Chapter 17
Chapter
Seventeen
WREN
Isurfaced slowly—like rising from deep water, every movement heavy, every thought too slow to catch.
The air was warm. Too warm. My skin prickled with sweat under the blanket wrapped around me, the weight of it a barrier between me and the fire still burning low in my belly.
I was still in my room. I could tell by the ceiling, by the scent of clean linen, by the faint hum of a ventilation unit that probably hadn’t worked properly in years. But that wasn’t what held me still.
It was him.
Roan.
He was beneath me—or rather, behind me, the solid wall of his chest pressed lightly to my back, arms looped around me on the outside of the blanket, cradling me without touching me. Protective. Steady. Impossibly careful.
His head rested back against the wall, tilted slightly to one side in such a manner that could not possibly be comfortable. His eyes were closed, his breathing deep and even.
Asleep.
The realization hit me like a strange, unearned gift. Roan was here. Still here. He hadn’t moved, hadn’t left, hadn’t run—not even when my body had been all scent and heat and confusion. He’d stayed.
I let my eyes linger on him, drinking him in without shame.
Gods, he was beautiful.
Tall and broad even in rest, his frame always took up more space than he seemed to realize. The pale blonde of his hair—cropped short, always neat—stood out against the darker shadows of the room. His features were sharply defined, aristocratic almost, if not for the quiet strength they held.
Roan had always been handsome, but never soft. He wore calm like armor. Carried himself with the kind of precision you didn’t teach—you trained it into bone. And still, now, in sleep, his expression was peaceful. Guard down.
Steel-gray eyes hidden behind thick lashes. Brows relaxed. The tension I’d seen in him for days—maybe years—finally smoothed away.
He always looked like this in moments of stillness. Like the world could fall apart around him and he’d pick up the pieces with those capable, unshakable hands.
A tactician. A protector. A leader.
An alpha who never once threw his weight around. If anything, he overcorrected—stepping back, pulling inward, avoiding dominance like it might hurt someone. Like he might hurt someone.
It made me ache in a way I wasn’t prepared for.
Worse—it reminded me brutally that my heat was still here.
Still alive and simmering in every part of me.
What had been dulled by exhaustion and shock was now brightening again, fueled by proximity, by scent, by the slow realization that Roan was the source of so much of the need clawing through me.
It surged the longer I stared at him. My skin flushed hot, my throat tightening. A little sigh slipped from me before I could stop it. I closed my eyes and turned my head, trying to will the desire back down. Trying to focus on anything else.
That’s when I saw him.
Jay.
Sitting just across the room, quiet and watchful in a chair I hadn’t even heard move. Elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped, his expression unreadable—but not unkind.
He didn’t flinch when I met his gaze. Didn’t pretend to look away like he hadn’t seen every second of that private, hungry moment I’d just had with Roan’s sleeping form.
He was just... there. Patient. Steady.
Waiting for me to notice him.
It hit me in a moment of blinding clarity that he’d been doing exactly that for a while.
Watching. Waiting. Protecting us both.
I swallowed. “How long—?”
“A while,” Jay said, voice soft. “You needed the rest.”
My cheeks burned, and not from the fever of my body. Still, I didn’t look away.
I couldn’t.
Because something in his gaze told me that this wasn’t pity. It was something else. Understanding and maybe—if I was brave enough to name it—respect.
I shifted under the blanket, muscles stiff and skin too warm. It took effort to focus past the heat coiling low and tight in my core. Everything felt slow. Hazy. Like waking from a fever dream only to realize I was still dreaming.
Jay didn’t move, but his gaze softened, just slightly.
“How long have I really been asleep?” I asked, the past two days had been such a blur for me and I couldn’t recall how much, if any, real sleep I’d had.
“Six hours,” he said. “Give or take.”
Six. Not nearly enough. But far more than I expected.
My eyes flicked to Roan again, then back to Jay. “Has he… has he taken a break at all?”
“No.” Jay gave a slight shake of his head. “Won’t let either of us near you for long. You were restless. Kept reaching out in your sleep.” He didn’t say what I already knew, that it had been Roan I was reaching for.
“And he stayed.” Wonder unfolded inside of me. Humbled wonder because what alpha did that without question or reward? They were just as much at the mercy of their biological instincts as I was, but here he was.
“He stayed,” Jay confirmed. “Hasn’t eaten much. Hasn’t moved. Not even to lie down. Just sat there. Like that.”
Like this. With me. Arms around me like a barrier, his body the still center of something I couldn’t name.
