Chapter 23 Amelia
Amelia
He leads me toward his bedroom, his voice a lower register than before to keep from waking the kids or the rest of the house for that matter. "Your heat is getting closer," he says quietly, threading his fingers through mine. "You can feel it, can't you?"
"Yes." I mumble, slightly embarrassed that my blockers are no longer working, that my scent is so expressive. It was always a constant fear with Vincent but with Silas and Wyatt and Hunter, it’s more of just understanding my own body. The fact that they don’t react aggressively or make a big deal about it helps. "I thought I had more time."
"Scent matches can accelerate the cycle." His dark eyes are warm behind his glasses, understanding rather than judgmental. "Your body recognizes us. It wants to bond."
The word 'bond' makes my stomach flip with a mixture of want and fear. Bonding is permanent. Bonding means belonging to them in a way that can't be undone. It means bite marks and biological connection and forever.
"I'm not ready for that," I whisper, gripping his hand a little tighter. "For bonding. Not yet."
"Then we won't bond," Silas says immediately, turning to face me. "A heat doesn't require a bond, sweetheart. We can be with you through it, take care of you, without making it permanent. Not until you're ready."
Relief floods through me, so intense it makes my knees weak. "Really?"
"Really." He cups my face, his thumb stroking my overheated cheek. "This goes at your pace. Always. We can help you through your heat without bonding. Without biting. Without anything you're not ready for."
He kisses me again and I melt into it. His lips are gentle against mine, coaxing rather than demanding, and I let myself sink into the feeling of being wanted without pressure. When he pulls back, his eyes are darker, want written plainly on his face.
Silas hums as he takes the last few steps toward his room, chuckling the moment he swings open the door.
Wyatt is sprawled across the bed in sleep pants and a t-shirt, reading something on his phone. The bedside lamp casts warm light across his features, catching in his blond-brown curls. He looks up when we enter, a slow smile spreading across his face when he sees me.
"Hey, sunshine."
I look between them, confusion and something else, something warm, spreading through my chest. "I don't... what's happening?"
"We sleep in here sometimes," Silas explains, his hand still holding mine, his thumb stroking circles on my pulse point. "After Evie died, neither of us could handle sleeping alone. The bed felt too empty, the house too quiet. So we started sharing a room. It became habit."
The explanation makes sense, makes my chest ache for what they've lost. For the person who should be here, who would have filled that empty space.
"I can leave," Wyatt offers, sitting up and setting his phone aside. "Give you two privacy. I didn't mean to intrude on your night."
But Silas glances at me, a question in his eyes. "Or he could stay. If you're comfortable with that."
My breath catches. Both of them? The idea should probably terrify me, but looking at them, seeing the want and tenderness in their eyes, I feel something else entirely. Safe. Desired. Wanted by not just one Alpha but two.
"I don't know how this works," I admit, my voice small. My hands twist together, that nervous habit I can't seem to break.
"However you want it to work," Wyatt says gently. He pats the bed beside him, his expression open and inviting. "Come here. Let's just talk first, okay? No pressure. Just talk."
I cross to the bed on shaky legs, settling between them when Wyatt tugs me down gently.
The mattress is soft, the sheets cool against my overheated skin.
Silas follows, sitting on my other side, and suddenly I'm very aware of being sandwiched between two Alphas who are looking at me like I'm something precious.
The room smells like them. Rain and citrus mixing together, layered with something deeper, something distinctly Alpha that makes my hindbrain sit up and take notice.
"Your scent is driving us crazy," Wyatt admits, his hand finding my thigh, warm even through my jeans. "Rose and something sweeter underneath. Your pre-heat is progressing."
"I know." I bite my lip, tasting the mint from the toothpaste I used earlier. "I can feel it. Everything feels too warm, too tight. Like my skin doesn't fit right."
"Do you understand what that means?" Silas asks carefully, his hand resting on my knee. "What might happen over the next few days?"
"My heat will start properly." I look down at my hands, watching them twist in my lap. "And I'll need... I'll need help. Alpha help."
"We want to be that help," Wyatt says, his voice low and sincere. "All three of us. But we need to know what you're comfortable with. What you want. What you need."
