Page 19 of Nesting With My Three Alphas (Hollow Haven #1)

Reed

I was soaked to the skin by the time I knocked on Kit's front door, rain dripping from my hair and jacket despite the short sprint from my truck.

The thermos of Micah's calming tea felt warm in one hand while I clutched one of Jonah's old flannels in the other.

She'd borrowed it once during our gardening afternoon, and I'd noticed how she'd curled into it like it was armor.

I didn't expect her to answer right away. I'd already decided that if she didn't open the door, I'd sit on the porch all night just so she knew she wasn't alone. The storm was vicious tonight, the kind of weather that made even the strongest buildings feel fragile.

When the door finally opened, revealing Kit pale and wide-eyed in the doorway, every protective instinct I possessed went feral.

She looked like she'd been crying, her scent spiked with fear and something else I couldn't quite place.

I softened everything immediately. My voice, my movements, even my breathing.

"Storm's rough tonight," I said gently. "Thought you might want backup."

She let me in with barely a word, stepping back to allow me into the small entryway.

I clocked the details immediately. Closed curtains.

Shaky hands. The faint chemical sweetness of suppressants breaking down.

Everything about her posture screamed distress, but she was trying so hard to hold it together.

Before following further into the house, I made sure the bolt on the door was thrown and tugged the curtain tighter across the window. It wasn't much, but it was something I could control.

I didn't ask questions. Didn't push for explanations she wasn't ready to give.

"Let's go to the nest," I said softly. "You'll settle better where it smells safe."

She nodded and led me to her nest room, where the lighting was low and the air was thick with her scent. Vanilla and honey, but sharper now, edged with anxiety. Underneath it all, I caught traces of me and the others, evidence of how we'd been woven into her space of safety.

I moved straight to the chair in the corner without needing instruction, understanding instinctively that the nest itself was hers. She didn't speak, just watched as I shrugged off my wet jacket and rolled back my sleeves before settling into the chair like I'd been made to wait here.

In my head, chaos reigned.

She was hurting and I wanted to fix it, but people weren't like cabinets.

Her scent was changing, taking on undertones that made every alpha instinct I possessed scream at me to go to her, to comfort and claim and protect.

But I'd never rush her. I wanted to be the place she rested, not the storm that broke her.

I remembered how badly I'd needed control as a kid, how much it had terrified me when I couldn't fix what was broken inside myself. The foster homes where I'd learned that being useful meant being wanted, that fixing things was the only way to earn my place.

Micah and Jonah had been the first people who didn't make me feel like a problem to be solved. They'd wanted me around not because I was useful, but because I was me.

Kit wasn't a problem either. She was the reason I wanted to be better.

I poured tea into the travel mug I'd brought and set it near her without saying a word. The ritual of it seemed to calm us both. She curled tighter into her nest, holding Jonah's flannel against her face, and I forced my gaze away from how small and vulnerable she looked.

I tried not to focus on how flushed she was, how her scent had that fever-sweet edge of a heat not quite here but coming. Instead, I distracted us both with stories.

"I used to sleep in the school woodshop just to get away from the dorms," I said quietly. "Couldn't stand being around that many people, all their emotions pressing in on me."

I kept talking, filling the space with quiet stories to distract her from the thunder rattling the windows.

About the first time Micah had made me breakfast without being asked, how Jonah had taught me to change Charlie's diaper when she was tiny and Sarah was too tired to move.

Small moments that had built into something bigger, something like family.

"Micah used to leave extra pastries on my porch," I said. "Never said anything about it, just left them there like some kind of pastry fairy. Took me three months to figure out it was him. It should have been obvious really."

Kit's mouth quirked in what might have been the beginning of a smile.

"And Jonah," I continued, "he fixed my truck once when I was too proud to ask for help. Spent his whole weekend under the hood, wouldn't take any payment except for me agreeing to come to Charlie's birthday party."

I told her about how we'd become a unit without ever deciding to, how three men who'd all been alone had somehow found each other and built something solid. How Charlie had been the glue that held us together in those early days after Sarah's death, giving us all a reason to show up.

Kit's breathing slowed slightly, her attention focusing on my voice. I could see the tension leaving her shoulders as the storm outside faded to background noise, her mind following my stories instead of tracking every crack of thunder.

"I wasn't a people person. Still not, really. Until Jonah kept asking questions and Micah started making me coffee like I belonged somewhere."

"What kind of questions?" Kit asked, her voice small but curious.

