Chapter 32 #3
The voice rumbles. My feet are gently lowered to the floor, but I don't want the arms to let me go. I nestle into the chest as a faint purr erupts from it.
"Your nest is ready for you, Omega." Another liquid voice. Lavender.
My eyes fall open.
I barely notice the fairy lights. The carefully made up pack bed. The stacks of pillows, each with different textures. The piles of soft blankets.
It's the smell. It smells like nothing. My omega hates it. It needs mint and lemon and herbs and basil and lavender and the smell you get after rain, all wrapped in freesias.
I whimper softly.
The scent of basil surrounds me as a mouth brushes against my ear. "Do you need it to smell like pack, Omega?"
My omega whinges as I nod. From somewhere far away, there's a click. Footsteps.
"That's not one of your words, lovely," the voice that smells like basil growls in my ear.
"Yes." My voice is tinny and echoey.
"Careful with that, James. Don't push her too hard. She's about to go into the non-verbal phase." The voice that smells like tangy herbs rumbles through its soothing purr.
"Omega? It's okay if you run out of words. You can show us how you want. But you need to show us what you want." The voice that smells like basil rumbles into my neck, as it leaves a trail of kisses over my skin.
I nod, a relieved mewl escaping my lips.
"Do you want some of your alphas to help start making the nest smell right?" Petrichor rolls around me like an incoming storm. I nod, violently.
I grab hands, clothes, whatever I can reach, and pull them into the room. But the nest is just… wrong. I tug at the shirts and pants that smell almost like pack.
"Do you need our clothes for your nest, Omega?"
My hair cascades around me as I nod, violently. My skin has started to crawl with need. But I can't give in. Not yet. The nest isn't right.
I'm handed t-shirts and undershirts and boxers and pants and jeans and socks.
The jeans are discarded in a pile in the corner immediately—too scratchy, too stiff—but everything else smells right.
Almost right, anyway—the mint is missing.
I dump the heap on the bed and grab a pile of soft blankets, checking each one's texture against my cheek before passing a few to each of them.
My skin is burning. I scratch at my chest. Whatever's on me isn't right. It needs to come off.
I scrabble at the straps and strips of cloth wrapped around me. I hate them. I whimper as I tug, trying to get them off. I need to move freely so I can fix the nest.
A faint, echoey murmur. Shit. She's going. Get Ralph right now.
Then strong, warm hands hold me. The horrible straps and scratchy fabric fall away.
Basil and petrichor and tangy herbs.
Alphas.
Liquid eyes that draw me in.
I have to make them their nest.
Mouths on mine that make me melt. Fingers over my skin. Warm and hot tugging on my nipples. Teeth whispering against my neck. The tugging ache inside me is building to a roar.
I have to make them their nest.
I pull away from them, and turn towards the nest. The pile in the middle of the bed has grown, The blankets are scented with my alphas.
I let out a chirp of delight.
The socks around the bottom edge, under the sheets. Away from heads. T-shirts form the base layer, blooming from the centre of the bed, outwards. Underwear for the small gaps.
A border of scent marked blankets for safety around the edges. It's a start. Nowhere near enough for them, but it's a start.
But there's no mint. "Beta…" My whine almost turns into a wail.
Basil and tangy lemon herbs try and comfort me. Hands on my shoulders. Around my waist. Wrapped around my heart.
Shhhh, he's coming lovely.
But he isn't here.
I whimper. The aching in my core is growing worse. But then… the tiniest waft of coolness and freshness. My head springs towards the door.
It opens. Mint floods in. I sigh with relief and reach out to him with grabby hands.
She's pretty much non-verbal now. Tangy herbs is growling at my beta. I don't like it. I growl back quietly at him, push myself out of the nest, and wrap my beta in my arms.
"Mine." I nuzzle against his neck, scent marking him, tugging at his clothes. I need them for our nest.
Careful, Allen. Amusement and petrichor spread through the room. I hear quiet chuckling.
Yes, Omega. Yours. Tangy herbs sounds remorseful. I nod, and chirp with satisfaction as I mark my beta with my scent.
Do you need my clothes, Omega? Mint wraps around me, holding me close.
I nod. He quickly tugs off his shirt and thrusts it into my arms.
I mark his chest with my scent one last time for good measure, and stride purposefully over to the nest.
His shirt was the missing piece. The nest is still far from perfect, but it's good enough for now.
At least it smells like pack. I take the largest, softest blanket, and lay it over everything, tucking it carefully in under every edge.
It will keep the scents protected and stop things from getting knocked out.
Satisfied, I climb into the nest, present for my pack, and whine to call them in, as the burning tug from inside me consumes me.