Page 42 of A Murderous Omega

“For the nest. Ambiance.” He was completely serious, and goddess, I thought my heart would explode in my chest with love for the man.

“Is that a thing?” I asked, embarrassed at the wonder in my voice.

Emile squeezed my fingers. “Do you want bright lights, so you can see every detail, or twinkling fairy lights to make it cozy?”

“Emile—”

By the time we got home, delivery trucks were already arriving.

I stopped in the doorway and stared.

Bags and boxes covered every surface. Stacks of pillows obscured the couch. The dining table had disappeared under a mountain of throws and blankets.

“Oh my goddess,” I breathed. “This is too much.”

“This is perfect,” Emile corrected, wrapping his arms around me from behind. “It’s all for you, ma belle. All for your nest.”

I turned in his arms, overwhelmed. “I don’t deserve⁠—”

“You deserve everything,” he stated. “And more.”

Conor appeared beside us, his expression soft. “Come on, baby. Let’s get started.”

We hauled everything into the empty room we’d designated as my nest, with a large round mattress in the middle of the floor.

My nest. My first real nest. And enough materials to build something truly spectacular.

“Okay,” I announced, surveying the chaos. “Strip.”

Conor paused mid-step, hopeful. “Baby, I love where this is going⁠—”

“I need you to scent everything before I build the nest.”

His expression shifted from hopeful to delighted. “Oh, even better.”

“Everything?” Emile looked at the mountains of fabric. “This is going to take⁠—”

“Hours,” I confirmed. “I know. But I need every piece to smell like you. Like us.”

“Then hours it is,” Conor said, already pulling his shirt off.

What followed was the most absurd and wonderful afternoon of my life. My alphas threw themselves into scenting with dedication that would have been touching if it wasn’t so absurd.

Emile approached it methodically, working through each item with careful attention. Conor treated it like a game, rolling across the bed with armfuls of fabric.

“More,” I directed, pointing at a pillowcase.

“You’re very exacting,” Emile observed, but he was smiling as he refreshed his scent on it.

“This is important.” I picked up a blanket, inhaling deeply.

When everything was thoroughly scented—smelling of peppermint and chocolate and salt and sea—I shooed them both out. “I need to build now. Alone.”

“You’re kicking us out?” Conor asked.

“It’s instinct. I can’t—” I struggled to explain, hating the disappointment on his face, but unable to fight the instincts that drove me to need solitude. “I need to do this part myself.”

Understanding flooded the bond, and they each kissed me on the forehead before filing out.