Page 85 of Lavender and Honey

"No pressure," Elias adds quickly, his hazel eyes soft in the firelight. "We just want you to be safe. If you prefer to go home, one of us would be happy to drive you and catch a ride back with another."

The sincerity in his voice makes something twist in my chest—not pain, exactly, but an ache of unaccustomed tenderness. They really do just want what's best for me, what makes me comfortable. The realization is still novel enough to catch me off guard.

"I..." I trail off, uncertain how to articulate the tangle of emotions coursing through me. The practical part of my brain insists I should go home, maintain the boundaries I've lived within for so long. But another part—a part that's been growing stronger with each interaction with these men—rebels against the idea of leaving this warmth for my cold, empty apartment.

"You could use my nest," Elias says, the words so soft I almost miss them. His nest. The memory of it washes over me—the soft fabrics arranged in a careful cocoon of comfort, the mingled scent of us from that previous afternoon nap still lingering in my mind. How I'd felt safer there than I had in years, wrapped in his careful attention and the gentle weight of his arm around me. My heart flutters at the thought of sinking into that comfort again, of letting go of my constant vigilance for a few precious hours.

"Your nest?" I echo, my voice barely above a whisper.

Elias nods, a hint of color rising in his cheeks. "It's already adjusted to your scent from last time. It would be comfortable for you." The implication hangs unspoken between us—that an Omega's nest is a deeply personal space, rarely offered to thoseoutside the pack. That Elias has already integrated my scent into his, creating a place where my body instinctively knows it's safe.

Lucian watches our exchange with those perceptive eyes that seem to see more than I intend to show. "The choice is entirely yours, Lydia," he says, his voice gentle but firm. "Whatever makes you most comfortable."

Finn nods in agreement. "No expectations. Just sleep."

"And maybe breakfast," Soren adds with a small smile. "and some tea to get you going in the morning."

My stomach clenches with indecision, a knot of anxiety and longing twisted so tightly I can't separate the threads. Part of me wants to run, to retreat to the familiar safety of solitude. But another part—the part that's been awakening slowly since that first meeting with Elias at the market—yearns to stay, to see what it feels like to belong, even if just for one night.I look around at their faces, each so different yet sharing the same expression of patient acceptance. They won't push. They'll respect whatever choice I make. The realization loosens something in my chest, making it easier to breathe.

"Would it just be me in the nest?" I ask, the question surprising even myself.

Elias's eyebrows rise slightly, but he recovers quickly. "Not necessarily," he says carefully. "I could join you, if you'd like. Or you could have it to yourself. Whatever makes you feel safest."

The word 'safest' resonates within me. Safety. Such a simple concept, yet so elusive for so long. When was the last time I felt truly, completely safe? Maybe that afternoon in Elias's nest, his heartbeat steady beneath my ear, his arm a gentle weight across my waist. The memory sends a pang of longing through me so acute it's almost physical.

"I think..." I take a deep breath, gathering my courage. "I think I'd like to stay. In your nest. With you all, if that's okay."

The smile that blooms across Elias's face is like sunrise breaking over mountains, gradual but breathtaking in its beauty. "More than okay," he says softly.

"Excellent choice," Soren declares, bouncing to his feet with renewed energy. "Now we can carry on our world domination plans while you sleep."

"Soren," Lucian chides, though there's a hint of amusement in his tone.

"What? Too obvious? You're right. Lydia, forget I said anything about world domination. We definitely don't have plans to take over Haven's Rest through the strategic application of baked goods."

A surprised laugh escapes me, easing some of the tension coiled in my shoulders. "Your secret's safe with me."

"I'll find you something to wear," Lucian offers, already rising from his chair with that quiet efficiency that seems to characterize everything he does.

"Thank you," I say, the words inadequate for the mix of gratitude and apprehension swirling inside me.

For the first time in longer than I can remember, I've chosen connection over isolation, vulnerability over self-protection. The thought is both terrifying and oddly liberating, like stepping off a cliff and discovering I can fly.The knot in my stomach slowly unwinds as glanced around at the men around me, feeling so at ease.

Chapter Fifty-One

Lucian hands me a neatly folded stack of clothes with a gentleness that belies his imposing frame. Our fingers brush during the exchange, and despite the innocence of the contact, a small shiver runs up my arm—not unpleasant, just unexpected. The clothes feel soft against my palms, worn cotton that's been washed countless times until it's reached that perfect state of comfort that new fabric can never quite achieve.

"The bathroom is down the hall, second door on the left," he says, his voice a low rumble in the quiet of the upstairs hallway. "Towels are in the cabinet if you want to shower, and there should be everything else you need in the drawers."

"Thank you," I murmur, clutching the bundle to my chest like a shield. The reality of staying the night suddenly crashes over me in a wave of self-consciousness. I'll be sleeping here, in their home, wearing their clothes. The intimacy of it all makes my heart race with a cocktail of emotions I can't quite untangle.

Lucian seems to sense my discomfort, taking a step back to give me space. "Take your time," he says, his steel-gray eyes gentle. "We'll be downstairs when you're ready."

I nod, grateful for his perceptiveness, and turn toward the bathroom. The hallway feels longer than it should, each step carrying me further into this new territory of vulnerability and trust. When I finally reach the bathroom, I slip inside and close the door behind me with a soft click that feels oddly final.

My reflection stares back at me from the mirror above the sink—cheeks flushed, blue eyes wider than usual, red hair slightly mussed from the evening's activities. I hardly recognize myself; there's a softness to my expression that's been absent for so long I'd forgotten it could exist. I set the clothes on the counter and take a deep breath, trying to calm my racing thoughts. It's just sleeping clothes. Just one night. Nothing has to change if I don't want it to.

But hasn't everything already changed? My unblocked scent filling their home, my laughter mingling with theirs, my decision to stay rather than retreat to my solitary apartment. The boundaries I've maintained so carefully have been shifting, eroding like sand castles at high tide.

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