Alarik.
Awareness returned in slow waves, peeling away the remnants of sleep. She lay curled against him, her back tucked into the cradle of his chest, one arm draped heavily over her waist, holding her close. The steady rise and fall of his breath brushed against her nape, warm and even, each exhale a quiet reassurance.
Her fingers curled against the sheets, uncertainty warring with something softer—an emotion settling deep in her bones, quiet and unnamed.
She should move, pull away.
But she didn’t want to.
The events of the earlier hours returned in fragments—the unbearableheatwaves, the fever in her blood, the aching need that had nearly consumed her whole.
And then,them—Kaelen and Alarik. The way they’d come to her, held her, soothed her through the worst of it. The way they had touched her—not to stake a claim, but to comfort. Toease.
Her cheeks burned as her body stirred with the memory. The heat lingered, but it was different now—no longer desperate, no longer overwhelming. She felt it in her heart, no longer in her blood.
She shifted slightly, the movement drawing a soft, unconscious sound from Alarik—the quiet, satisfied male rumble that sent a thrill through her. His grip tightened, fingers splaying over her stomach, as if he refused to let go, even in sleep.
Her heart did a little flip.
She’d never been held like this before. Not as an Omega. Not as a woman.
Not asherself.
She hadn’t expected Alarik to be the one giving her this first experience. Kaelen had always been bold, unafraid to chase what he wanted, but Alarik was . . . different.
He was watchful, careful, distant in ways she hadn’t always understood.
Yet now, he held her as if it were the most natural thing in the world—like they’d woken up this way every day for years, his presence a shield around her.
She scanned the dimly lit chamber, noting the soft glow of lanterns painting the carved wooden walls in golden light. The faint scent of chamomile still lingered in the air, mingling with the lingering traces of her own Heat.
Exhaling slowly, she let her body melt just a little more, fingers brushing lightly over the thick arm resting against her waist. His hand was warm, calloused from years of wielding a bow, rough in contrast to the silk pooling around them.
“You’re awake,” he said.
She jolted.
His voice was husky, rough with sleep. It sent warmth curling through her.
She hesitated, the words tangling before they could form. Alarik shifted behind her, his arm retracting as though realizing where it was. But instead of fully pulling away, he remained close, letting her keep his warmth.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
She licked her lower lip, pressing a hand lightly to her stomach. The fevered haze was gone, and while the remnants still hummed beneath her skin, it wasn’t unbearable.
“Better,” she admitted.
Turning slightly, she shifted just enough to glance up at him. Lambent golden eyes met hers, unreadable in the dim light, but there was something there—a quiet watchfulness, a restraint that had always been present but now carried an added dimension.
She searched his face, the hard angles softened by sleep, the faint crease in his brow that never quite disappeared—the one she itched to smooth away with her fingertips.
She wanted to ask:‘What are you thinking?’
Instead, she said, “You stayed.”
He blinked. “I did.”
Reiya wet her lower lip. Unlike Kaelen, Alarik didn’t wield words easily. He wasn’t effortless in his affections, nor did he offer them often. But when he did, it was without embellishment—simple, unwavering, and real.
