Page 103 of Lavender and Honey

"May I?" he asks, gesturing to my jacket.

I nod, suddenly too tired to form words. His fingers are careful as he helps me out of my jacket, then kneels to untie my boots. The act is so intimate, so caring, that I have to look away to keep unexpected tears at bay. No one has taken care of me like this – not since I was a small child, before my designation presented and I became a pawn in my parents' social chess game.

"There," Elias murmurs, setting my boots aside. He rises, guiding me toward the nest with a hand that barely brushes my back. "It's alright to rest now, Lydia. You're safe here."

The words unlock something inside me, a tightness I hadn't even realized I was carrying. A sob builds in my chest, but doesn't escape – I've cried enough today, emptied myself of tears in Lucian's arms. Now I just feel hollow, wrung out, bone-weary in a way that transcends physical exhaustion.

Elias helps me into the nest, his movements gentle but sure. The soft fabrics embrace me, and I sink into them gratefully. The familiar scents of the pack surround me, now mingled with my own lavender from my previous stay. It should feel strange, seeing evidence of myself already incorporated into their most intimate space. Instead, it feels right, like coming full circle.

Elias settles beside me, close enough to offer comfort but still giving me space. His fingers brush a strand of hair from my face, tucking it behind my ear with exquisite care.

"Your mother," he says softly, not a question but an invitation to speak if I wish.

I nod, my throat tight. "She found me. She wants me to go back. To mate with the Alpha they chose for me."

Elias's scent sharpens again, that protective instinct rising to the surface. His hand finds mine, our fingers interlacing naturally, as if they've been doing this for years instead of weeks.

"That's not going to happen," he says, his usually gentle voice carrying an edge I've never heard before. "Not if you don't want it to."

"I don't," I whisper. "I've never wanted it."

"Then it won't." The simple certainty in his voice is like a balm to my ragged nerves. He believes what he's saying, completely and without reservation. And in this moment, curled in the safety of their nest with his warm presence beside me, I almost believe it too.

A knot loosens in my chest, a tension I've been carrying since I fled my parents' house a year ago. The constant fear of being found, of being forced back into the life they had planned for me – it doesn't vanish, but it recedes, like a tide pulling back from the shore.

"I'm so tired," I admit, the words barely audible

Elias's expression softens further. "I know, sweetheart. You've been so strong for so long." The endearment catches me off guard, warming me from the inside out. He shifts slightly, creating a space beside him that seems shaped exactly for me. An invitation.

I hesitate, old habits of self-sufficiency warring with the soul-deep weariness that makes me want to surrender, just for a little while, to being cared for. To let someone else be strong when I can't anymore.

"It's okay to need help sometimes," Elias murmurs, as if reading my thoughts. "It doesn't make you weak. It makes you human."

Those simple words break through the last of my resistance. I shift closer, allowing him to wrap an arm around me, drawing me against the solid warmth of his chest. His heartbeat beneathmy ear is steady and strong, a metronome counting out the moments as the tension slowly drains from my body.

The nest cradles me like an embrace, soft fabrics molding to my body as if they've been waiting for precisely this moment. Elias shifts beside me, his movements deliberate but unhurried, creating a space within his arms that seems designed just for me. I hesitate – old habits of self-protection dying hard – but the warm honey scent of him promises safety, comfort, things I've denied myself for so long they feel almost foreign now. His hazel eyes meet mine, patient and steady, asking without words if this is okay.

I nod slightly, surrendering to the gentle tug of his hands as he guides me into his lap. The position should feel childish or embarrassing, but instead, it feels like coming home – my back against his chest, his arms encircling me without confining, his chin resting lightly on the crown of my head. Our bodies fit together with a naturalness that catches me off guard, as if we've been sitting this way for years instead of minutes.

"Better?" Elias murmurs, his breath stirring the hair at my temple.

Another nod. Words feel like too much effort, my throat raw from earlier tears, my mind too exhausted to form coherent sentences. Elias seems to understand, tightening his embrace fractionally in response. His scent envelops me, that warm honey sweetness underscored by something uniquely him, something that speaks of hearth and home and safety. I breathe it in, letting it replace the lingering memory of my mother's cold, expensive perfume that had seemed to cling to me long after she'd gone. Elias's scent mingles with my lavender, the combination creating something new and oddly harmonious.

The gentle rise and fall of his chest against my back establishes a rhythm, and I find myself matching my breathing to his without conscious thought. Each inhale brings more of hiscalming scent; each exhale seems to carry away a fraction of the tension coiled inside me. The warmth of his body seeps into mine, chasing away a chill I hadn't even realized had settled in my bones.

One of his hands moves to stroke my hair, fingers carding through the tangled strands with careful patience. The repetitive motion is hypnotic, soothing, drawing me further into a state of calm that feels dangerously close to peace. How long has it been since someone touched me with such tenderness, such absolute acceptance? The answer – never – brings an ache to my chest that's both sweet and painful.

"What happened, Lydia?" Elias asks finally, his voice so soft it barely disturbs the quiet that's settled around us. "Can you tell me?"

I open my mouth, intending to explain, to put into words the shock of seeing my mother standing in my shop, the cutting precision of her dismissal of my life, the cold certainty with which she'd declared I would come back to the family fold. But the words twist in my throat, tangling with emotions too complex to voice. All that emerges is a small, high-pitched whine – an involuntary sound pulled from some primal place inside me, raw and unfiltered.

The sound surprises me almost as much as it seems to affect Elias. His arms tighten around me protectively, and a rumble starts deep in his chest – a purr, resonant and soothing, designed to comfort a distressed packmate. It vibrates against my back, the frequency seeming to penetrate deep into my muscles, releasing knots of tension I've been carrying for hours, maybe years.

I've never been comforted like this, never experienced the instinctive care of one Omega for another. In my parents' world, such behaviors were unseemly, animalistic, to be suppressed in favor of more "civilized" interactions. But here, cradled in Elias'sarms with his purr enveloping me in tangible comfort, I can't imagine anything more natural, more right.

Chapter Sixty-Three

The door opens quietly, and I tense momentarily before catching Lucian's familiar amber scent. He steps into the room, his movements careful as he approaches the nest. His eyes meet Elias's over my head, and something passes between them – a silent communication born of years together, of trust and understanding that transcends the need for words.

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