eyes drift back to Adam, to his sweat-damp skin and the tangled blankets and the heartbreaking vulnerability of him.
Blood is smeared along both sides of his neck where Cliff and Raff bit down, twin marks dark and raw against his pale skin.
He looks so small and limp and completely unguarded in the center of the nest he built without knowing why.
Every beta instinct I have rises up at once with a single, clear directive.
He needs to be cleaned.
Without a second thought, I move toward the edge of the bed and slip off the mattress. My feet find the floor, and I'm halfway to the bathroom when Raff's voice cracks across the room like a whip.
"Beta." The single word carries the full weight of an alpha deep in rut, commanding and absolute and brooking absolutely zero argument. "Get back here,” he growls.
I stop.
Every instinct I have that belongs to Cliff and Raff, the years of learning how to read their ruts and stay close and give them what they need, pulls me toward the bed. I know what Raff wants. I've been through enough ruts to know exactly what my role is supposed to be right now.
But Adam's pale, unguarded face is right there.
And Elowen's soft, exhausted body is curled against Cliff like she might dissolve if he lets go.
I turn back toward the bathroom.
"I'll be right back," I say, and my voice comes out steadier than I feel.
The bathroom is cool and quiet after the thick, saturated air of the bedroom. I stand at the sink for a second with both hands braced on the porcelain, just breathing.
My reflection looks back at me. Flushed and damp and thoroughly wrecked, my hair is sticking to my forehead and my lips swollen. The look of a man who had the most overwhelming sexual experience of his life and is now hiding in the fucking bathroom to avoid obsessing about it.
I run the water warm, not hot. Hot will sting.
Then I find the softest washcloth on the rack, the old white one that Adam keeps separate from the others because the texture of the newer ones bothers his skin during flares. I run it under the water until it's thoroughly soaked and warm all the way through.
Reaching under the sink, I quickly find a small bottle of unscented soap. Elowen put it there two days ago. I assumed it was for her, but now I’m wondering if she knew what was going to happen.
I wring the cloth out, fold it, and carry it back to the bedroom.
Raff watches me cross the room with dark, rut-heavy eyes that track my every movement. He doesn't say anything this time.
Whatever objection he had to me leaving the room seems to have burned off.
I climb back onto the bed and move toward Adam, my eyes drawn to where their bodies are joined. Raff is still buried deep in Adam's ass, but now I can see why the alpha isn’t thrusting anymore.
A thick knot has formed at the base of his cock, swelling to the size of a fist and lodged securely between Adam's butt cheeks. The skin around Adam's entrance is stretched taut, flushed pink from the pressure, with Raff's knot plugging him completely.
Adam's unconscious body seems to accept it naturally, his muscles relaxed around the intrusion, his omega biology responding even in sleep.
It's obscene and weirdly beautiful at the same time.
A biological claim that shows my brother finally has the connection he’s always craved.
I start at Adam’s neck.
I press the warm cloth gently against the left side first, where Raff’s bite sits deepest, the two crescents dark and swollen at the edges, still seeping slightly. I clean it with small, careful strokes. Then I move to the right side. Cliff’s mark is slightly shallower but no less definitive.
Adam doesn't stir.
His face is completely slack, with his cheek smooshed against the mattress.
Up close like this, caring for him, he looks so young. Younger than I've seen him look in years, all that bright, relentless energy finally, completely at rest.
I work my way down Adam slowly, his shoulders, his back, the sweat pooled at the base of his spine, then I wring the cloth out again, re-warm it at the bathroom sink, and come back for Elowen.
She's lying against Cliff's chest with her eyes closed, her breathing slow and even. Cliff has one arm curved around her, his chin resting on top of her head, his eyes tracking me as I approach with the same quiet, watchful attention Raff had.
I sit on the edge of the bed beside her and press the warm cloth gently to her forehead first, then her neck, then the curve of her collarbone. She makes a small sound at the contact, her brow easing, her body shifting slightly toward the warmth.
Cliff watches my hands the entire time.
"She okay?" I ask quietly.
"She'll be fine," he says. "She needs to come down."
I nod, working the cloth carefully along her hairline, her shoulders, the inside of her wrists where her pulse is still running faster than it should.
"You're good at this," Cliff says after a moment.
I keep my eyes on Elowen. "Someone has to be," I say simply.
I look at Elowen, then at Adam, then at the general state of the bed and everyone in it. Once both knots go down and the alphas can move, everyone needs a proper bath. Warm water, clean towels, fresh sheets. The whole thing. But for now, the washcloth will have to do.
I fold it carefully and set it on the nightstand.
Then I slide off the bed, find Cliff's gym shorts on the floor where he dropped them, and pull them on. They're about four inches too long in the rise and hang loose everywhere, but they'll do.
I move toward the door.
"Perrin." Cliff's voice is quiet, but it stops me.
I turn. He's watching me from the bed, Elowen still tucked against his chest, his dark eyes steady and a little soft in the low light.
"Where are you going?" he asks.
"Water," I say. "Everyone needs water." I glance at Adam, then at Elowen, then back at Cliff. "And I'm going to grab more clean towels while I'm down there. And something for them to eat when they come around." I pause. "And probably some pain medication." Another pause. "And fresh sheets."
Cliff looks at me for a long moment.
"Just water," he says firmly. "Come back after that."
"Just water," I agree, and turn back toward the door.
But I'm absolutely also getting the towels.