"Gumbo," I breathed, reaching one hand toward him.
Gumbo's head swiveled toward us, his ancient yellow eyes fixing on me with an intensity that made Harper pause in the doorway. The big gator's tail thumped once against the couch cushions—a greeting—before his gaze shifted to Harper, then to Silas who had followed us out of the bedroom.
The sound that came from Gumbo's throat was something between a rumble and a hiss. Judging. Assessing. Making sure these Alphas had taken proper care of his omega.
"He's deciding if he needs to eat us," Harper observed calmly, not moving an inch, his arms still secure around me.
"Probably," I agreed. "Did you feed him while I was... indisposed?"
"Silas handled it," Harper said, a hint of amusement creeping into his voice. "Threw whole chickens from across the room. Very dignified."
"He only tried to take my hand off twice," Silas said dryly, appearing in the doorway behind us with his arms crossed over his bare chest, his pale eyes narrowing at the memory.
Gumbo rumbled again, apparently satisfied with whatever verdict he'd reached, and settled his massive head back down on the couch cushions. His eyes stayed open, though, tracking our movement as Harper carried me toward the bathroom.
"He's going to want his spot back," I said, my fingers trailing absently over Harper's shoulder. "In the nest. He's been guarding from outside, but he'll want to be close now that it's over."
"We'll figure it out," Harper said, shouldering open the bathroom door with practiced ease and setting me carefully on the closed toilet lid. He kept one hand on my shoulder to steady me while he reached for the tub faucet with the other. "Right now, you need to get clean and eat and sleep. Not necessarily in that order."
The sound of running water filled the small space, steam beginning to curl in the air. Harper tested the temperature with his hand, adjusted the knobs, tested again. The careful attention made my heart squeeze.
"You're going to spoil me," I murmured.
"That's the plan," he said, turning to look at me, and the expression on his face stole my breath—soft and fierce and devoted all at once, gray eyes shining with emotion he rarely let show. "You gave us something precious, Artemis. Your heat. Your trust. Let us give you this."
"Remy's making soup," Silas said, appearing in the doorway and leaning against the frame with his arms crossed, watching the exchange with those pale, intense eyes that seemed to see straight through me. "Said to tell you it's his grandmother's recipe and if you don't eat every bite, he'll be 'devastated beyond repair.'"
I laughed again, stronger this time, the sound bouncing off the bathroom tiles. "Emotional manipulation via soup. That's very on brand for him."
"He's a man of many talents," Silas said, his lips quirking at the corner, the closest thing to a full smile I'd seen from him. "None of them subtle."
The tub filled slowly, Harper adding some kind of oil that made the water shimmer and smell like lavender. When it was ready, he lifted me again—ignoring my half-hearted protest—and lowered me gently into the warm water.
The moan that escaped me was borderline obscene.
"Good?" Harper asked, kneeling beside the tub, one hand trailing through the water near my shoulder, his gray eyes warm with satisfaction at my reaction.
"So good," I breathed, sinking deeper until the water lapped at my chin. Every aching muscle seemed to unclench at once, the warmth seeping into my bones. "God, that's... yeah. That's exactly what I needed."
Harper reached for a washcloth, dipping it in the water before bringing it to my shoulder, wiping away the evidence of the past three days with gentle, careful strokes. There wasnothing sexual about it—just comfort, just care—and I found myself tearing up at the tenderness of the gesture.
"Hey," he said softly, his free hand coming up to cup my cheek, thumb brushing away a tear I hadn't realized had fallen. His brow furrowed with concern. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing." I shook my head, more tears spilling over. "Nothing's wrong. Everything's right. That's why I'm crying. Because this is... you're... all of you are..."
I couldn't finish. The emotions were too big, too overwhelming, and my post-heat brain couldn't find the words to contain them. Harper didn't push. He just kept washing me, gentle and thorough, occasionally crooning low in his throat when I got too overwhelmed. Silas came to sit on the floor beside the tub at some point, his hand finding mine and holding it while Harper worked.
By the time I was clean, I was half-asleep in the water, only rousing when Harper lifted me out and wrapped me in the biggest, softest towel I'd ever felt.
"Remy's going to lose his mind if that soup gets cold," Silas observed, his voice dry but his hand gentle as he steadied me.
"Then let's not keep him waiting," Harper said, carrying me back to the bedroom, where someone—probably Silas—had stripped the ruined sheets and replaced them with fresh ones. The nest had been rebuilt, still messy but cleaner, and there was a tray of food waiting on the nightstand. Remy was sitting on the edge of the bed, a bowl of soup in his hands, looking anxious in a way that was almost comical on the usually confident Alpha. His knee bounced nervously, his amber eyes darting between me and the soup.
"I wasn't sure what you'd want," he said, offering me the bowl as Harper settled me against the pillows, his voice uncharacteristically uncertain. "But this always made me feelbetter when I was sick as a kid. Chicken and rice, nothing too heavy. There's bread too, if you want?—"
"Remy." I took the bowl from him, curling my hands around its warmth, letting him see the gratitude in my eyes. "It's perfect. Thank you."
"Yeah?" he asked, his whole face lighting up, that bright grin making an appearance despite his exhaustion, relief washing visibly over his features.
