32. Theo
Theo
I wake too warm again, the heat caught beneath my skin until the blanket feels heavier than it did when I fell asleep. I stay still for a few breaths and listen to the house settling around me: the refrigerator humming beyond the wall, the heater clicking, someone turning a page in another room.
Callie’s place beside me is empty, though the sheets still hold her warmth.
Her scent clings to the pillow and the cardigan folded near the edge of the nest, honeyed pear and vanilla tea softened by sleep, and my chest tightens before I remind myself that she’s still inside the house.
I can smell her down the hallway beneath coffee, sandalwood, and the faint dry scent of paper.
I press my palm into the hollow she left and wait for the panic that used to arrive before thought. It doesn’t come. I miss her warmth and want her close, but the empty place beside me doesn’t feel like proof she has disappeared.
The air catches against my damp skin when I push the blanket away.
A shiver moves over my arms even though the rest of me feels overheated, and my scent has gone sweet enough that cardamom burns at the back of my throat beneath the peach blossom.
The spikes have been coming closer since Sunday, though none of them has opened into the deep, consuming pull of my heat.
I told Sloane and Idris this morning while they were making breakfast. Sloane watched me too closely until Idris asked what the warmth felt like, giving me room to describe it before either of them decided what my body meant.
I told them I felt as though I kept tipping toward heat and catching myself before the fall, and they believed me.
The ache remains. My body wants touch, and Callie is somewhere close enough to hold. I pull on the soft pants Sloane left near the chair and leave Callie’s cardigan where she folded it after letting me borrow it for the evening.
I asked before taking it, and she kissed my cheek before telling me I could keep it until morning.
The cardigan is still waiting where she left it, visible instead of buried beneath the blankets, and the sight gives me a small pulse of pride.
I don’t need to steal pieces of her to make sure they remain mine.
The hallway is dim, and the living-room lamp throws a warm circle across the floorboards. I follow Callie’s scent toward it, moving quietly because the house has finally settled and I don’t want to disturb anyone who has managed to rest.
Dash is in the wide chair near the window with Callie asleep against him.
She’s curled into his chest beneath a blanket, one leg folded under her while the other rests across his thighs.
Her cheek lies near his collarbone, and one hand is loosely fisted in his shirt while his palm rests against her lower back beneath the edge of her cardigan.
The book in his other hand has fallen closed against the arm of the chair. His mouth is near her hair, as though he kissed her temple and stayed there, and her body is loose with the trust that only comes when she has stopped counting doors.
The room smells right with him holding her.
I stand in the doorway longer than I mean to, watching Callie’s slow breathing against his chest. Dash notices me and begins to shift, his hand lifting from her back as though making room still means removing himself.
“Don’t move,” I say, keeping my voice low enough that Callie only stirs against him. I cross the room and look at the empty place his hand left. “She smells settled.”
Dash glances down at her before returning his palm to the small of her back. The movement is careful, though it’s also familiar enough to tell me his body knows exactly where she wants him.
“I wasn’t trying to take her from you,” he says. His voice barely carries beyond the chair, and his attention stays on my face while he waits for the answer.
“I know.” I lower myself beside them until my knee touches the blanket over Callie’s legs. “You keep leaving after you come close.”
His expression shifts, though he doesn’t argue immediately. I reach for Callie’s free hand and slide my fingers between hers, pressing her knuckles against my cheek because her skin is cooler than mine.
Callie makes a sleepy sound and settles deeper into Dash. His hand spreads across her back on instinct, holding her steady until her breathing smooths again. He knows how to keep her comfortable, yet he still treats every invitation as though it has an ending he needs to decide for her.
“You come into the nest now,” I say, rubbing my thumb over Callie’s fingers. “You stay while everyone settles, then you leave before you fall asleep. Callie makes room beside her, and you keep choosing the edge.”
Dash looks down at Callie’s hand tangled with mine. “She has a lot of people reaching for her. Entering when she asks is one thing. Assuming I should still be there when she wakes is another.”
“She asks you to stay.” I kiss Callie’s knuckles, needing the contact while the warmth moves under my skin. “You keep deciding she only meant for a little while.”
His thumb moves once against her back. The tension in his jaw tells me he hears the difference, though he still looks toward the hallway as though distance is the safest gift he can offer.
“I’m trying to keep her from feeling crowded,” he says. “Every room changed when the rest of you arrived. I don’t want her to wake up and realize there’s nowhere left that belongs only to her.”
“You make her feel wanted, then leave before she can keep it.” My fingers tighten around hers before I make myself loosen them. “She notices when you’re gone.”
Dash breathes out slowly, his chest moving beneath Callie’s cheek. “I notice when she looks for Sloane after he leaves the room. I notice when she leans toward Idris before he touches her. I know she wants all of you close.”
“She wants you too.” The answer comes easily because Callie’s body says it every time Dash touches her. “She sleeps deeper when you stay.”
The warmth inside me swells while I speak, rolling through my belly before climbing into my chest. My skin prickles, and the sweetness of my scent thickens until Dash’s attention shifts fully toward me.
