Page 39 of The Alpha Under My Bed

My hands trembled as I tapped the screen, the sudden glow making my vision blur.

And then I saw them.

Hundreds of books.

Titles I had mentioned in passing to Jules or Mal.

Series I had half-finished because I couldn’t afford the next book.

Stories I had gushed about, complained about, craved.

Every single one.

Every singlefuckingone.

I gasped and dropped it back into the box as if it had burned me.

He had been listening.

Watching.

And he knew me too well.

A sharp breath hitched in my throat, but I forced myself to move forward, forcing my fingers to tear open the second package even as my stomach screamed at me to stop.

Soft fabric met my touch.

Plush joggers. Oversized sweaters. Thick, cozy socks.

All my exact size.

All my style.

But better.

A higher quality than I could ever afford. Fabrics I’d only ever dreamed of touching, admired from afar, running my fingers over them in online shopping carts before abandoning them—unable to justify the price, unable to justify the indulgence.

And now they were here.

Hand-delivered to my doorstep.

An invisible collar, tightening with every second, squeezing the air from my lungs.

I shoved the box away, not caring if it tipped over.

I couldn’t look at it anymore. Couldn’t bear to see what was in the next one.

But I already knew.

The biggest box was heavier than the rest, the ribbon falling away far too easily under my trembling hands.

A blanket.

Not just any blanket.

A nesting blanket.

Weighted just right. The kind made specifically for omegas. The kind that held scent for weeks without fading. The kind that made your nest feel safe, warm, protected.

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