Chapter 65: The Night Before
The lavender diffuser was fighting a losing battle. Aurora’s own scent, growing sharper and sweeter with every passing hour, was beginning to permeate the cozy living room. It was a crisp, green apple smell, threaded through with something warmer, something undeniable.She had fluffed every pillow in her nest for the third time. The softest blankets were arranged just so, the bottled water and snacks were within easy reach on the nightstand.She’d showered until her skin was pink. Now, dressed in her softest cotton sleep shorts and a thin tank top, she paced. The setting sun painted the room in deep oranges and long shadows.Every creak of the old apartment building made her jump.
Her phone buzzed on the couch.A text from Rhys.On my way.Ten minutes.Her breath hitched. Ten minutes.She wrung her hands, her skin feeling too tight, too sensitive. The fabric of her tank top rasped against her nipples, and a low, steady ache had begun to pulse deep in her belly.It was a foreign feeling, insistent and hollow. Her heat wasn’t a sudden storm; it was the tide coming in, slow and inevitable, and the first waves were lapping at her feet.A firm knock at the door shattered the silence.
She nearly tripped over the rug in her haste.Fumbling with the lock, she pulled the door open.
Rhys filled the doorway. He wore a simple gray henley stretched over his broad chest and dark jeans, a worn leather duffel bag slung over one shoulder. The evening light from the hallway halved his face in shadow.He looked solid.Real.
His dark eyes swept over her, instantly noting the slight flush on her chest, the dilated pupils, the rapid rise and fall of her breath. “Hey,” he said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated straight through her.
“Hi,” she managed, stepping back to let him in.
He closed the door behind him, the familiar, final click of the lock doing something to her insides. He dropped his bag by the couch and turned to her. For a moment, they just stood there in the dim, fragrant room, the air between them crackling with the unspoken.Then he closed the distance. He didn’t swoop in; he moved with a deliberate calm, cupping her face in his warm, calloused hands.His thumbs stroked her heated cheeks. “You’re trembling.”
“I’m… scared.A little. And… other things.”
“I know.” He leaned down, his forehead touching hers.“Breathe with me.In.” He took a slow, deep breath. She followed, the scent of him—clean soap, leather, and that undeniable alpha musk—filling her senses, overwhelming the apple of her own rising heat.“Out.”
They exhaled together. Some of the frantic energy leached from her muscles.“Better?” he murmured.
She nodded against his forehead.“Good.” He tipped her chin up and kissed her. It was not the hungry, possessive kiss from the restaurant.This was slow.Grounding. A deliberate transfer of calm from his mouth to hers.He tasted like coffee and mint. She sank into it, her hands coming up to clutch at his shoulders, the solid muscle beneath the soft cotton anchoring her.
When he pulled back, her lips felt swollen, and the hollow ache in her belly had grown warmer, wider. But the edge of her panic was gone.
“Show me,” he said, his hand sliding down to take hers.He didn’t have to specify.She led him to her bedroom. The nest took up most of the floor beside her bed, a fortress of pillows and her favorite cream-colored blanket, intricately layered. Several of his t-shirts, stolen over their last few dates, were carefully woven into the layers.His scent was strongest here, a bastion against her own rising turmoil.
Rhys stopped in the doorway, taking it in.He was silent for a long moment. Aurora watched his face, anxious again.Was it too much?Too juvenile?Then he let out a soft, rough sound. “Fuck, Aurora.” He stepped into the room, his presence making it feel smaller, more intimate. He crouched by the edge of the nest, reaching out to touch one of his own shirts where she’d laid it like an offering.“You built this all for me? Around my scent?”
“It’s what felt safe,” she whispered, wringing her hands again.He looked up at her, his eyes reflecting the last of the sunset through the window. They were fiercely proud.“It’s perfect. It’s the most perfect thing I’ve ever seen.” He rose to his feet and pulled her into his arms, hugging her tightly. A low, unbidden purr started in her chest, vibrating against him. He chuckled, the sound a deep echo she felt everywhere. “Listen to you.”
She buried her face in his chest, embarrassed but unable to stop the instinctive sound of contentment.
“Hungry?” he asked, stroking her back.She wasn’t, not for food, but she nodded.“We should eat. Before…”
“Yeah.Before.” He understood. He led her back to the living room, ordered Thai food from his phone with an easy efficiency she admired, and pulled her down onto the couch with him. He didn’t turn on the TV. He just sat with his arm around her, her head on his shoulder, and let the quiet settle.
When the food came, they ate straight from the containers on the coffee table. He told her a ridiculous story about a stubborn transmission at the shop, making her laugh with his impressions of a frustrated apprentice. She told him about a nesting mishap involving online advice and far too many throw pillows. The conversation was light, meandering, a flimsy but necessary dam holding back the flood.
But as the night deepened and the containers were empty, the dam showed cracks.Aurora found herself restless, shifting on the couch. The ache was a constant thrum now, a needy pulse between her thighs.The air felt thicker, harder to breathe. She could smell herself, the vanilla lavender scent now sweet and intoxicating, and she could see the effect it was having on him.His pupils were blown wide, a rim of dark brown around bottomless black. His own scent had sharpened, turning darker, more predatory.
He watched her fidget, a muscle ticking in his jaw.“It’s starting,” he said, not a question.
She nodded, unable to speak.“Okay.” He stood up, a study in controlled power. He gathered the food containers, tidied them away with deliberate movements. Then he turned off the main light, leaving only a soft, salt-glow lamp on in the corner. The room was cast in deep shadow and warm pools of light.He came back to the couch and simply looked at her. “Come here.”
She went to him.He didn’t kiss her. Instead, he slid one arm under her knees and the other behind her back, lifting her as if she weighed nothing. A small gasp escaped her as she was cradled against his chest. He carried her the short distance to the bedroom, the strength in his arms making her feel both fragile and utterly protected.
He didn’t set her down immediately. He stood in the doorway of the dim room, her nest a pale landscape beside them, and just held her.His nose brushed her hair, then the side of her neck, inhaling deeply. A low rumble started in his chest, an alpha’s answer to her omega’s purr.It was a sound of pure possession.
“Rhys,” she whispered, her hands fisting in his shirt.“I know,” he murmured against her skin, his voice thick. “I’ve got you.”
He walked to the nest and knelt, lowering her gently into the center of the soft blankets and pillows scented with them both. He straightened, looking down at her, his expression unreadable in the dim light. Then he toed off his shoes and sank down beside her, not in the nest yet, but on the edge of it.
He reached out, his hand cupping the curve of her jaw, his thumb stroking her parted lips.“Try to sleep. I’ll be right here. I’m not going anywhere.” He leaned over and pressed a kiss to her forehead, a seal of promise. Then he stretched out on the floor beside the nest, one arm bent behind his head, a vigilant silhouette against the faint light from the living room.
The last of her anxiety melted away. The heat was a tide rising in her blood, a fever beginning to simmer under her skin.But he was here.Her Alpha. He was her anchor in the coming storm.She turned onto her side, facing him, and let her eyes close. His steady breathing was the only sound, a rhythm she matched until, wrapped in the scent of safety and growing desire, she drifted into a shallow, waiting sleep.