And the smell... God, the smell.
Something savory and rich wafted from the kitchen, making my stomach growl audibly. Herbs and garlic and slow-cooked meat, the kind of aroma that wrapped around you like a hug. Underneath it was the pack's combined scent, all woven together into something that smelled like belonging.
"Garrett made soup," Levi said, guiding me to the couch with a hand on my lower back. The cushions sank beneath me, soft and welcoming, and I let myself relax into them. "His grandmother's recipe. He's been in the kitchen for hours."
"It's just soup," Garrett muttered, but his ears were pink, the flush creeping down his neck. He'd shoved his hands in his pockets, his massive shoulders hunched slightly, looking for all the world like a schoolboy caught doing something embarrassing.
"It's been simmering since six this morning," Micah corrected, settling into the armchair across from me. His posturewas perfect as always, but there was a softness in his expression I rarely saw. "He set an alarm."
The image of big, gruff Garrett waking up at dawn to make me soup—setting an alarm, stumbling through the dark kitchen, carefully measuring ingredients—was so unexpectedly sweet that I felt tears spill over onto my cheeks. Stupid. I was being stupid and emotional, probably still recovering from the trauma and the medication and everything else.
But I couldn't help it. These men, these incredible men, had built me a greenhouse and held my hand through nightmares and made me grandmother's soup recipes because they wanted to take care of me. Because they loved me.
"Thank you," I managed, my voice thick and watery. "All of you. For everything."
"You don't have to thank us," Oliver said, settling onto the couch beside me. He was close enough that I could feel the heat of his body. His hand found my knee, warm and grounding through the soft fabric of my pants. "You're pack. Taking care of you is what we do." The word wrapped around me like a blanket, warm and safe and exactly what I needed.
"I meant what I said," I told them, looking at each of them in turn. Garrett by the kitchen doorway, arms crossed but eyes soft. Levi perched on the arm of the couch, practically vibrating with barely contained energy. Micah in his armchair, watching me with that quiet intensity. Oliver beside me, solid and steady as always. "In the hospital. About wanting to be mated. Marked. I wasn't just saying it because I was scared or traumatized. I meant it."
"We know," Oliver said gently. His thumb traced small circles on my knee, soothing and grounding. "And when you're ready?—"
"I'm ready now." The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. Oliver's eyebrows rose, his hand stilling on my knee.Garrett went very still, his arms dropping to his sides, his dark eyes fixed on me with an intensity that made my breath catch. Levi made a small, choked sound, his hand flying to his chest like I'd physically struck him. Micah's composure flickered, his careful mask slipping to reveal something raw and hungry beneath.
"Daphne," Oliver said carefully, his voice strained, "you just got out of the hospital. Your body has been through significant trauma. Maybe we should wait?—"
"I don't want to wait." I sat up straighter, ignoring the way my muscles protested, the dull ache in my ribs where I'd hit the floor. "I've been waiting my whole life, Oliver. Waiting to feel safe. Waiting to feel wanted. Waiting to feel like I belonged somewhere. And then I almost died, and all I could think about was everything I'd never get to have because I was too scared to reach for it."
I looked down at my hands, at the healing cut across my palm, pink and puckered, a reminder of shattered glass and desperate struggle. At the fading bruises on my wrists, yellow-green now instead of purple, the ghost of Trinity's grip.
"Trinity took so much from me. My sense of safety. My peace of mind. Three days of my life stuck in a hospital bed." My jaw tightened, something fierce rising in my chest. "I'm not going to let her take this too. I'm not going to let her make me wait even longer for something I want more than I've ever wanted anything."
The silence stretched, thick and charged. I could hear the clock ticking on the mantle, the distant bubble of soup on the stove, the sound of my own heartbeat pounding in my ears. Then Garrett crossed the room in three long strides and knelt in front of me. He looked almost reverent like this, on his knees, his dark eyes level with mine. The afternoon light caught the silver threading through his dark hair, illuminated the strong line ofhis jaw, the fullness of his lips. His hands found mine, rough and calloused, engulfing my smaller fingers completely.
"You're sure?" he asked, his voice low and rough, like gravel wrapped in velvet. "Because once we do this, there's no going back. You'll be ours forever."
"I know." I squeezed his hands, feeling the strength in them, the barely restrained power. "That's what I want. Forever."
"Then you'll have it." He pressed a kiss to my knuckles, his lips warm and soft against my skin, and the tenderness of the gesture made my heart stutter. "All of it. All of us."
"We should wait at least until tonight," Micah said. He'd risen from his chair, moving closer, his dark eyes tracking over me with clinical assessment even as something hungrier lurked beneath. "Give your body a few more hours to recover. Make sure you eat something, rest a little."
"Tonight," I agreed. It was a compromise I could live with. A few more hours to gather my strength, to prepare myself for what was to come. "Tonight, you'll make me yours."
Levi let out a whoop that made everyone jump, then immediately looked sheepish, his cheeks flushing pink. "Sorry. I'm just... this is really happening? You're really going to let us...?"
"I'm really going to let you," I confirmed, smiling despite everything. Despite the fear and the trauma and the lingering ache in my body. "I'm really going to be yours."
The rest of the afternoon passed in a warm haze of comfort and care. Garrett's soup was incredible—a rich beef and vegetable stew that had clearly been simmering for hours, the meat falling apart at the touch of my spoon, the broth deep and complex with layers of herbs I couldn't quite identify. Rosemary, definitely. Thyme. Something earthy and warm that coated my tongue and settled into my stomach like a hug. I ate two bowls,then a third when Garrett silently ladled more into my dish, his expression gruff but pleased.
After eating, I curled up on the couch with my head in Levi's lap while he played with my hair. His fingers were gentle, carding through the strands, occasionally rubbing small circles against my scalp that made me melt into the cushions. The afternoon sun slanted through the windows, painting warm stripes across the hardwood floor, and the fire Garrett had built crackled softly in the hearth, filling the room with the scent of woodsmoke and warmth.
Oliver sat at my feet, reading something on his tablet, his free hand absently stroking my ankle. Micah had disappeared into the kitchen at some point and returned with tea, chamomile and honey, perfectly sweetened, served in a ceramic mug that warmed my palms. Garrett had settled into the armchair nearest the fire, ostensibly reading, but every time I glanced over, his eyes were on me.
I dozed, drifting in and out of consciousness, surrounded by the sounds and scents of my pack. Safe. Warm. Home.
But as evening approached, something began to shift. At first, I thought it was just anticipation—nerves about what was to come, excitement about finally taking this step. Butterflies in my stomach, a pleasant flutter of want. But the feeling grew, intensified, became something I couldn't ignore.
Heat.
