Chapter 16 #2
Whatever it was—whatever she'd been afraid of—I’d take it. Piece by piece, if that’s what she needed.
But not tonight.
Tonight, I held her.
I held her and I waited.
The door creaked open with the softest whisper of hinges, and I didn’t need to look to know it was Jay.
His scent hit first, all cool linen, tea tree oil, and that quiet steadiness that was as much a part of him as his pulse. He moved carefully, silently, like he understood exactly how delicate this space was. Which, knowing Jay, he probably did.
He held two bottles of water and a bag that smelled like something warm and savory—bread, broth, maybe rice. Nutrients she’d need when she woke, and more that he clearly meant for me.
I looked up as he crossed the threshold, then back down at Wren, who hadn’t stirred. Her brow twitched once, but the fitful sleep held. For now.
Crouching low, Jay set the food down on the desk without a sound, then straightened and passed me one of the bottles.
“You need to eat,” he said, his voice pitched low, barely above a whisper. “And drink. Especially if you’re not planning to sleep.”
I took the bottle, twisting the cap one-handed and drinking half in one go. I hadn’t realized how dry my throat was. “I will,” I said.
Jay gave me a look. Not skeptical—just firm.
“I will,” I repeated, then nodded toward the wrapped bundle of omega warmth in my arms. “When she’s deeper under. I don’t want to shift her right now.”
He glanced at her, his expression unreadable, but his nostrils flared just slightly. That was the first confirmation. The second came a beat later when his jaw tightened, just a flicker of strain that most wouldn’t catch, but I wasn’t most people.
“White-knuckling it?” I asked, just enough edge to my voice to let him know I saw it.
Jay exhaled slowly. “I’m not immune, Roan. None of us are. But I’m trained. I’m fine.”
He was trained and had years of mental discipline, medical knowledge, scent desensitization drills, the works. Still. Wren’s heat was potent, even suppressed. The fact that a beta like Jay was feeling it said a lot about how far things had progressed—and how much she must’ve been suppressing.
Before I could press the thought, Rhett’s voice drifted in from the next room.
“I’ve been doing some research on suppressants.”
Jay’s eyes flicked toward the door. I didn’t answer. Just nodded once, slow and steady, letting Rhett know to go on.
He didn’t come in. Just stood there, pacing again, voice pitched the same as ours—low and careful.
“It’s not great news,” Rhett said, and there was weight behind the words. It cost him something to even say it. “There are studies… not many, but enough to be concerning. Some suggest the longer someone is on suppressants, the more likely they are to experience lasting effects.”
I didn’t speak. Just held Wren a little closer, felt her breath brush against my throat. My arms tightened around the blanket. Around her.
“Lasting,” I said eventually. “As in permanent?”
“Some cases, yeah.” Rhett hesitated. “It can alter hormone receptors. Neural pathways. Change how the body processes its own instincts. And it can make things worse when they do come off it.”
Jay’s mouth tightened beside me. “Define ‘worse.’”
“Heats that are more volatile. Less predictable. Stronger. Sometimes painful. There’s reports of emotional instability, pain responses heightened... even scent distortion in some cases.”
I didn’t move. Not visibly. But something in me went stone-cold.
“She’s been on them for over a decade,” I said.
Rhett didn’t answer.
Because what could he say?
Wren stirred again, a soft noise escaping her throat—more a whimper than a word, muffled by the blanket. I shifted my grip, settling her without skin contact, my movements practiced, precise.
She calmed. For now.
Jay moved back to the desk, picking up the container and unsealing it just enough to let some of the scent out—hopefully enough to rouse her gently when the time came. He didn’t look at me, but I felt the tension in him.
“Roan…” he began, hesitating like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to finish the thought.
I beat him to it. “Yeah. I know.”
This was bigger than we thought. And more dangerous.
Still—still—I wouldn’t leave her. Not now. Not again.
My voice was steel when I spoke again, barely audible.
“When she wakes up, she’ll need food. Water. She’ll also need to know she’s not alone in this.”
Jay nodded once. Quiet agreement.
Rhett’s voice came again from the hallway, this time quieter. “Whatever she needs, we’re here for her.”
I glanced at Wren, then at the door. At the men I trusted with my life. I gave a small nod. Gratitude, maybe. Or warning.
Because whatever came next—however hard it got—we weren’t going back to the way things were.
Not now that I knew what she’d been carrying.
Not now that I felt it.
When this was over, when she was through the worst of it, Wren and I were going to have a very real conversation.
Because I wasn’t running from this anymore and like hell I’d let her run either.