Cassidy #3
Silas leads me along the upstairs hallway, warm light spilling from the wall lamps onto the polished floorboards. His hand is warm and steady where it clutches mine.
I’ve only seen part of this floor before, and my attention catches on every closed door we pass out of curiosity.
Silas glances back at me, the corner of his mouth twitching. “You’re thinking very loudly.”
“I’m not thinking anything,” I lie.
“Oh, of course not.” He winks.
I narrow my eyes at the back of his head, but he squeezes my hand, amusement deepening the sweetness of his scent.
He stops outside the final door, and my pulse gives a strange little jump when he stands back brightly.
“What is it?”
Instead of answering, Silas turns towards me. For the first time in… ever, I think, some of his confidence slips.
“Before you see it,” he says slowly, “I want you to understand that nothing in here is an expectation.”
I stare at him.
Expectation?
My mind immediately races through every possible thing that could be hiding behind the door, each option becoming more alarming than the last.
“Silas—”
“It’s yours to use however you want,” he continues. “Or not use. You can change everything. Throw it all out. Tell me I’ve completely misjudged things, and we’ll fix it.”
My throat dries, an impossibly large lump stopping me from swallowing.
He pushes the door open and stands back, warm lamplight spilling into the hallway as he lets me go in first. For a second, I don’t understand what I’m looking at.
The room is empty of ordinary furniture. No bed. No desk. No carefully staged guest room decorations.
Instead, shelving lines the far wall. Blankets are folded into soft piles across it, in different textures and colours.
Thick fleece. Knitted throws. Something velvety that catches the warm light when I move.
Pillows sit in baskets beneath them, some firm and square, others so overstuffed they’re barely contained.
There are fresh sheets.
Duvets. Cushions.
A weighted blanket folded neatly on the lowest shelf.
My heart crashes so violently against my ribs that I press my free hand to my chest.
Evander and Isaac both reach for me through our bonds, but I can’t respond to them.
Silas releases my fingers immediately. “Too much?”
It takes me a second to even hear the question.
There’s a thick rug across the floor, soft enough to build over. Lamps are flicked on instead of the harsh ceiling lights. There’s a few storage baskets along one wall with fairy lights in them. Even a small speaker on the windowsill.
Everything I need to build my nest.
Everything I could want.
My eyes burn.
“You…” My voice breaks, and humiliation immediately follows. I clear my throat, trying again. “You… you’ve given me a nesting room?”
Silas is watching me carefully, and I think for the first time, he doesn’t know how to handle me.
“We made space for one,” he corrects quietly. “I didn’t want to build the nest for you.”
A watery laugh catches in my throat. Only Silas could prepare an entire room around my needs and meet every single one of them perfectly.
“I wasn’t sure exactly what you’d want,” he continues, gesturing towards the shelves. “So, I bought options.”
Fuck, he’s perfect.
My stomach drops so sharply I feel dizzy. Nobody has ever done anything like this before.
Never put this much thought into something for me.
Time and time again, he keeps doing these impossibly thoughtful things for me.
Fuck, I can hardly believe it.
My parents love me. They bought me nesting things whenever I asked, but it was always out of obligation.
I always kept things contained to my own space, leaving the rest of the house neat and tidy.
And yet, without even realising—or maybe because he’s realised—Silas has completely eliminated that worry. This room, this space, it’s mine.
My scent sweetens before I can contain it, strawberry cream and vanilla musk settling over the blankets as though the room has already accepted me.
Silas inhales softly. “You don’t have to cry, little moon.”
“I’m not.”
A tear slips over my cheek.
Traitor.
His thumb catches it, his touch impossibly gentle against my skin.
“I can have everything removed if that is what—”
“No.” The word comes out so quickly it startles both of us.
I clutch his wrist before he can pull away, rubbing his gland against my cheek.
“No,” I repeat, softer. “Please don’t. I love everything here. I love you.”
Relief shifts through his scent. I turn back towards the shelves, my instincts already tugging me forward.
There’s a pale, heavy blanket near the bottom that looks perfect for the base. A softer one above it. Two long pillows that could form a wall around—
Oh.
I’m doing it.
I’m already building it in my head.
Before I can remember to feel embarrassed, I’m already moving away from Silas.
I cross the room and crouch beside the lowest shelf, dragging my fingertips over the folded fabrics.
“This one,” I murmur.
Silas lowers himself beside me. “Too warm?”
“No. It’s perfect underneath.”
