Page 108 of Lavender and Honey

I shake my head slightly, unable to see myself through his eyes, through their eyes. But something in his voice, in the absolute conviction with which he speaks, plants a tiny seed of possibility. Maybe, just maybe, there's some truth in what he says. Maybe I am stronger than I give myself credit for.

"Rest now," Elias urges, his purr resuming its soothing rumble. "You're safe here, Lydia. Nothing and no one can hurt you while we're watching over you."

The simple promise, spoken with such certainty, breaks through the last of my resistance. I let my eyes drift closed, surrendering to the exhaustion that tugs at every limb, every thought. Elias's heartbeat beneath my ear becomes a lullaby, his purr a gentle current carrying me toward sleep.

As consciousness begins to fade, replaced by the soft edges of approaching dreams, I find myself thinking of home – not the cold, formal house of my childhood, but this warm, invitingspace filled with people who see me, who choose me, who protect me not out of obligation but out of genuine care. And as I drift into sleep, cradled in Elias's protective embrace with the knowledge that three Alphas stand guard against any threat, I allow myself to believe that maybe, this time, I'll be brave enough to stay.

Chapter Sixty-Five

Isurface from sleep gradually—the softness beneath me, unfamiliar yet comforting; a weight across my waist that feels like an anchor rather than a restraint; the mingled scents of honey and lavender that tell me I'm not alone, not in my own bed. My eyelids flutter against the gentle morning light filtering through unfamiliar curtains, and memory returns in a rush that makes my breath catch—my mother, the shop, Lucian finding me, bringing me here. To their home. To their nest. For a moment, panic flares in my chest—But the arm draped across my waist tightens slightly, as if sensing my distress, and a gentle purr vibrates against my back. Elias.

I blink fully awake now, taking in the details of the nest that surrounds us. It's even more intricate than I realized in my exhausted state last night—a carefully constructed haven of soft blankets and pillows arranged with deliberate care. I spot items that must belong to each of them: a well-worn hoodie that smells of Finn's earthy pine scent, a silk scarf that carries Soren'sspicy sandalwood notes, a cashmere throw that radiates Lucian's amber essence. And woven among them all, Elias's honey-warm presence, the foundation that ties everything together.

Something about seeing these personal items, freely shared and intermingled, makes my throat tighten. In my parents' pack, possessions were as rigidly separated as their hierarchical roles—my father's study off-limits to everyone else, my mother's vanity untouchable by all but her personal maid. This casual mingling of items, of scents, of lives speaks of a different kind of pack structure than anything I've known.

I shift slightly, testing the waters of wakefulness. My body feels heavy, weighted not just by Elias's arm but by the emotional exhaustion of yesterday. The thought of facing the day—of potentially encountering my mother again, of explaining my absence from the shop to curious customers, of navigating this new and terrifying vulnerability I've shown to Elias and his packmates—makes me want to burrow deeper into the nest and never emerge.

As if reading my thoughts, Elias's purr deepens, the vibration spreading from his chest to mine where our bodies touch. His breath is warm against the nape of my neck, stirring the fine hairs there in a way that sends a pleasant shiver down my spine.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," he murmurs, his voice rough with the remnants of sleep yet somehow still musical. "How are you feeling?"

Such a simple question, yet it catches me off-guard. How am I feeling? The answer is too complex, too tangled to put into words. Instead, I deflect. "What time is it?"

Elias shifts behind me, his movement careful as he reaches for something beyond my line of sight. "Just past nine," he says, settling back into place. "You slept for almost twelve hours."

Twelve hours. I can't remember the last time I slept so long without interruption. Even in the relative safety of myapartment, I tend to wake frequently, hypervigilant even in sleep. The realization that I slept so deeply here, surrounded by the scents of virtual strangers—though they don't feel like strangers anymore—is both comforting and slightly alarming.

"I should get up," I say, though I make no move to leave the warm cocoon of the nest. "I need to check on the shop, make sure everything—"

"Shh," Elias interrupts, his finger lightly touching my lips in a gesture that should feel presumptuous but somehow doesn't. "Remember what Lucian said? The others are taking care of everything practical. The shop, your customers, all of it. Your only job right now is to rest."

"I'm not used to this," I admit, my voice small in the quiet room. "Having others handle things for me. Being... taken care of."

Elias makes a soft sound, somewhere between sympathy and understanding. "I know. But that doesn't mean you don't deserve it."

His words strike at something deep inside me, some long-buried belief that I am, in fact, undeserving of such care. It's easier to deflect again. "Don't you have work to do? Market preparations or...?"

I feel his smile against my hair before I see it—a subtle change in the pressure of his face pressed against the crown of my head. "Nothing that can't wait. I cleared my schedule."

"For me?" The question slips out before I can stop it, laden with an incredulity I can't quite mask. Elias shifts again, this time moving far enough away that I feel the loss of his warmth like a physical ache. But it's only so he can gently turn me to face him, his hands careful on my shoulders as if I might break. When our eyes meet, the tenderness in his gaze nearly undoes me.

"Yes, for you," he says simply. "Did you think we'd bring you here and then just... go about our normal routines? Leave you to fend for yourself in a strange house?" Put like that, it does sound ridiculous. But it's hard to articulate the lifetime of expectations that led me to assume exactly that—that any kindness would be limited, conditional, ultimately self-serving. I settle for a small shrug, uncomfortable under the intensity of his gaze.

Elias's expression softens further, if that's even possible. "We can stay here all day if that's what you want," he says, a teasing note entering his voice as he gestures to the nest surrounding us. "I've got nowhere to be but right here."

The gentle teasing breaks through some of the tension, and I find myself smiling despite everything. "Nowhere at all? What about food? I seem to recall someone mentioning you're the cook of this operation."

He grins, the expression lighting up his entire face. "Well, we might have to emerge for sustenance eventually. But even then—" He leans in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "—I happen to know where all the best snacks are hidden. Perks of being the one who buys the groceries."

A laugh escapes me—small and slightly rusty, but genuine. "I bet Soren loves that."

"Soren has his own stash, don't worry. We've learned to maintain separate treat supplies after The Great Cookie Incident of Last Year."

"The Great Cookie Incident?" I repeat, curiosity momentarily overshadowing my worries.

Elias's eyes dance with mischief. "Let's just say it involved my special double chocolate chip cookies, Soren's mysteriously expanding appetite, and Lucian's very strict rationing system that somehow failed spectacularly. Finn still finds chocolate chips in odd corners of the house."

The image of these four grown men squabbling over cookies like children pulls another laugh from me, this one stronger than the first. "I'd have paid to see that."

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