Page 93 of Into the Fire: After

Sleeeeeeep.

Lin

Tarynsleptforninehours straight as we moved in around her. She barely stirred, even when Caine stubbed his toe and the bottom of one of Brea’s boxes collapsed and Brookscrouched beside her on the couch to snag a bunch of conked-out-Taryn selfies. Not even when Caine and I lifted the couch she slept on to move it into proper position.

Nope. On she dreamed. With the quietest, cutest kitten snores ever.

The rest of us got a fair amount done. All the furniture had been carried to the correct rooms. Our pack bedroom had the necessities within reach. And Brea had added her sweaty t-shirt she’d worn all day to the attic nest.

Close to midnight, our omega finally stirred, stretching like a cat before blinking her eyes open. The rest of us sat quietly on the sofa and armchair drinking tea, doing crosswords, scrolling on phones.

Impatiently waiting for the THC to wane so our omega would wake so we could blow her mind with her ready-to-go forever-nest.

Taryn gave a sleepy, lazy grin. “Gooooood nap,” she murmured as she raised her arms in another languid stretch.

Brea snorted as she jotted letters down in her book. “More like goodcoma, Teacup. It’s almost midnight.”

“Aw, damn.” She sat up slowly, looking around.

“No worries," I assured her with a clasp on her knee. “Plenty of boxes ready for you.Afteryou’ve had your rest.”

She flopped back onto the couch cushions. “You take such good care of me, Alpha.”

Butterflies erupted in my belly. They did every time she called meAlphain that tone. Scooting closer, I brushed my fingers down her face. A loving caress, but also a gauge.

Our omega was warm.

Another day or two, maybe, until her heat truly began.

I shot quick glances to my other packmates, who each nodded and stood from their seats, converging on us.

“We wanna show you something,” I said as I knitted her fingers with mine and stood.

She followed easily. “Is it a puppy?”

“Fuck, no,” Caine growled from behind me.

Five pairs of feet pounded up the stairs.

“Oh!” she said as we made our way down the hallway, passing by all the bedrooms. “Did you finally get the candle mixture right?”

Multiple of us groaned. Brooks gagged.

Taryn had been trying for months to make a candle that combined all our scents: toffee and cream, pomegranate and vanilla, blackberry and mint, blood orange and cinnamon, burning palo santo and eucalyptus.

Yes, our aromatic tapestry appealed tous, but trying to get the right mix with oils and artificials had, thus far, utterly failed. Every concoction either tickled our noses or gave Caine and Taryn migraines. Or stank up the apartment so badly we'd evacuated to a hotel.

Twice.

“Yeah, that’s ahard no,” Brooks said.

We approached the last door on the left.

The first tendrils of confusion unfurled in Taryn’s bond. “But that’s the attic.”

“Yes, it is,” I said as I opened the door and motioned for her to go up.

Confusion faded into realization as she looked from face to face, as though waiting for anothernope, wrong guess.We simply waited.