Chapter 24 Xaden #2
The stairs are narrow and steep, made narrower by three bodies trying to navigate them together. Each step becomes an exercise in discipline as Violet's scent fills the confined space. Biology advertising her availability to every alpha in range.
Good thing the only alphas in range are already hers.
Her apartment door stands open at the top. She never locks it when she's downstairs, trusting us to keep the building secure. That trust settles warm in my chest, makes my alpha purr with satisfaction even as the rest of me fights for composure.
Inside, the space appears exactly as I remember from the handful of times I've been here.
Small but comfortable, every surface covered with evidence of who she is.
Books stacked on the coffee table. Poetry journals scattered across the couch.
A blanket she made herself draped over the chair, uneven stitches speaking of patience and determination.
Everything carries her signature. Months of vanilla and honey soaked into fabric and wood until the entire space feels saturated with Violet.
Home, my alpha whispers. Pack home.
She moves toward the couch immediately, drawn by instinct she's probably not even aware of. Then she stops in the middle of the room, turning in a slow circle. Her fingers twist together, anxiety bleeding through the heat.
"I don't know where to start," she admits, voice small. "Don't know what I'm supposed to do."
"Close your eyes," I tell her, keeping my voice low and even. Calming. "Stop thinking. Just feel. What would feel right? What would feel safe?"
She obeys, lids sliding shut. Her breathing evens out slightly as she focuses inward instead of on us watching her. I can see the moment she stops fighting her instincts, shoulders dropping as she lets biology take over.
"The couch," she says after a long moment. "By the window. I can hear the storm but I'm protected from it. Safe but not trapped."
"Good." Garrick already moves, setting candles on various surfaces. Soft light fills the space, warmer than electric bulbs ever manage. "What do you require to build with? Blankets? Pillows?"
"Soft things." Her arms wrap around herself, hands gripping her elbows. "Different textures. Things I can layer and arrange. Things that..."
She stops, color flooding her cheeks.
"Things that what?" Liam prompts gently.
"Things that smell like pack," she finishes quietly. "Like safety. Like you."
The admission makes all three of us go still. She's asking for our scents. Wanting to surround herself with us even though we're standing right here.
Craving pack in the most primal way possible.
Liam disappears into her bedroom without a word.
Sounds of a closet opening, items being moved around.
He returns with an armful of blankets in varying materials.
Fleece the color of storm clouds. Worn cotton with faded flowers.
Something plush that might be chenille, deep blue and soft enough to sink into.
Pillows in mismatched cases follow, dumped onto the couch in a pile of potential.
Violet opens her eyes. Stares at the offerings like they're treasure instead of random bedding pulled from her closet.
Then she starts building.
Her movements come frantic at first, driven by instinct rather than thought.
Hands moving faster than her conscious mind, arranging and rearranging.
Pillows go on the couch arms first, creating barriers.
Walls to nestle between. The fleece blanket spreads across the cushions, smoothed flat with careful strokes.
Cotton layered next, arranged just so. The chenille goes on top because it's heaviest, makes her feel held when she burrows beneath it.
We watch in silence. This belongs to her to create, her safe space. Interrupting would be like interrupting prayer.
But I can smell dissatisfaction rolling off her in waves. Something's wrong. Something's missing.
She stops, turning to face us. Her pupils have blown wide now, barely any blue visible around black. The flush has spread down her throat, disappearing beneath her sweater. Sweat beads at her temples despite the cold draft sneaking through window frames.
"I require..." She stops, cheeks going redder for reasons that have nothing to do with heat. "Things that carry your scent. Like all of you. Is that weird? It feels weird but I have to..."
"Not weird," I interrupt, already reaching for the hem of my black t-shirt. "Completely normal. Your omega craves pack scent in your nest."
I strip the shirt off in one smooth motion, left standing in just jeans and boots. The air feels cool against my skin after the warmth of fabric. I hand it to her and she presses it to her face immediately, breathing deep.
Her eyes flutter closed. A sound escapes her throat that radiates satisfaction, almost obscene in its honesty.
"Better?" My voice has gone rough despite my best efforts.
"Better." She opens her eyes, clutching my shirt to her chest. But she looks at Garrick and Liam expectantly, waiting.
Garrick sheds his flannel without hesitation, flour dust and all. The scent of bread and burnt sugar clings to the fabric, unmistakable. He hands it over and Violet buries her face in it, inhaling like she's been drowning and just found air.
Liam pulls off his henley, revealing the white t-shirt beneath. But when Violet makes a sound of protest, he strips that off too. Standing shirtless in her apartment, all lean muscle and golden skin in candlelight.
Three shirts. Three alphas offering pieces of themselves.
She arranges them in her nest with reverent care. Garrick's tucked into the left corner, positioned where her head will rest. Mine goes in the right corner, mirror image. Liam's spreads across the center cushions where her body will lay, saturating the space with cedar and vanilla.
Then she climbs in.
Burrowing under blankets and between pillows until she's surrounded by soft things and pack scent. The relief on her face appears immediate and overwhelming. Muscles I didn't realize were tense suddenly relaxing, expression smoothing into something peaceful.
"Good," Liam says softly, moving closer. "That's ideal, Violet. You did so well."
