He was right. We’d been dancing around it for six weeks, all of us moving toward the same goal but none of us willing to name it out loud.
“We’ll say them,” Beau said firmly. “When the time’s right. When she’s ready to hear them.”
Another sound from upstairs. This one clearer, more urgent. Need and distress tangled together in a way that made my alpha respond immediately.
She needed us.
“That’s our cue,” Beau said quietly.
We moved as a unit, climbing the stairs to the master bedroom. I could feel the tension in all of us, the awareness that whatever happened in the next few minutes would determine everything that came after.
I knocked on the door, gentle despite the alpha in me roaring to just go to her, claim her, prove she was ours.
“Sable? We’re here if you need us.”
Silence. Long enough that I started to wonder if she’d changed her mind, if she was going to try to ride out the heat alone after all.
Then, so quietly I almost didn’t hear it, “Come in.”
I opened the door slowly, giving her time to change her mind if she wanted to.
The master bedroom was thick with her scent, overwhelming and perfect and so strong it made my vision blur slightly. Cedar smoke and autumn rain and underneath it, the rich warmth of compatible omega in heat.
She’d built a nest on the bed using my blankets and pillows, some instinct taking over despite her trying to maintain control. It was beautifully constructed, the kind of nest that spoke to deep biology rather than conscious thought. Pillowsarranged for support, blankets layered for warmth and security, everything positioned to create a safe space in the center.
And in the middle of it, Sable.
Her short black curls were disheveled, damp with sweat. The borrowed shirt she was wearing was twisted, showing glimpses of skin that made my alpha growl with want. Her dark amber eyes were bright with heat and need, pupils blown wide.
She looked terrified and determined at the same time.
“I don’t want to do this alone,” she said, and her voice was shaking. “But I don’t know how to do it with you. I don’t know how to be vulnerable without it destroying me.”
I moved into the room slowly, Beau and Silas following behind me. We kept our distance, giving her space, letting her adjust to our presence in her nest.
In her sanctuary.
In the space where she was most vulnerable.
“Then we’ll figure it out together,” I said, keeping my voice low and calm. Non-threatening. Supportive rather than commanding. “Whatever you need, whatever pace works for you. We’re here.”
“I’m scared,” she whispered.
The admission hit me hard. Sable didn’t admit fear easily. Didn’t show vulnerability unless she absolutely had to. For her to say it out loud meant she was at her limit.
“So am I,” I admitted, the words coming easier than I expected. “I’m scared I’ll fail you like I failed my team. That I’ll make the wrong call and you’ll pay for it. That I’ll let you down when it matters most.”
“Dane...”
“But I’m more scared of walking away and wondering what we could have been. More scared of letting guilt keep me alone forever. More scared of losing this chance because I’m too afraid to try.”
Silas moved closer, sitting carefully on the edge of the bed near the nest. Not in it, not invading her space, but close enough to touch if she wanted.
“I’m scared my sensitivity will overwhelm you,” he said quietly. “That you’ll get tired of someone who feels everything so intensely. That you’ll realize I’m not the easygoing joker I pretend to be and you’ll want someone simpler.”
“But I’m here anyway,” he continued. “Because you’re worth the risk. Because being seen is terrifying and addictive at the same time. Because I’d rather take the chance and possibly fail than walk away and definitely lose you.”
Beau was last, kneeling beside the nest so he was looking up at her instead of down. Submissive positioning, deliberately chosen to show he wasn’t trying to dominate or control.
