CHAPTER 30
WINDY
“I will kill them all,” I say into the phone, listening to my mother break out in laughter on the other side. “You think I’m playing. I’m not.”:
“Darling, give them a chance. You’ll be surprised," she coos at me.
Rolling my eyes, I say my goodbyes, then contemplate calling Remi.
I know if I called her right now, she would be here in less than fifteen minutes.
But I can’t do that. She’s just now getting on even ground with her pack.
If I take her away from them, then I’ll be hindering more than I’m helping.
Remi doesn’t need that. She needs to spend as much time with her pack as she can.
I inhale deeply to calm myself and instantly regret it. A tingle between my thighs erupts as I catch Wolf’s scent. Cinnamon candy.
“Sweet baby Jesus,” I groan, throwing my face into my pillow.
I shimmy around, trying to get comfortable.
The nest is what my body craves—soft, warm, and inviting.
Fluffy blankets spill over in layers of cream and pale blue.
Pillows of every size pile high, forming a cocoon of softness.
The circular bed is huge—almost too big for the room.
It looks like someone dropped a cloud in the middle of the floor and decided that was good enough.
I sink into it, and something inside me unwinds.
The familiar luxury, the gentle scents woven into the blankets, the warmth …
it all settles around me like a protective embrace.
I’m lying on my side, a pregnancy pillow curved snugly around my body, supporting every place that aches or threatens to.
My fingers rest lightly on the fabric, and my breathing slows without me even trying.
My eyes drift around the room.
It looks like something out of a storybook—soft, warm lighting that glows like candlelight, casting gentle shadows across the walls.
The curtains are a pale, sheer blue, fluttering slightly with the faintest draft, and the windows are framed in carved wood that gleams like honey.
A plush rug spreads across the floor, thick enough that my toes disappear into it.
The furniture is elegant without being cold—curved lines, soft colors, everything designed to soothe rather than impress.
It’s a room fit for a princess, but not the kind locked in a tower. The kind who gets to choose her own comfort, her own peace.
Wrapped in the nest, surrounded by softness and quiet luxury, I finally feel my body loosen. My eyelids grow heavy. My breathing deepens.
For the first time today, with my nest and their scents cocooning me, I feel safe. And I’m too tired to look into the reason why I feel that way.
Sometime later, my eyes slowly drag open. They’re heavy, unfocused, like they’re glued shut. It takes everything to acquaint myself. The room swims for a moment, soft edges and warm colors blur together. I don’t move. I just breathe, waiting for my mind to catch up with my body.
When it does, everything assaults me at once. They’re slow, like trickling water coming in. But when they start, they don’t stop. The hospital lights. The fear. The guys are hovering much too close. The drive home. The realization they’re here now, living with me. In my space. My orbit.
I … don’t know how I feel about that.
A tight, aching pain blooms in my chest. It’s sharp, and I curl around my pregnancy pillow. My breath shudders out, shaky and thin. It feels like my ribs are too small for everything I’m feeling. Because the truth is …
I want them.
Not in a dramatic way. It’s in that quiet, persistent way that settles under my skin. My pulse jumps at their closeness. My body softens, even when my mind screams to stay guarded.
Honestly, it’s almost humiliating. The longing stirs inside me when they’re close, automatic and insistent. My body doesn’t care about logic or history or even the bruises I still carry inside.
My … body … does … not … care.
But my mind does. All the time. In every way, shape, and form.
But wanting them doesn’t mean I’ll go there.
I’ve been down this road before. When I opened myself to hope, it was shoved in my face.
I believed I could trust them with my softer side, and they tossed it away like my feelings meant nothing.
To them, they didn’t. But now … I’m afraid to hope, to want, to love.
I paid for it. Deeply. Quietly. In ways only we four saw.
The memories of what happened still hurt, sitting like stones in my stomach.
It’s enough to make my throat tighten. Enough to make my fingers clench the pillow as tears dance in my eyes.
I can hold myself together on the best of days with force alone, but on some days, the only thing I can do is cry.
I don’t want to be vulnerable like that again.
I don’t want to hand someone the power to break me again.