“You’re warmer than you were earlier,” he says, studying my face with the quiet Alpha focus that makes my pulse jump. His hand remains on Callie, and the sight of it helps me breathe through the rise. “Did you tell Sloane and Idris?”
“I told them this morning.” I rest my cheek against Callie’s hand and close my eyes for a moment. “It doesn’t feel like my heat. I keep leaning toward it, then the feeling settles again.”
Dash takes in the damp hair at my temples and the way my shirt clings to my chest. He gives me enough time to understand the sensation before reaching toward me, which makes it easier to stay where I am.
“An Omega’s body can spike hardest while a pack is changing shape,” he says. “The pull brings everyone closer and helps the body understand where each person belongs.”
The word belong presses against an old wound.
Garrett treated my heat as though it should determine every choice in the house, and everyone’s fear made Callie disappear from rooms while they told themselves they were caring for me.
I remember being made into the reason she had less space and less voice, and the warmth beneath my skin turns cold at the edges.
“I don’t want to be the center,” I whisper. My throat tightens, though I keep looking at Callie asleep against him. “Callie is the center. I just want to be loved.”
Dash watches me without rushing to answer. His free hand moves slowly from the chair and pauses beside my shoulder, giving me time before his knuckles brush my sleeve.
“Two things can be true at once,” he says. “Your body can need everyone focused on you during a spike, and Callie can still be the heart of the pack. Your need doesn’t take love away from her.”
The pressure behind my eyes comes too quickly. I lower my face toward Callie’s hand, and Dash lets the tears happen without naming them or turning the silence into another question. One of his hands remains steady on Callie while the other waits beside my shoulder.
I lean into him.
His knuckles touch my upper arm first, then his palm settles there with careful weight. The touch is different from Sloane’s immediate pull or Idris' grounding grip. Dash offers the contact and leaves me free to decide how much of it I use, so I let my shoulder rest more firmly against his hand.
“She’s mine,” I say once my breathing evens out. The words carry no challenge. They are simply the truth my body has known since the first time Callie touched my hair and made the room feel quieter.
Dash doesn’t correct me or smile as though my claim is childish. He waits with his hand still on my arm, giving me enough space to finish.
I look at him across Callie’s sleeping body. “She’s yours too.”
Something moves across his face before he lowers his eyes. His hand flexes against my sleeve, and his other arm tightens around Callie by the smallest amount.
“Then I should stop treating every invitation like it expires when she falls asleep,” he says. His voice is rougher now, and the admission seems to cost him. “I’m still learning how to stay without turning the room into something I control.”
“You should stay when she reaches for you.” I shift closer until my shoulder rests against the side of the chair. “You should stay when I want you there too.”
Dash looks at me for a long moment, and the warmth under my skin softens beneath his attention. “Do you want me there because Callie does?”
“I want you there because the nest smells wrong when you leave.” I keep Callie’s hand against my cheek while I answer. “I want you close to her, and I want you close when my body is warm. I don’t want you acting like loving her makes you dangerous.”
Dash nods slowly. His thumb moves once over my sleeve, and I close my eyes while the three of us sit inside the quiet.
Callie wakes gradually, her fingers tightening around mine before her eyes open. She blinks up at Dash, then turns her head enough to find me beside the chair.
“You two okay?” she murmurs. Her voice is thick with sleep, and her thumb brushes the side of my hand as though she has already decided the answer matters.
“Dash is staying in the nest tonight,” I tell her. Warmth spreads through my chest again when I say it aloud. “He’s going to stop deciding your invitation ends before morning.”
Callie’s sleepy smile appears slowly. She tips her face back into Dash’s chest, her eyes already drifting closed again.
“Good,” she says. “It smells better with him there.”
Dash goes still beneath her, and I watch the words settle into the guarded line of his mouth and the careful set of his shoulders. He bends his head and presses a lingering kiss into Callie’s hair, remaining there until her breathing evens out again.
The warmth in me rises once more, strong enough that I move closer and press my face against Callie’s knee. Dash notices immediately, his hand sliding from my arm to the back of my shoulder.
“Do you need me to get them?” he asks. “Sloane and Idris are still in the office.”
“Not yet.” I breathe through the spike while Callie’s hand remains against my cheek. “They know where I am. I need an Alpha close, and you’re already here.”
Dash’s palm stays warm and steady against my shoulder. “Then I’ll stay until you decide the room needs to change.”
Callie shifts again, opening her eyes only long enough to tug weakly at my sleeve.
I rise and let Dash help guide her from the chair, his arm supporting her while she stays half asleep against his chest. We move down the hall together, my hand in hers and Dash carrying most of her weight without acting as though the choice makes her helpless.
The nest is still warm when we reach it. Dash lowers Callie onto the blankets, then pauses at the edge with the old hesitation moving through his body. I pull back the blanket beside her and wait until he looks at me.
“Stay,” I say, and Callie reaches toward him before the word has fully left my mouth.
Dash hesitates another moment before climbing in beside her. Callie settles against his chest while I curl into the space against her back, one hand linked with hers beneath the blanket.