Chapter 16
Chapter
Sixteen
ROAN
She was trembling by the time I got her to her room.
Wren didn’t weigh much—barely anything at all—but the determination in her kept me from just sweeping her up in my arms. She carried so much more right now than just this burning need. The weight of everything she’d hidden, everything she was still trying to hide, even from herself.
I was careful and minimized the contact to just hovering close in case she stumbled.
Maybe I was too careful, but I didn’t think that was possible.
I didn’t let my skin touch hers, not once.
I had gloves on, sleeves pulled down, jacket buttoned to the collar.
She was a bonfire, and I didn’t want to go up in flames.
Not without permission.
She was quiet, mostly, but twitchy. Her body fought between exhaustion and instinct, nerves shot from the overexposure of the day.
Her scent—gods, her scent—was thick, syrupy sweet, soaked in suppressed heat and tangled anxiety.
It clawed through every restraint I had like it was looking for a way in.
I straightened the blankets as she stared at the bed, almost belatedly realizing they were wrecked from her restlessness.
Once she’d laid down, I pulled them up to cover her.
Her eyes were already half-closed, whether in sleep or just lost in the haze, I wasn’t sure. Still, better to just tuck her in.
“No,” she murmured. Her fingers fluttered out, reaching—not consciously, not quite—but the motion sent a jolt through me.
Her hand was bare. My instincts surged, pushing past the walls I’d spent years building.
I jerked back and snatched the throw blanket at the end of the bed, wrapping it around her in one swift motion before her fingers could graze mine.
Her eyes blinked open, hazy and confused. “Why can’t I—” she shifted again, frowning. “You’re so warm. Why can’t I touch you?”
Because I wouldn’t survive it.
“You agreed to let me help you sleep,” I said, voice low. “That’s all we agreed on.”
She opened her mouth like she might argue, but then the scent of her deepened again—warmth, frustration, longing. It caught in my throat like smoke. I forced myself to breathe through my mouth.
“You’re hiding yourself,” I said before I could stop the words. “Suppressants?”
Wren didn’t answer right away. Her eyes flicked to mine, sharp despite the haze, and for a moment I saw the real her—omega, fighter, survivor. Then her lashes lowered, and she nodded.
“Over a decade,” she murmured. “They’re not illegal. Not really.”
“No,” I said, jaw tight. “They’re not endorsed either. There’s a reason for that.”
“They let me survive,” she whispered. “They let me... live the way I needed to.”
And gods help me, I wanted to be angry. I was angry. At her. At the system. At whoever had made her think suppressing something so fundamental was the only way she could be safe, be free.
But she was barely holding on. Her face turned into the blanket, cheek pressing into it like she was trying to disappear again, burrow away from the reality she’d peeled back just enough to show me.
“Sleep,” I told her. It came out more like a command than I intended.
She fought it. Of course she did. Her body was wound tight with lingering adrenaline, tension, scent. But the exhaustion was winning. Slowly, her muscles loosened, her breath slowed.
I sat with her, holding her carefully—arms circled around the blanket, never under it. My head tilted back against the wall behind her bed, and I stared at the ceiling like it might offer me some way out of this storm.
Her breath feathered against the side of my throat. Her warmth soaked into my chest through layers of fabric and resolve. Every inhale was torment—sweet, sharp musk that wanted to sink its teeth into me and stay.
I stayed still. Locked it down. Iron-fisted control.
She’d let me in this far. That was all she’d consented to. And I’d earned that much—barely. I wasn’t about to betray it.
But the more I held her, the more I thought about all the ways she’d kept this hidden. The more I reframed every look, every tense breath, every time she flinched away from her own biology.
And the angrier I got.
I kept that locked down, too.
Because this wasn’t about me. Not yet.
She’d taken risks—unnecessary ones. Dangerous ones. The kind that could have hurt her. The kind that had clearly hurt her already.
I had questions. Too many. But now wasn’t the time.
She was asleep now—fitful, restless, caught in half-dreams, murmuring things I couldn’t quite catch. Her fingers flexed in the blanket. I didn’t loosen my grip. I didn’t let myself respond.
One day, I’d ask her why. Why she chose this path. Why she thought she had to walk it alone. One day, I’d earn the right to those answers.
But not tonight.
Tonight, I would just hold her and burn.
She shifted again in my arms, a soft exhale warming the side of my neck, and I focused on the rhythm of her breathing. Slow. Uneven. But deeper now. Sleep was claiming her, if only in pieces.