I swallowed again, throat dry. My stomach growled weakly, a cramp blooming in my side like it had just remembered I was human, too.
“Good timing.” Jay’s lips quirked, the ghost of a smile. “You’re due for food.”
He stood, moving silently to the desk and returning with the container I’d smelled earlier—broth, rice, maybe some root vegetables. Something easy. Comforting. Warm.
He crouched next to the bed, setting it down on the nightstand before reaching for a spoon. I went to lift my arms—and stopped.
The blanket.
Roan had wrapped me so securely I couldn’t get either hand free without unwrapping myself entirely. And there was no way I was doing that with my heat still burning and him still holding me like I might break apart if he let go.
My jaw clenched slightly. “I can feed myself.”
Jay tilted his head, amused but gentle. “I believe you. But you’re also mummified.”
“Roan’s fault.” I glared at first the man holding me in place, then the man offering to feed me. Honestly, I couldn’t even hold that fierce look for long. They were here. They didn’t deserve my temper.
“You tried to touch him,” Jay said, like it was a known fact. “And he didn’t want to take chances. You wouldn’t stay under otherwise.”
I muttered something under my breath—he didn’t ask me to repeat it. Instead, he just sat back down on the edge of the mattress, spoon in hand.
“Let me help.”
I hesitated. Every part of me balked at the idea of being fed like I was fragile. I wasn’t. I was still strong. Still me.
Just… wrapped in a comforter and burning from the inside out.
Jay waited, spoon poised.
I sighed, shifting minutely so my head rested more comfortably against Roan’s chest, and nodded.
“Fine.”
The first bite was warm and salty, the broth rich but mild. My stomach lurched at the sudden intake, then settled, welcoming it.
Not saying anything, Jay just fed me in slow, unhurried motions—giving me time between bites, letting me reclaim what little strength I could one spoonful at a time.
I hated how good it felt. The care. The quiet. The safety of it.
“I’m not usually like this,” I muttered between mouthfuls.
Jay lifted an eyebrow. “You mean, letting someone take care of you?”
I narrowed my eyes, and he chuckled, all soft and kind.
“I know,” he said. “It’s fine, Wren. You don’t owe me pride. You just need food, sleep, and, hopefully, to not burn yourself out trying to out-stubborn biology.”
I let out a small breath through my nose. “Easier said.”
“I’ve noticed,” he murmured, offering another bite.
I took it. The burn inside me didn’t lessen, but something about the food and the rhythm dulled the edge.
Gave me enough presence of mind to think.
To notice how carefully Jay moved, how he never leaned too close, how his scent—neutral, grounded—was just far enough from triggering to let me breathe.
“You’re good at this,” I said quietly.
Jay glanced at me. “Good at what?”
“This,” I gestured vaguely with my chin, the only part of me free to move. “Caretaking. Managing alphas and omegas in denial. Betas aren’t supposed to notice heats like this.”
His face remained still for a moment. Thoughtful. “I notice you,” he said simply. “That’s different.”
The words dropped between us, quiet and not meant to do harm. But they caught, somewhere deep.
I didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Not with Roan breathing steadily behind me and Jay feeding me soup I hadn’t asked for but needed.
I was too full of want, of shame, of longing. This without having even looked Roan in the eye since waking.
I didn’t know if I could, but I would. Eventually. Because if I knew nothing else, I was aware that when this heat passed, I wouldn’t be able to keep running. Not anymore. Not now that they knew.
Jay kept feeding me in calm, deliberate intervals. Like he had all the time in the world.
He probably did.
There was never any rush in his movements. Every action was purposeful, grounded. The kind of control that wasn’t rigid. It was just there, woven into his being. Not dominance, not passivity, just… quiet strength. Reliable.
He held out another spoonful, and I took it without protest. The heat still pulsed through me in relentless waves, but eating helped. So did Jay’s scent. Clean, low, neutral. Not challenging. Not provoking. He made this possible.
When he offered the bottle of water next, I took it with my teeth and a huff of thanks.
He didn’t even blink.
“You always this good with invalids?” I asked between slow sips, the coolness soothing my throat.
His mouth twitched. “Only the difficult ones.”
“Lucky me.”
“Lucky us,” he said, not quite teasing.
I stilled. The silence stretched just long enough for my mind to start running ahead, so I asked the next thing that came to me. “Where’s Rhett?”
“Out,” Jay replied, his tone still gentle. “He went for more supplies.”
Something pinched in my chest. Not sharp. But deep. “Oh.”