"I don't want to be sedated through it," I whisper, the admission feeling like something shameful even though I know it shouldn't. "I don't want to suffer alone in some facility like I always have before."
Silas's jaw tightens, muscle jumping beneath the skin. "You've been going through heats sedated? Alone?"
I nod, still not looking at them. "Vincent said they were disgusting.
That I should be grateful he was willing to touch me at all outside of them.
That no Alpha in their right mind would want to deal with an Omega in heat.
So I just... I dealt with it myself. Got sedated at a facility and rode it out unconscious. "
The fury that flashes across both their faces would be scary if it wasn't so clearly on my behalf. Wyatt's hand tightens on my thigh, not painfully but possessively, and Silas makes a low sound in his chest that's almost a growl.
"You'll never have to do that again," Silas says fiercely, his hand coming up to cup my face and make me look at him. "Not if you don't want to. Never again, Amelia. Do you understand?"
"But I've never..." I struggle to find the words, to articulate fears I barely understand myself. "I've never been with an Alpha during a heat. I don't know what it's like. What to expect. What if I can't handle it? What if I'm not good at it? What if—"
"Then we'll figure it out together," Wyatt interrupts gently, his thumb stroking soothing circles on my leg. "There's no right or wrong way to do this, sunshine. It's about you being comfortable and safe and cared for. That's all that matters."
"Let us show you," Silas murmurs, leaning in to press a kiss to my temple. "Let us take care of you the way you deserve. The way you should have been cared for all along."
Looking between them, seeing the sincerity and want and tenderness in their expressions, I find myself nodding. "Okay. Yes. I want that."
They move slowly, taking their time undressing me, pausing between each piece of clothing to kiss newly exposed skin.
Wyatt's hands are confident and sure, knowing exactly where to touch to make me gasp.
Silas is more careful, watching my reactions closely, adjusting based on what makes me arch into his touch versus what makes me tense.
By the time I'm down to just my underwear, I'm trembling with anticipation and nerves, my breathing coming fast and shallow. The cool air of the room raises goosebumps on my overheated skin.
"You're beautiful," Silas says, his hands tracing patterns on my bare shoulder, following the curve down to my collarbone. "So damn beautiful, Amelia. Do you know that?"
I shake my head, unable to find words. Vincent spent two years telling me I was lucky he looked at me at all, that I should be grateful for his attention because no one else would want me.
The scars from those words run deep, making it hard to believe these men when they tell me I'm beautiful, when they look at me like I'm something to be treasured.
"We'll keep telling you until you believe it," Wyatt promises, reading my doubt. His lips find my collarbone, kissing along the ridge of bone with gentle reverence. "Every single day if we have to. Every single hour."
They take turns touching me, kissing me, learning what makes me gasp and what makes me arch into their touch. Wyatt's mouth traces down my neck while Silas's hands map the curve of my waist. When they finally lay me back on the bed, I'm already dizzy with sensation, my body singing with need.
"Is this okay?" Silas asks, hovering over me, his dark eyes searching my face. "Are you okay? We can stop anytime."
"Don't stop," I whisper, my hands coming up to frame his face, feeling the scratch of stubble against my palms. "Please don't stop. I want this. I want you."
He kisses me deeply, thoroughly, stealing my breath and my thoughts until there's nothing but the feeling of his mouth on mine, his body covering mine. When he finally enters me, slow and careful, giving me time to adjust, I can't help the small sound that escapes me.
"You're perfect," he murmurs against my lips, his hips rolling in slow, deliberate movements. "So perfect, Amelia. Made for this. Made for us."
The praise washes over me, making heat coil tighter in my stomach. Wyatt is beside us, his hands never leaving my body, touching and kissing and whispering encouragement that makes my chest tight with emotion I can't quite name.
When Silas's knot starts to form, stretching me in a way that's just on the edge of too much, I feel a moment of panic.
Vincent never knotted me, always pulling out before that could happen, saying he didn't want to be stuck with me, that I wasn't worth that kind of commitment.
But Silas keeps moving, keeps murmuring reassurance against my skin, and the panic fades into something else entirely.
His knot locks us together, the feeling of fullness absolute and overwhelming, and I can't help the small cry that escapes me. But it's not pain. It's something more complicated, something that feels like completion and safety and being exactly where I'm supposed to be.