He nods as though I’ve given him something vitally important to remember.
Then he reaches for the blanket, the thick fabric dragging softly across the rug as I grab the other side.
And together, we unfold it across the floor, making the first layer together.
Every blanket, every pillow, every decision is mine, and Silas helps, obeying without question, offering no input outside of his help.
Fuck, I adore him.
He’s so fucking perfect.
It’s built. It’s beautiful.
But it doesn’t smell right.
I sit back on my heels, breathing hard through a smile that refuses to leave my face, and look over everything I’ve built.
The thick blanket anchors the base exactly how I wanted. Softer throws overlap each other until there’s barely a gap left between them. Pillows form high walls around the outside, tucked into place until every edge feels enclosed and safe.
It’s almost perfect.
Almost good enough.
My nose wrinkles. My scent is everywhere now, sweet enough that the room practically hums with it, but beneath it…
There is nothing.
My nest should smell like my pack. Like them.
A laugh escapes me. Silas glances up from where he’s folding another blanket I’d ultimately decided not to use, to put it away.
“What’s wrong, moonlight?” he asks softly.
My grin probably looks ridiculous. “I need to rob you.”
He blinks, looking at me in concern. “There’s nothing you could ask me for that I wouldn’t willingly give you. What do you need?”
“Um, your clothes.”
He nods and stands up, moving to the door.
“Where are you going?” I shriek, reaching for him despite not being close enough.
“To get you what you asked for.” He’s giving me a look of true concern like he’s worried for my mental faculties.
“No, I need… those clothes,” I say, gesturing to the outfit he’s wearing.
Silas smirks, the concern fading immediately. “I wondered how long it would take.”
He doesn’t hesitate. He simply pulls his shirt over his head before tossing it towards me.
“There you go, love,” he says.
I catch it against my chest, holding the warm fabric to my nose, inhaling it without thinking.
It smells exactly like him.
Black tea steeped low and slow, sweet fig lingering beneath it.
So perfect, so mine, so right.
Heaven.
Silas chuckles softly. “I’ll take that as approval.”
“It definitely is.”
I tuck his shirt carefully beside where I already know I’ll sleep before standing up.
“I’ll be back.”
Silas raises an eyebrow. “Planning another robbery?”
“I have a pack’s scent to steal,” I offer with a shrug. “Um, if you would take your pants off and leave them there for me, too, that would be perfect.”
His laughter follows me all the way downstairs, and I have no doubt he’ll do it for me.
The conversation in the kitchen stops the second I appear, three pairs of eyes lifting from the half-finished washing up. Each of them have a skittish look around them, guilt lacing in their features.
There are soap suds all over the counter near Isaac, even though he’s not actually helping.
And there’s a tea towel slung over Harlan’s shoulder despite the fact he’s clearly the only one actually washing anything.
“Little daisy!” Evander beams at me. “You threw us for a loop there.”
I blush. “I’m sorry. I… I’m sorry.”
“No apologies needed,” Isaac says. “What do you need, shortcake?”
“How do you know I need something?” I ask.
The three of them exchange a look and chuckle.
“Call it magic,” Harlan says dryly.
I clasp my hands together behind my back, rocking gently onto my toes. “I need everyone’s shirts.”
Silence fills the room, Harlan’s eyes widening, as Evander’s shock pulses through our bond.
Isaac is the first to understand. His eyes flick upwards, towards the ceiling, where I’ve been for the last however long, and he nods.
His expression melts into something impossibly soft.
“I’ll be right back.”
“No, no,” I blurt. “Now is fine.”
“So impatient,” he teases.
He stands anyway, tugging his jumper over his head in one smooth movement before placing it into my waiting arms.
“And your shirt,” I say, a little embarrassed, but mostly eager.
“Of course,” he says, standing back from the table, to undo his shirt.
I can’t help but ogle him the same way I did Silas as he undresses and shows off his very bare chest.
Fuck, I love seeing my mark on him.
“You’re really going to strip for her?” Evander asks with a confused look. “You’re the last I thought would—”
“It’s for her nest, idiot,” Harlan says with a roll of his eyes. He dries his hands and starts undoing his own shirt.
“Oh,” Evander says, grinning at me. “Okay, that makes sense.”
He yanks his shirt off, not caring at all about the buttons that have popped off, and hands it to me.
Without prompting, he then undoes his trousers and bends over to tug them off.
His boxers are weirdly adorable with little red hearts on them, and I’m honestly tempted to request those, too.