He does it gently, like instinct has taken over where thought would fail him. He wraps the blanket around her shoulders, tucking it in so it covers her bare skin without making her feel trapped.
His hands linger for half a second at her upper arms, thumbs brushing slow circles, before he steps away.
“Okay,” he murmurs. “I’m going to grab something more comfortable.”
He disappears down the hall and comes back a moment later in low-hanging sweats, barefoot. He looks more like himself now, less frantic, but his eyes never leave her.
Ryker exhales and finally seems to remember how to breathe. He heads for the sink, washing his hands with methodical care, as if the repetition might help him sort himself out.
I watch the muscles in his back flex and release, the way his jaw tightens, then eases.
Norah sways slightly where she stands, the blanket slipping at one shoulder. I step in without thinking and guide her onto the couch.
She curls into me immediately, knees drawing up, her head finding the space just under my collarbone like it belongs there.
Her scent is everywhere. Warm. Sweet. Too much and never enough all at once.
Jude crouches in front of her, voice soft but focused. “How are you feeling right now?”
She blinks slowly, processing the question. “Hot,” she admits. “And tired. And… fuzzy.”
“That makes sense,” he replies. “Anything hurting?”
“No.” She shifts closer to me, fingers curling into the fabric of my boxers. “Just a little sore from being knotted.”
I press my palm to her back, broad and warm, letting her feel me there. Ryker turns from the sink and starts pulling ingredients from the fridge.
“I’m making you a sandwich,” he says, tone calm, practical. “Turkey. Cheese. Bread. Any objections?”
She smiles faintly. “You’re very bossy.”
“You’re one to talk, sweetheart. Eat first,” he replies. “Tease later.”
Her smile widens, then softens as she exhales and sinks deeper into my chest. I can feel her heartbeat through her palm when she presses it flat against me.
“I didn’t mean to drag you into this,” she says quietly, the words muffled against my skin.
I lift her hand and press it fully over my heart, fingers folding around hers. “You didn’t drag me anywhere. I’m exactly where I want to be.”
Her eyes lift to mine, glossy but present. “You don’t have to stay.”
“I do,” I say. “I want to.”
Jude straightens and looks between us. “We’re not going anywhere. But we need you to talk to us.”
She nods slowly. “I know I’m in heat.”
Ryker glances over his shoulder, sandwich half assembled. “Thank you for saying it.”
She swallows. “It feels different this time. Louder. Like everything is turned up too high.”
“That happens,” I tell her. “Especially when you’re stressed. Or when your suppressants aren’t doing their job.”
“I forgot to take them,” she admits. “Just once or twice. I was thinking of changing up my prescription. I thought I had a handle on this—I didn’t think it would hit this fast.”
Jude’s expression tightens, but his voice stays gentle. “Okay. That helps us understand.”
Ryker brings the sandwich over and sets it on the coffee table within her reach. “Eat a few bites. We’ll take this one step at a time.”
