Page 90 of Pack Plus One

She leans heavily against the doorframe, her movements slow and slightly unsteady. Again, I have to squeeze my hands into fists to stop myself from reaching for her. Space. I need to give her space. Especially right now, after what just occurred in our nest. Let her come to us.

I focus on making the tea, but it doesn’t stop me from taking notes. The aftermath of a heat this intense is written across her body—the slight tremble in her hands, the way she winces when she shifts her weight, the unfocused quality to her gaze as if she’s still partly trapped in the fog of hormones.

Fuck, she shouldn’t even be standing.

“You always wake so early?” she asks finally, voice still rough with sleep and overuse, the words slightly slurred at the edges.

I glance over my shoulder. She’s still standing in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed over her chest, swamped in my robe. Her hair is a wild tangle around her face, and there’s a pattern of beard burn along her throat where Caleb had spent particular attention. She looks thoroughly claimed, unfairly beautiful, and completely drained.

“Force of habit,” I reply, turning back to the tea. “I’ve always been an early riser.”

“Even after...” she trails off, and I can practically feel her blush warming the air.

“Even after,” I confirm, my lips quirking into a small smile she can’t see.

She huffs a soft laugh that turns into a wince, her hand moving instinctively to her lower back. Post-heat muscle soreness, I realize with a flash of concern.

The kettle whistles, the sharp sound slicing through the quiet. She flinches at the noise, oversensitive in her post-heat state. I pour the water, watching the leaves unfurl and the liquid darken. When I turn to hand her the mug, she’s moved to perch on one of the bar stools at the counter, her legs tucked under her, looking like she belongs there despite the glassy quality to her eyes.

The thought catches me off guard, making my fingers tighten around the ceramic.

“Thanks,” she murmurs, her fingers trembling slightly as she takes the mug.

“Green for me,” I say, lifting my mug. “Earl Grey for you. I wasn’t sure how you take it, so I left it plain.”

She reaches for the sugar bowl, adding a spoonful and a splash of milk from the small pitcher I’ve set out. Her movements are clumsy, uncoordinated, and she nearly knocks over the sugar bowl before managing to stir her tea. My hand instinctively darts out to steady the bowl, my fingers brushing against hers briefly before I pull back, not wanting to overwhelm her. Her skin is still unnaturally warm, a lingering effect of the heat, no doubt.

“I didn’t realize you were so domestic,” she murmurs.

I hide a smile behind my mug. “There’s a lot we don’t know about each other yet.”

She stirs her tea thoughtfully, her eyes drifting closed for a moment before snapping open again, as if she’s fighting to stay present. When she sways slightly on the stool, I step closer, hand hovering near her elbow, ready to catch her if needed. She steadies herself with visible effort, and I let my hand drop, though I don’t step back.

“I suppose that’s true. We kind of... skipped a few steps,” she says.

“Several, actually,” I agree, the understatement making her lips quirk upward.

She takes a sip of her tea, her hands still shaking slightly. I resist the urge to steady them with my own, though every protective instinct in me screams to do so. “Do you always make breakfast for your... guests?” she asks, stumbling over the last word.

I consider this. “To be honest, we haven’t had many overnight guests. Not like this.”

Her eyebrows rise, the movement slow, as if her facial muscles are still catching up with her thoughts. When she shivers again, I instinctively move closer, my body heat providing a buffer against the morning chill. She doesn’t pull away.

“Really? Four attractive males, and I’m supposed to believe you don’t have omegas lining up around the block?”

“I didn’t say that,” I clarify, watching her carefully for signs of post-heat crash. The pallor beneath her flushed cheeks concerns me. “Just not here. Not in our den.”

Understanding dawns in her eyes, though it takes her longer than it might have if she weren’t fighting the post-heat daze. “This is your territory.”

“Yes.”

“And I’m in it.” She blinks slowly, processing this fact as if through layers of cotton. When she reaches to brush her hair from her face, her hand trembles so badly that she misses entirely. Without thinking, I reach up and tuck the strand behind her ear, my fingers lingering perhaps a second too long against her temple.

“Yes.” My voice comes out deeper than intended. Seeing her like this is conflicting. I want to cradle her in my arms…and I want to fuck her again. The instincts are fighting each other.

She takes another sip of her tea, watching me over the rim of her mug. The tremor in her hands has lessened slightly where my fingertips had touched her skin. “That’s significant…”

I meet her gaze steadily. “Very.”