Through the thin walls, I could hear Rhett pacing. His footsteps were steady, but erratic in pattern—he was struggling but thinking and worrying. I could hear Jay too, lighter on his feet, his movements purposeful. Cleaning, as he always did when he couldn’t fix something with his hands.
I didn’t blame either of them. This wasn’t something we could fix. Not easily.
My senses had been sharpening for days—maybe longer. Since we started tracking her, something inside me had started pulling tighter, tuning sharper, like a blade honing itself. At first I thought it was stress. Then instinct. Now… I wasn’t sure it wasn’t something else entirely.
I concentrated on my breathing—controlled, even—and felt it ripple outward.
A steadying anchor. I let it bleed into the air around me, the way I’d done with the team more times than I could count.
When adrenaline threatened to fracture cohesion mid-game, when panic clawed at the edge of someone’s focus—I could pull it down, spread calm like a blanket.
It was working now too. Rhett’s steps slowed. Jay’s cleaning settled into a softer rhythm.
Even I could think more clearly.
I looked down at her—at Wren. The stubborn, sharp, guarded omega curled up against me, wrapped in a barrier of cloth and walls she’d built around herself for so long, I wasn’t sure she remembered how to step outside them.
And still she’d let me do this. Trusted me to hold her.
To not act on every instinct clawing at the inside of my ribcage.
I’d earned that much. Maybe not more.
But I’d earn the rest. I had to.
My thoughts drifted, unbidden, to that night—two years back, after the championship. That party had been chaos. The kind that always came with victory: loud music, expensive liquor, and bodies pressed too close under the hot haze of triumph and sweat.
Most of the team dove in headfirst. Celebration in its rawest, wildest form.
I’d lasted maybe ten minutes before I’d peeled away from the crowd. The noise, the press of scents, the heat—it was all too much, too fast. Too hollow.
She’d been there, of course. Wren.
Working.
Wearing a dark suit with her hair twisted up and her sharp mouth set in that firm, unshakable line she wore like armor. Her tablet had been in one hand, her stylus twirling absently in the other as she monitored the event like it was a top-notch spy mission or something.
I could still picture the way her eyes would flick across the room, calculating the danger of every half-drunk millionaire and rising rookie with poor impulse control. It was adorable, in a way. Impressive, too. She was good at it. Always had been.
I sat beside her, nursing a drink I didn’t finish. She glanced at me, brow arched.
“No harem of admirers waiting for your attention?” she asked dryly.
“They can wait,” I said. “You’re the most interesting thing in the room.”
She’d rolled her eyes, but I caught the flicker of amusement she didn’t hide fast enough. That smile, biting and real, had stayed with me longer than I’d admitted at the time.
A woman had flung herself into my lap not ten minutes later—beautiful, eager, everything a man was supposed to want after a win like that. I’d stood, put her gently on her feet, and excused myself with a kind smile and a shake of the head.
Wren had looked at me, slightly bemused. “You do know it’s legal to enjoy yourself after a win?”
I’d held her gaze, unflinching. “I am enjoying myself.”
And I had been. Sitting beside her. Listening to her tear into the absurdity of the team’s spending habits, her dry commentary laced with subtle fondness. She never once tried to outshine the room. She didn’t have to, she just was the brightest part of it.
I should have known then.
A part of me did know. But I buried it. For her sake. For the team. For the lines we weren’t allowed to cross and the futures we thought we were protecting.
I looked at her now—soft in sleep, but not peaceful. Her face twitched faintly, like even in dreams she was battling something. It wasn’t fair. That she’d had to fight so long. That she’d taken suppressants for a decade just to survive the world as it was.
Suppressants weren’t illegal, no. But they weren’t safe either. Not really. Not for long.
Some studies suggested that they masked more than scent. They dulled everything. Even instincts. Even pain.
What had she given up to live like that?
As aggravating as that thought was, I wanted to know what had I missed—by letting her?
My grip tightened fractionally around her blanket-wrapped form, but I didn’t let myself move. Didn’t let myself feel the way her breath still danced over my throat, the way her warmth soaked into me.
I let myself look at her now. Really look.
I’d stopped avoiding the truth. I was done pretending I didn’t know what this was between us. What it had always been.
When her heat passed, we were going to talk. No more guessing. No more hiding. No more letting her carry it all alone.