I check my phone and wince. “Ten-thirty. AM. Thursday, unless we lost a day.”
Her lips move in a slow smile. “Is it over?”
I kiss her forehead. Her skin’s less heated, but her scent is still strong. There’s far less slick and desperation, though. “I think so. You seem better now, more back to normal.”
She nods sheepishly. “That was… something.”
Grace sits up, completely naked. Clothes became more obstacle than norm somewhere around day two. I should be better about pretending to not notice, but five days of this has rewired my neurons.
She doesn’t cover up, just rubs her eyes. “I need a shower and all the carbs.”
“Zev’s probably on it.” I brace myself and sit up, too. My spine cracks in three places. “Do you think you can walk?”
She looks at me, something soft but defiant in her face. “Only if you help.”
I slide off the bed and offer my hand. She takes it with a surprisingly strong grip.
Zev is stirring a pot of oatmeal in the kitchen. “Connor, Grace. Good morning.”
Fowler is sprawled on the couch in athletic shorts and nothing else. He raises a can of Red Bull in salute. “Welcome back to the land of the living.” His voice is hoarse, as if he’s the one who just survived five days of primal omega heat, not Grace.
“I’m not eating that,” Grace says, pointing at the goop in the pot.
“It’s good for you,” Zev protests.
“I want pancakes,” Grace says. “And hashbrowns. And like a gallon of orange juice.”
I’d heard that omegas are ravenous after heats, but damn.
Zev looks at her for a second, then sets down the spoon. “Okay. But showers first, then we’ll go to breakfast.”
Grace gives a thumbs up, but she leans against me, exhausted. I have never been more honored in my entire life.
Grace makesit down the stairs with only a little help, and by the time we get to the car she’s almost bouncing. Zev drives. At the Waffle King, we take a booth in the corner, with Grace wedged between me and the wall. I study the menu, even though I know I’ll order the exact same thing as always.
Grace leans in and whispers, “Thank you. All of you.”
“Of course,” Zev says. “We weren’t going to let you go through that alone.”
“Even if we’re not”—she gestures with her hands—“you know, actually bonded.”
She can call it whatever she wants, but at this point, Grace and we aredefinitelybonded. There might not be alpha bite marks yet, but that doesn’t negate the bond between us.
“You’re ours,” I say to emphasize my internal point.
She watches me for a second, then changes the subject. “After breakfast, I want to stop at HomeStuff. Is that okay?”
I glance at Zev. “Yeah. Why?”
She smiles a little too innocently. “Well, seems like I need to build my nest.”
There’s a beat where everyone goes quiet. Fowler is the first to recover, grinning like a maniac. “Fuck yes. Nesting trip.”
Yeah. Definitely bonded.But if Grace wants to take the rest of things slowly, then slowly is how we’ll do it.
HomeStuff is a fever dream.I follow Grace as she debates two sets of pillows, both floral, and ends up taking both. Zev handlesthe basket, which fills with fuzzy blankets, candles, and a stuffed bear that looks like it’s been through the washing machine one too many times.
“Why do you need all this?” I ask, genuinely curious.