Not even them.
Especially not them.
Once bitten, twice shy. And I was bitten hard, roughly, and it left scars.
So, I lie here, wrapped in softness and warmth, feeling that old familiar tension coils through me. A mix of longing and fear, comfort and panic, hope and dread flows through me. It’s messy. It’s confusing. It’s way too much.
It’s messy. It’s confusing. But it’s mine.
And for now, I’m just going to breathe through it and hope that things will get better.
Nothing can stay like this forever, can it?
At least, I hope not.
A knock at the door startles me, snapping me out of spiraling thoughts.
As I twist in the nest, shifting blankets reveal a new vulnerability—a tear spills down my cheek, the chill of the room a sharp contrast to the heat of my emotion.
The shift from anxiety to exposed sadness leaves me unsure how to respond.
“Yes?” My voice comes out thin, frayed around the edges. I’m raw and vulnerable right now, and I don’t know which way is up or down.
There’s no answer—just another knock, softer this time. Almost hesitant.
I clear my throat, trying to steady myself. “Come in.”
The door opens slowly, and Finian leans through the gap. His hair is mussed. His expression is gentler than I expect, reading glasses perched on his nose. He gives me a soft, understanding smile that tightens my chest. I wish they were like this earlier. It’s too late now.
His eyes travel over me—taking in the blankets, the pregnancy pillow curled around me, the way I’m half-propped on my side like I’m afraid to fully sit up.
Not judging. Just…seeing. His eyes darken as he takes in my half-naked state.
I’m wearing nothing but a t-shirt and panties, and the t-shirt is a size too small.
My breasts are practically popping out of it in their swollen state.
“I … just wanted to see if you were hungry,” he says quietly.
I make the mistake of breathing in too deeply.
His scent—familiar, grounding—hits me all at once.
It’s like stepping into sunlight after being cold for too long, and my body reacts before my mind can stop it.
A small sound catches in my throat, not quite a whimper, but close enough that I clamp my lips shut.
Finian notices. Of course he does. He’s a lawyer; he’s paid to notice these things.
His expression shifts, not into anything inappropriate, but into something weighted—desire, awareness, something deeper he’s trying to hide. His eyes darken, predatory, and with the intensity of someone who feels too much and is trying very hard to keep it contained.
And that almost makes it worse.
I can feel the pull between us, the unspoken history, the ache I’ve been trying so hard to bury. I can feel how close he is. I can sense how easily I can lean toward him, and how dangerous that would be for me.
My heart thuds painfully against my ribs. I grip the pillow tighter, grounding myself in its softness. There’s no way I trust myself not to do something I’ll regret. I don’t trust what I feel. And I definitely don’t trust how easily he can make me unravel without even trying.
He stays in the doorway, giving me space and waiting patiently for my answer. That—more than anything—makes my chest ache. It means they’re respecting me without pushing. While they’re here, they aren’t making me do anything I don’t want to do.
“I’m not hungry,” I say, throat tight with emotion.
He gives me a small smile. “It’s been hours since you’ve eaten. Let’s get you something. Please.”
As if on cue, my stomach rumbles as Daisy starts kicking. I smile shyly, my face heating with embarrassment.
He chuckles. “It’s dinner time. Would you like to eat in here or in the kitchen with us?”
I hover in a thin, trembling space between movement and stillness. Should I follow Finian to the kitchen or stay here, buried in my nest where the air feels less stressed? Here, my pulse doesn’t trip so violently.
I can’t hide here forever. I know that. But right now, it’s the only place where my lungs don’t feel tight from their scents, and the world doesn’t feel like it’s pressing in on every raw nerve ending that I’m trying so hard to keep from showing.
Being around them again—after being out of their presence for so long—is much harder than I want to admit.
Being around their scents, their voices, their presence, it’s all almost too much for me.
I’m practically lying here starving, only to remember there’s no food.
I feel like I’m standing too close to a fire, just to remember that I’m likely to get burned if I stand too close.
I’m afraid that if I reach for them, they’ll be jerked out from underneath me.
It’s happened before. Quite a few times. I don’t think I can handle it again.