But I can smell the next wave building. Her aroma intensifies again, sweetening until my mouth waters. The vanilla and honey go richer, deeper, mixing with something that carries the tang of slick and longing and omega ready to be claimed.
"It's getting worse." Her fingers clutch at blankets, knuckles white with pressure. "Why is it worse? I thought the nest would help."
"It is helping," I explain, kneeling beside the couch so I'm eye level with her. "But building your nest signaled to your body that you're safe. Now it knows it can stop fighting. Let the heat come fully."
"I don't want to fight it." Her gaze locks on mine, pupils blown so wide she looks high. "I crave... I require..."
She can't finish. Doesn't have words for what biology demands.
"Tell us what you require," Garrick says. He's knelt on her other side now, close enough to touch but waiting for permission. "Be specific."
"You." The word comes out broken, desperate. "All of you. I don't want to do this alone. Can't do this alone. Please don't make me..."
"Hey." I cut her off gently, one hand cupping her face. Her skin blazes hot beneath my palm, fever burning through her. "You're not doing this alone. We're not going anywhere."
"Promise?" Her voice sounds so small, so vulnerable.
"Promise." The word becomes a vow. "All three of us. Right here. Whatever you require."
"But..." She struggles now, words fighting through the fog of heat clouding her mind. "I don't know how this works. Don't know what I'm supposed to do. Mark never... we never..."
She trails off, shame mixing with the heat scent. And suddenly I understand.
"He never helped you through a heat," I say quietly. Statement, not question.
"He said suppressants were easier. Cleaner. That natural heats were..." She swallows hard. "Primitive. Disgusting. That modern omegas didn't subject themselves to that anymore."
Fury burns through me, hot and sharp. The idea of anyone making Violet feel ashamed of her biology, of denying her the care she required during heat, makes me want to track down this Mark character and have a very pointed conversation.
"He was wrong," Liam says firmly. His hand cups her other cheek, cradling her face between both of us. "Heats aren't disgusting. They're natural. Beautiful. And you deserve to be cared for during them."
"We're going to take care of you," Garrick adds, voice rough with barely restrained desire. "All of us. Together. If you'll let us."
Together.
The word hangs in candlelit air, heavy with implication. This isn't one alpha claiming an omega. This is pack. All of us choosing each other, bonding together in the oldest way possible.
"Yes." No hesitation in her voice now. "Yes, please. I require all of you."
The permission breaks something loose in the room. I feel it in the way Garrick's scent spikes, in the soft sound Liam makes low in his throat. In the way my own discipline frays at the edges, alpha instincts clawing free.
"Xaden first," Garrick says quietly. His dark gaze meets mine across Violet's nest. "He's best at staying controlled. Can talk her through it."
It makes tactical sense. I possess the most experience keeping my head during chaos, maintaining focus when everything falls apart. But looking at Violet curled in her nest, flushed and needy and trusting us completely, I'm not sure how much discipline I actually have left.
"That okay with you?" I ask her. Because even now, especially now, she gets a choice.
"Yes." No hesitation. "Please. I require you, Xaden."
The please breaks something in me.
I stand, toeing off my boots and leaving them beside the couch. My hands locate my belt buckle, pausing. "Have to take these off. That okay?"
"God, yes. Please." She watches my hands like they're the most fascinating thing she's ever seen. Her brown eyes track every movement, pupils dilated so wide they swallow the color.
I unbuckle slowly, deliberately. Pull the leather free of loops with a soft whisper of sound. Pop the button on my jeans. Slide the zipper down tooth by tooth. Peel denim down my legs and step out, leaving me in just black boxer briefs.
Violet's gaze drags up my body, lingering on places that make heat pool low in my stomach. The candlelight plays across my skin, highlighting old scars and muscle definition. When her eyes meet mine again, they've gone molten.
"You're beautiful," she whispers.
"That's supposed to be my line." But the compliment settles warm in my chest.
I settle on the edge of her nest, one knee on the couch. The blankets feel soft beneath me, scented with her and us mixed together until I can't tell the difference anymore. Ideal.
"Can I touch you?" The question matters. I require her consent even though she's asking for this.
"Please. I ache for you to touch me. Ache for it so much I can't think."
My palm cups her face again, cradling her feverish cheek. She leans into the contact with a sound that's half relief, half longing. Her own hand comes up to cover mine, holding me in place like she's afraid I'll pull away.
"You're burning up," I observe.
"I know." Her eyes flutter closed. "Everything's too hot. Too tight. Like I'm going to explode if something doesn't change."
"We'll change it," I promise. "But first, this sweater has to come off. You're overheating."
She nods frantically, already reaching for the hem with clumsy fingers. I help, bunching soft blue knit in my hands and pulling it over her head. Static makes her hair fly everywhere, dark strands sticking to her flushed cheeks and the sweat-dampened skin of her neck.
Beneath, she wears a simple cotton bra. White. Practical. Nothing fancy. But the sight of her soft curves spilling over the cups makes my alpha purr. Raw appreciation. Her breasts rise and fall with rapid breaths. Pale skin flushed pink with fever.
"Better?" I ask.
"So much better."
Music to my ears. All I want is to protect her. Love her. Like no one has ever done before. She deserves it.