Her house is small. Really small. Consisting of only a living room and a dine-in kitchen and two doors. One most likely leads to the bathroom and the other to Ren’s bedroom.
Thayer steps through one, the interior is dark and I can’t see much, but the smell. God the fuckingsmell. If I thought themain room smelled like heaven, the bedroom smells like fucking ambrosia. The best thing in the entire world, and that’s with the unpleasant tang of Ren’s sickness.
What will it be like when she’s healthy? I think somewhat dazedly as we all crowd around the bed and the tiny form in the middle of it. I can barely make her out in the dim light, but I can see that she’s restless, legs and arms moving like she can’t get comfortable.
My heart’s in my throat as Forsythe reaches out one trembling hand and traces the line of her nose, brushes his fingers over her forehead, cups her cheek. With a soft sigh she turns her face into his palm, and her restless movements settle.
“She’s burning up,” he mutters, his worry plain in his voice. “We need to bring her temperature down.”
“Yeah, we’ve been trying,” Haven says from the doorway. “Nothing seems to help. But I think if you’re near, if you touch her… The doctor said that would help. So maybe just cuddle her?”
I’m kicking off my shoes before she’s even finished. My shirt joins them on the floor, and I’m considering shucking my pants, when Piers slides under the blankets and pulls her into his body, her back to his front.
I don’t waste time sliding into the other side, before anyone else can, pressing close to her feverish body and wrapping her up in my arms. She lets out another sigh and rubs her face against my chest with a little mewling sound that goes straight to my heart.
“We’ll take it in shifts,” Forsythe says, not taking his eyes off our omega. “Give each of us a chance to hold her, yeah? To help her feel better.”
Grieves perches on the edge of the bed by my hips, reaching over me to grab her hand. Thayer does the same on Piers’ side, finding a small patch of her skin to caress.
“Okay,” Haven says softly. “It looks like you all have this well in hand. Let us know if you need anything. We’ll just be at the big house. If her condition worsens…”
“We’ll let you know,” our prime tells her, moving to the foot of the bed and taking up a post there, his hand sliding onto Pixie’s ankle through the blanket. “But I think she’s going to be okay now.”
I think so too. Already her breathing is easier, deeper, and her skin doesn’t feel quite so hot. My lips press into the top of her head and stay there, my nose buried in her hair, breathing her in as her scent settles.
The door to the bedroom closes followed by the one that leads outside. We don’t say anything. There’s nothing to say. Not right now. Not with our mate’s scent thick in the air. Not when she’s finally resting in the way her body needs.
We’re here now, Pixie,I think to her.We’re here and we’re not letting you go.
Episode 11: Some Day My Pack Will Come
Florence
I wake up to a hard body pressed against mine, skin on skin, my back to their chiseled front, one arm stretched out under my head, the other wrapped around my waist. There’s someone in front of me too, one thick thigh between my legs, a hand on my hip. Breath puffing on me from both directions and the sweetest fucking scent invading my lungs. Fresh cut grass and spiced cranberries.
I must be dreaming. Because the last thing I remember is feeling woozy and light-headed, then nausea like I’ve never felt before… and nothing else.
So this… waking up between two men who smell like home, like mine, it has to be a fever dream. It can’t possibly be real. They made it clear I wasn’t good enough for them. That they didn’t want me.
You are not our omega.
The words still sting.
The memory hurts. More now that I know I am, in fact, their mate. But I will never be their omega.
“Sunshine.” A shuddering, teary breath pushes from my lungs at the whisper. The body in front of me shifts closer. The hand on my hip tightens. And then lips meet my closed eyelids in a gentle kiss. “Ren, little bird,” he murmurs against my skin. “Don’t cry.”
“Impossible,” I croak out.
The arm around my waist tightens, tugging me back as a face nuzzles into my hair. “We’ve got you, Pix.”
But they don’t. They won’t.
I press my hands into Piers' chest and push him back, peering up at him and his soft eyes that I missed so much. “What are you doing here?”
“You collapsed on television,cor mea.”
The deep voice has me lifting my head and searching the dark room. And there at the foot of my bed standing with his arms crossed is the Prince of Bravonne. I give him a tight smile. “Too much excitement.” I shift, brushing Courtland’s hands off me, wiggling until I’m sitting up in bed. “I’m fine now. You can go.”