We wait until Levi’s knot finally starts to ease before carefully shifting her onto her side. She makes a soft contented sound, curling instinctively toward the warmth of the pillows.
I grab a clean towel from the dresser and gently wipe her chest and stomach, careful not to wake her. Levi moves to help, his touch surprisingly tender for a man who just knotted her twice.
Beau disappears into the bathroom for a minute and comes back with a damp cloth, passing it to me so I can clean between her thighs. The slick’s still there, warm and plentiful, but I take my time, making sure she’s comfortable before I tuck the blanket over her hips.
When she’s clean, Beau starts rummaging through the drawers until he finds a wide-toothed comb. He sits on the edge of the bed and begins working through her hair slowly, untangling damp strands with careful fingers.
The sight of him—big, broad-shouldered Beau—combing her hair like it’s the most natural thing in the world makes something twist in my chest.
Levi leans back against the headboard, his hair damp with sweat, his chest still rising and falling a little fast.
“Not to state the obvious,” he says, “but I knotted her twice.”
I glance at him. “Yeah, I noticed.”
Beau’s eyebrows lift. “How’s that even possible?”
“It’s rare,” I say, settling into my role as the one with answers. “Usually, the refractory period for an Alpha knot is long enough to prevent that. But adrenaline, high pheromone saturation, and the fact that you’re both in heat response? It can override the usual recovery window. Think of it like… an instinct override.”
Levi snorts faintly. “Instinct override. Sure. Feels about right.”
We’re quiet for a minute, the only sounds her slow breathing and the faint drag of the comb through her hair. I rest the back of my hand against her forehead. There’s still heat there, the kind that’s not just from exertion.
“She’s still running a bit of a fever,” I murmur. “I’ve got something at the clinic that could help bring it down without messing with her cycle.” I pull my phone out to check the time. “I can be back in twenty minutes. It’s almost midnight, so there’ll be no delays.”
Levi sits forward, rubbing his jaw. “B&B might still be open tonight. If it is, I can swing by and grab dinner for us all while you’re at the clinic. I would need to get my car from the Smokehouse, though.”
B&B, or Blade and Butter, is the gastropub-bakery fusion everyone in Fox Hollow swears by. Late-night menu, heavy on comfort food. Precisely the kind of thing she’ll need when she wakes.
I nod. “That works. Beau, you stay with her. If she stirs or starts showing signs of fever spiking, call me immediately.”
Beau’s gaze softens in a way I don’t think he notices. “She won’t be alone.”
We stand, creeping around the room so we don’t wake her. Levi’s the first to lean in, brushing a kiss to her forehead. “Sleep, sweetheart,” he murmurs, almost too soft to hear.
Beau follows, his big hand cupping her cheek as he presses his lips gently to her temple.
I’m last. I sit on the edge of the bed for a moment, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest. Then I bend, letting my lips rest against her hairline.
“You’re safe,” I whisper.
She doesn’t stir.
We quietly dress and leave the room with the door half-closed, the lamplight spilling just enough to keep it from being dark. The scent of her heat still lingers in the air, clinging to us like a second skin.
As we step out into the hall, I’m already running through the list of things I’ll grab from the clinic—fever reducer, electrolyte powder, and a small portable fan.
And in the back of my mind, a quieter thought: that when we come back, she’ll still be there, curled up and warm, waiting for us.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Beau
She’s warm against me,her back pressed to my chest, the blanket loose enough that I can see the faint trail of freckles scattered over her shoulders. I start counting them without meaning to—one, two, three, all the way down the curve of her spine until they disappear under the sheet.
Her skin’s the smoothest I’ve ever touched. Not just soft, but silken, like anything rougher than my fingertips might leave a mark. I press my lips to the back of her shoulder, then a little lower, tasting the faint salt of sweat and the ghost of our scent still clinging to her.
She stirs at the touch, a slight sound leaving her throat as she shifts in my arms. Then she turns toward me, curling into my chest like its instinct.