"Normal ones. How was your day, what are you working on, do you want to come over for dinner. Nothing earth-shattering. But no one had ever asked before, not like they actually wanted to know the answer."

After a beat of silence, Kit's scent shifted again, spiking with something that made my alpha instincts sit up and take notice.

"There was a box on my porch today," she said quietly.

She explained about the photographs, the anonymity, the violation of being watched without knowing it. Her scent turned sharp and acidic with fear as she described finding evidence of surveillance, of being hunted in the place she'd thought was safe.

I went utterly still as she spoke, every muscle in my body coiling with protective fury. But I didn't shout. Didn't panic. Didn't let any of the rage I was feeling leak into my scent or my voice.

"You're not alone," I said, low and sure. "Not tonight. Not ever again."

"Reed, I..." She wrapped her arms around herself. "I'm scared of being a burden. I keep bringing problems to all of you."

"You're not a problem, Kit. You're family." I leaned forward slightly, catching her eyes. "But I need you to promise me something. If anything else happens, you come to me. No secrets. That's the deal."

"Don't tell the others," she said quickly. "Not yet. I just need time to figure out how to handle this."

I wanted to argue, wanted to insist that Jonah and Micah needed to know about the threat. But the vulnerability in her voice stopped me.

"I won't say anything," I agreed. "But only if you promise to come to me if there's more. I can't protect you from things I don't know about."

She nodded, some of the tension leaving her shoulders.

Time passed. Her breathing slowed. The storm continued to rage outside, but the atmosphere in the room had shifted to something calmer, more settled. I started to adjust my position in the chair, preparing to settle in for the night.

"Don't sleep there," Kit said suddenly, her voice trembling but certain. "Please."

I froze, every alpha instinct I possessed suddenly laser-focused on her words. "You sure?"

"I just... I don't want to be alone. And I trust you."

I trust you. The same words she'd said to Micah, but now offered to me in her most vulnerable space.

Every part of me wanted to crawl into that nest and worship her skin, fuelled by the way her scent was shifting toward something warmer and more complex. Instead, I simply nodded.

"Then I'll stay. Just stay."

I climbed into the nest slowly, keeping careful space between our bodies, hyperaware of every movement and breath. The blankets smelled like her, like safety and home and everything I'd never dared to want for myself.

I tucked one of the blankets over her with slow reverence, my movements gentle and deliberate. The air between us was thick with heat and something unspoken, electric with possibility and restraint.

When I adjusted one of the pillows, our hands brushed. The contact sent a spark through me that had nothing to do with static electricity and everything to do with the way she was looking at me, like I was something worth reaching for.

Kit shifted toward me, and I went completely still, letting her set the pace. Then she kissed me.

It was tentative at first, a question more than a statement.

Her lips were soft and warm, tasting faintly of Micah's tea and something uniquely her that made my chest tight with want.

I'd imagined this moment more times than I cared to admit, but reality was infinitely better.

She fit against me like she'd been made for my arms, small and perfect and trusting.

The kiss deepened, becoming full of heat and longing. Her scent bloomed around us, vanilla and honey with undertones of something richer, more complex. I could feel her heart racing against my chest, the way her fingers curled into my shirt like she was afraid I might disappear.

Every instinct I possessed screamed at me to claim, to mark, to make her mine in every way that mattered. But louder than instinct was the need to cherish this gift she was giving me. Her trust, her vulnerability, the way she was choosing me in this moment despite everything that scared her.

I returned the kiss with careful hunger, letting her feel how much I wanted her while keeping myself firmly in check. When I finally pulled back, it was with every ounce of self-control I possessed.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted that," I said, my voice rough with honesty. "But I want this to be right."

I tucked her against my chest, careful to anchor her weight there, to let her feel how steady I could be when it mattered.

"Sleep," I murmured against her hair. "I'll be here when you wake up."

She settled against me with a sigh that sounded like relief, like coming home. Her breathing evened out as the storm continued outside, but here in her nest, surrounded by the scents of safety and growing pack bonds, everything felt quiet and right.

Jonah was her anchor. Micah was her comfort. I wasn't sure what I was yet. But maybe I could be the quiet place where she landed when the world got too loud.

I'd spent my life fixing things that didn't last. Broken furniture, damaged relationships, foster home situations that were always temporary. But the way she curled into my side like I was something solid, something permanent, something that felt like mine.

Outside, thunder rolled again, but her breathing stayed steady, synced with mine like we were already something shared.

That felt like forever.