Page 106 of Lavender and Honey

"Just staying with me is enough," I manage, my voice rough with unshed tears. "Just... this. Being here."

Something flashes in Soren's eyes – satisfaction, perhaps, or relief. His hand shifts, turning palm-up on the edge of the nest, an invitation rather than a demand. After a moment's hesitation, I slip my hand into his, marveling at the contrast between his warm palm and my cold fingers. His hand closes around mine, gentle but secure, a physical manifestation of the promise in his words.

"Then that's what we'll do," he says simply. "For as long as you need."

Finn nods in agreement, his hand coming to rest lightly on my ankle where it's tucked beneath me in Elias's lap. The touchis chaste, comforting, another point of connection grounding me to the present moment. Lucian remains standing, but his presence feels like a shield between me and the outside world, solid and unwavering.

I exhale slowly, letting the tension drain from my shoulders, letting myself sink more fully into Elias's embrace. His purr deepens in response, a sound of approval and welcome that vibrates against my back.

"I'd like to stay," I whisper, the words slipping out before I can overthink them. "For now, at least..,until things with my family are resolved…then we can talk more after that."

Soren's smile unfurls slowly, like a flower opening to the sun after a long night. Not his usual quick grin or teasing smirk, but something deeper, more genuine. "Good," he says simply. "That's... really good, Lydia."

Finn's expression mirrors Soren's, relief and happiness softening his features. Even Lucian's stern countenance eases slightly, the corners of his mouth lifting in what might almost be a smile. And though I can't see Elias's face, I feel his reaction in the way his arms tighten momentarily around me, in the subtle change of his scent to something richer, warmer.

Here, surrounded by their care, their protection, their unwavering acceptance, I begin to understand what Soren means by home. Not a place defined by walls and a roof, but a space created by people who see you, who choose you, who make room for you in their lives without requiring you to be less than you are.

For the first time since my mother appeared in my shop this morning, I feel the faintest stirring of hope. Whatever comes next – her inevitable attempts to contact me again, the confrontation that can't be avoided forever, the decisions I'll have to make about my future – I won't face it alone. I have apack now, if I choose to claim them. I have a home, if I'm brave enough to accept it.

And maybe, just maybe, that will be enough to keep me from running this time.

Chapter Sixty-Four

"You should rest now," Lucian says, his deep voice gentle but carrying an undercurrent of authority that makes my spine straighten instinctively. He stands at the edge of the nest, a sentinel in the fading afternoon light that streams through the windows. His steel-gray eyes, usually so sharp, have softened as they look at me, still curled in Elias's protective embrace. "We'll take care of everything else."

Everything else. Such simple words for the tangled mess of practicalities my mother's visit has created. My shop, left closed without notice. The commissioned paintings waiting on my workbench. The bills that need paying, the clients who need contacting. A life suddenly interrupted by the past crashing into the present.

"Your shop will be handled," Lucian continues, as if reading the concerns flickering across my face. "Finn can put up a sign explaining it's closed for a few days due to a family emergency. Not entirely untrue."

Finn nods in agreement, his expression serious but kind. "I can also collect anything you need from your apartment," he offers. "Or from the shop, if there are projects you're worried about."

The practical considerations, the careful planning – it's all so seamless, so thoughtful. They're not just offering emotional support; they're actively removing obstacles, creating a space where I can focus on healing rather than logistics.

"And before you worry," Soren adds, his usual playfulness returning slightly as he shoots me a knowing look, "we won't mess with your artistic stuff. Promise. Finn's got steady hands, and we know better than to disturb an artist's workspace."

The small acknowledgment of my profession, of the importance of my creative space, sends a warm current through me.

"I should call Mrs. Hernandez," I murmur, thinking of my usual customers who might worry if the shop stays closed without explanation. "And there's another order coming in next week..."

"Lydia," Lucian interrupts, his voice somehow both gentle and immovable. "All of that can wait. Right now, you need to rest, to heal. Let us handle the practical matters."

I open my mouth to protest – old habits of self-reliance dying hard – but before I can form the words, Lucian moves forward in one fluid motion, leaning into the nest to press his lips gently against my forehead. The kiss is brief, chaste, yet carries a weight of tenderness that steals my breath. His lips are warm against my skin, the contact sending a cascade of sensation through me – comfort, protection, belonging.

"Let us care for you," he murmurs against my hairline, his breath a warm whisper that makes me shiver. "Just for a little while. You've been strong for so long, Lydia. You don't have to be strong right now."

The words strike at something fundamental inside me, some deep-rooted belief that I must always be self-sufficient, always independent, always in control. Tears prick at my eyes again, threatening to spill over at the simple permission to let go, to lean on others, to be vulnerable without consequence.

Lucian draws back slightly, his hands coming up to frame my face with a gentleness that belies his strength. His thumbs brush over my cheekbones, wiping away tears I hadn't realized had fallen. "There she is," he says softly, his expression warming in a way I've rarely seen. "Our brave, beautiful Omega."

Our. The possessive shouldn't make me feel safer, shouldn't make something warm unfurl in my chest like a flower opening to the sun. Yet it does. After a lifetime of being claimed as property, as a reflection of my family's status, there's something fundamentally different about the way Lucian says it – not ownership, but belonging. Not control, but connection.

He turns slightly, his hands dropping from my face to reach for Elias. With the same tender care he just showed me, Lucian presses a kiss to Elias's forehead, a gesture so full of affection and respect that it takes my breath away. The kiss is different than the one he gave me – more familiar, layered with years of shared history – yet no less gentle, no less meaningful.

"Take care of her," Lucian says to Elias, his voice low but clear enough for me to hear. "She needs you."

Elias nods, the movement jostling me slightly in his lap. His arms tighten around me, a silent promise. "Always," he replies, the single word heavy with conviction.

The interaction between them – Alpha and Omega, not in hierarchy but in mutual respect and shared purpose – is unlike anything I witnessed in my parents' pack, where Omegas existed in carefully controlled subservience. Here, Lucian treats Elias as an equal partner in my care, acknowledging his unique ability to provide the comfort I need right now.

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