Page 130 of Awakened

She’s already flushed with exertion, tendrils of silver-white hair sticking to her sweaty temples, eyes bright and alive in a way I haven’t seen since I met her.

When she notices the recently thrown pillow next to Soren, she gasps and scurries across the mattress, damn near falling off the edge in an effort to reach him. “Oh, Fates! I’m so sorry!”

He laughs, snatching the pillow and holding it to his chest. Like, because she hit him with it, it's his now.

A token of her love… or some shit.

And I can’t even make fun of him, because I’m as big a simp for the little Omega as he is.

Idril falls to her knees between the two of us and lifts her hand, pressing her palm gently to Soren’s cheek like she’s worried he may have actually been injured.

Assaulted by flying cotton stuffed with feathers.

Soren promises her he’s fine, laughing as she fusses over him like he’s not a seven-foot, 350-lb warrior who can shift into a half-ton wolf with claws and teeth as long as my fucking hand.

I’m worried she doesn’t even really know that part of herself. That she’s not as informed as she should be. Designation biology is tricky. It's not simply about sex as much as it is mental health and emotional well-being. If something is wrong, it can and will start affecting her physically. Her health, her happiness, her sense of self—it’s all intertwined with her designation.

“What’s wrong, sweet girl?”

When she frowns at my question, I reach out and wrap my hands around her hips, drawing her down to the mattress between us.

“What do you mean?” she asks, snatching one of the blankets I slept with during the night. She immediately runs the fabric through her fingers, testing its texture and softness.

I nod, gesturing toward her hands. “Do you need more Nesting materials? Different fabrics? Colors? Whatever you need, all you have to do is ask, and I’ll get it for you.”

Her fingers freeze, and she grips the fabric tightly, fingers spasming around the edges. Her pulse flutters rapidly in her neck, and her pupils dilate.

It’s a fear response. She thinks I’m going to take that blanket away from her.

Fates, my poor Omega.

She physically forces herself to release her hold on the blanket and set it down, cheeks heating in shame. If she weren’t on suppressants, her scent would be burnt with fear and bitter with shame.

“No, thank you,” she answers. “I was just… moving things around.”

She purses her lips and winces, like she doesn’t like the taste of her own lie.

Soren makes a strangled sound of displeasure and reaches out, taking her hands and cradling them in his own.

“Nesting is a good thing, Little Mate. Caelan and I both want you to feel safe enough to Nest.”

The look Idril gives him is dubious, and I don’t blame her, really. Her Omega may have taken over this morning, but her response now makes it clear she still doesn’t feel safe enough to make the conscious decision to Nest—let alone ask for what she needs.

She doesn’t even want to admit to it, like if she does, she thinks we’ll get angry.

Or take it away from her once we discover it makes her happy.

“And you can tell us if something’s wrong,” I tell her. “I promise we won’t get mad. Nothing you say will make us angry.”

Her lips part, and she looks at me with an expression of open disbelief.

Fates, I don’t think I ever considered that a Fated Mate Bond didn’t automatically translate into absolute trust.

Or maybe she just doesn’t trust any Alpha after the way her father and my shit-head brothers treated her, Bond or not.

We wait patiently, giving her time to work through her thoughts, wordlessly ensuring she knows we aren’t going anywhere. This is how we gain her trust. Through a thousand moments and a thousand little actions that reinforce our promises and show her what she means to us.

Idril pulls her hands into her lap and whispers, “It doesn’t smell right. The room smells right, but the blankets and pillows… I’m worried it won’t ever smell right.”