I let it come. Let it pour out of me, weaving through my words as I stroked his hair, my nails scratching gently against his scalp. "They would want you to live. Not just survive—live. Have a pack. Have a home. Be happy."
His arms tightened around me, holding on like I was the only solid thing in a world that kept trying to pull him under. I could feel his heart pounding against my chest, fast and irregular, gradually steadying as the croon worked its way into his hindbrain.
"The animals." He finally managed, the words muffled against my skin, his arms still locked tight around me. "That's why I work with them. They don't judge. Don't look at me like I'm broken. Don't expect me to be something I'm not anymore."
"You're not broken." I said it fiercely, my arms tightening around him. "You're scarred. There's a difference."
He pulled back just enough to look at me—this man who'd survived hell and somehow found his way to my doorstep. "How do you do it?" The question came out raw, his pale eyes searching mine. "How do you keep going?"
"Spite, mostly." I let my lips quirk into a half-smile. "And stubbornness. And the fact that giving up would mean letting the bastards win." A sound scraped out of his throat that might have been a laugh. Or another sob. Hard to tell.
"Marguerite used to say that grief is just love with nowhere to go." I reached up, tracing the line of his jaw where dark stubblehad grown in rough. "You loved them. Your unit. That's why it hurts so much. That's why it'll always hurt."
"Does it ever stop?" The question came out raw, desperate, his pale eyes searching my face for an answer he wasn't sure he wanted.
"No." I wouldn't lie to him, even when the truth hurt. He deserved better than that. "But it gets easier to carry. Especially when you have people to help." He was quiet for a long moment, and I could see him thinking about Harper, about Remy, about me. About this strange, unlikely pack we'd built together. Four broken people who somehow fit together like puzzle pieces.
"Can I—" He stopped, his throat working, his fingers tightening on my arms. "I need to scent you. Please. I need?—"
"Yes." No hesitation, no questions. He needed to ground himself, needed an anchor to hold onto. I understood that better than most.
He buried his face in my neck and breathed, his whole body trembling with the effort of holding himself together. I felt him inhale—deep, shuddering breaths that pulled my scent into his lungs. Then he started to mark me—rubbing his jaw along my throat, my collarbone, the soft skin behind my ear. Hard. Desperate. Like he was trying to anchor himself to me, to this moment, to a reality that wouldn't disappear when he closed his eyes.
I tilted my head back, baring my throat completely. Letting him take what he needed. His stubble scraped against my sensitive skin, rough and grounding, and I felt his scent sinking into me—ozone and river water and cold steel—layering over my own apple cider sweetness until I smelled like him, like us, like pack.
He marked my wrists next, his scarred fingers wrapped around them as he rubbed his jaw over my pulse points. Then my temples, my hairline, the spot behind my ears. By the time hefinished, I was covered in his scent and my skin was flushed and sensitive from the attention.
"Better?" I asked softly, my fingers still carding through his hair, feeling the tension finally ease from his scalp.
"Yeah." The word came out hoarse, his breath warm against my collarbone. "Yeah, I think so."
Gumbo made a sound from his corner—a low rumble that drew both our attention. He uncurled himself from his spot and lumbered over, his massive body moving with that strange grace he had. Nine feet of prehistoric predator, crossing the room like he owned it.
He stopped at the edge of the nest, those yellow eyes fixed on Silas's face. I held my breath, not sure what he was going to do. Gumbo had accepted the Alphas, yes—had even slow-blinked at them, which was huge. But he'd never initiated contact. Never sought them out.
Then Gumbo pressed his snout gently against Silas's arm and held it there.
"Oh." My breath caught, my eyes welling as I watched them. "Oh, Silas. He's never?—"
Never done that. Never offered comfort to anyone but me. In all the years I'd known him, Gumbo had tolerated the other Alphas, had eventually accepted them, but he'd never reached out like this. Never offered comfort unprompted.
Silas sat frozen, barely breathing, while a nine-foot apex predator nuzzled against him like a dog offering comfort to a grieving owner. His hand lifted slowly—so slowly—and came to rest on Gumbo's massive head. Just resting there. Not petting, not moving. Just... connecting.
After a long moment, Gumbo pulled back and slow-blinked at Silas. Then he turned and lumbered back to his corner, settling down with his tail curled around himself like nothing had happened.
"He knows." I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand, my heart full to bursting. "Animals always know."
Silas looked at me—really looked, like he was seeing me for the first time. "Thank you." His voice was rough, stripped bare. "For not... for just being here."
"Always." I leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his forehead, soft and simple, letting all my love pour through the gesture. "You're pack, Silas. You're mine. And I don't let go of what's mine."
Something shifted in his expression. Not healed—that would take time, maybe forever—but lighter. Like he'd set down a weight he'd been carrying alone for too long.
I glanced toward the shelf where Marguerite's tarot cards sat beside Harper's moonshine. "Do you want me to do a reading? Marguerite always said the cards could offer guidance, even when the path was unclear."
He hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah. Okay." I untangled myself from him long enough to grab the worn deck, then settled back into the nest with my legs crossed. He watched as I shuffled, the familiar motion soothing to us both.
"Just one card," I said softly. "For clarity."
