She hesitates.
"Elowen,” I whine, incredibly aware of how pathetic I sound.
"The fever," she says. "And the sensitivity. And the—" She stops, choosing her words carefully. "Thenesting."
The room goes very quiet.
"I'm not nesting," I say.
She looks at the elaborate arrangement of blankets and pillows surrounding me on all sides.
"I'm cold," I say. "And the blankets help."
"You could always put on a shirt," she says, glancing at my bare chest.
“Clothes sound awful,” I say flatly.
“Okay,” she says with a very pleasant smile.
"Don't do that."
"Do what?"
"Agree with me like that."
"I'm not agreeing with you to make you happy," she says, drawing the words out, speaking clearly like she's explaining something very simple to someone very small, "I’m agreeing with you because Iagree with you.” She says slowly. “It makes sense that you don’t want to wear a ton of clothes when you don’t feel good,” she snaps like I started this fight.
Perrin snickers and I frown.
"I thoughtyou were humoring me,” I say, annoyed with both of them.
"I would never." She presses a hand flat against her chest, her expression shifting into something so genuinely wounded that for half a second I almost believe it. Then the look on her face drops. Just like that, the whole performance dissolves, and she fixes me with a look so flat and so pointed that Perrin actually turns around so I can’t see the smile on his face.
"Are you done?" she asks.
“You suck,” I mumble, but Elle has already picked her pen back up and is writing in her notebook. I can't read it from where I'm sitting, so instead I stare at the ceiling and try to figure out why the wordnestinglanded in my chest the way it did.
Like a key finding a lock.
I shake the thought off.
"Cliff and Raff are driving me insane," I say, partly because it's true and partly because I want to talk about something else.
Elowen's mouth curves slightly. "They're worried about you."
"They're climbing the walls," I say. "Perrin said that Raff reorganized the garage yesterday. The whole thing. Every shelf. He color-coded the socket wrenches."
"He color-coded the socket wrenches," she repeats, cocking one brow.
"By size and finish," Perrin says. "Satin, chrome, and black oxide all have their own sections now." He nods like he approves. “It looks nice.”
Elowen presses her lips together, clearly fighting a smile.
"And Cliff," I continue, "has cleaned thekitchen three times. The same kitchen. In two days." I look at her. "I saw him scrubbing the grout on his hands and knees this morning at six a.m. Cliff does not scrub grout. Cliff has never in his life scrubbed grout."
"They need to tend to something," Elowen says, her voice going softer. "When an alpha can't fix a problem, they redirect their energy. It's instinct."
"It's annoying," I say.
