Page 133 of Run Wild Omega

“What do you need?” I ask, crouching in front of her.

“I don’t know,” she whispers. “I don’t know what I need. Everything hurts and nothing helps and I’m so…”

She trails off, pressing her forehead to her knees. A shudder runs through her, and the scent intensifies, fresh and thick, and my vision grays at the edges.

“Hey,” I say, my hand hovering near her shoulder without touching. “I need you to listen to me. We built you a nest in the bedroom. It’s got all our scents in it. It’s going to help.”

“A nest,” she repeats, and something shifts in her expression. A flash of recognition, of biological instinct, like the word itself triggered something deep in her brain.

“Yeah. Can you stand?”

She nods. I help her up, one hand on her elbow, and the contact makes us both gasp. Her skin is burning. I pull my hand back like I’ve touched a stove.

“Sorry,” she whispers.

“Don’t apologize. It’s biology.”

“It’s embarrassing.”

“It’s not. It’s just biology, Tess.”

She looks at me. Her eyes are wet, and there’s so much vulnerability in them that I want to wrap her up and never let go.

“I’m scared,” she says.

“I know. But we’ve got you.”

I guide her to the bedroom. Miles and Dylan step back, giving her space. She looks at the bed, at the nest we’ve built, and something in her face changes. The fear doesn’t leave, but it’s joined by something else. Need. Instinct. The primal part of her brain recognizing a safe space.

She climbs onto the mattress, her movements clumsy, her cast dragging. She burrows into the center of the nest, pulling my henley against her chest and pressing her face into Miles’s sweater. Her body curls into a tight ball and she inhales, and the sound she makes is one of relief so profound it hurts to hear.

“There,” I say. “Right there.”

“Stay,” she whispers. “Please stay. Don’t leave me alone.”

“We’re not going anywhere,” Dylan says from the doorway.

“I’ll get water,” Miles says, disappearing toward the kitchen.

I sit on the edge of the mattress. Not close enough to touch, but close enough to be there. Dylan leans against the doorframe, his arms crossed, his face tight.

The minutes stretch. The apartment is sealed, the blinds drawn, the deadbolt locked. Outside, the snow falls, and the world narrows to the size of this room, this bed, this woman breathing in our scents and trembling through the early swells of a heat her body chose for her.

I watch her. The way her fingers curl into the fabric of my henley. The way her nose presses into Miles’s sweater. The way her hips shift, restless.

My teeth ache. My cock aches. My chest aches.

Miles returns with three bottles of water and a digital thermometer. He sets them on the nightstand and looks at me.

“Temperature check,” he says.

I nod. “Tess, can I take your temperature?”

She opens her eyes. Nods.

I pick up the thermometer, and she opens her mouth. I slide it under her tongue, my fingers brushing her lower lip. The contact is accidental, brief, but it sends a jolt through both of us. She whimpers, and I pull my hand back.

The thermometer beeps. 101.2.