Page 42 of Nesting With My Three Alphas
I kept talking, filling the space with quiet stories to distract her from the thunder rattling the windows. About the first time Micah had made me breakfast without being asked, how Jonah had taught me to change Charlie's diaper when she was tiny and Sarah was too tired to move. Small moments that had built into something bigger, something like family.
"Micah used to leave extra pastries on my porch," I said. "Never said anything about it, just left them there like some kind of pastry fairy. Took me three months to figure out it was him. It should have been obvious really."
Kit's mouth quirked in what might have been the beginning of a smile.
"And Jonah," I continued, "he fixed my truck once when I was too proud to ask for help. Spent his whole weekend under the hood, wouldn't take any payment except for me agreeing to come to Charlie's birthday party."
I told her about how we'd become a unit without ever deciding to, how three men who'd all been alone had somehow found each other and built something solid. How Charlie had been the glue that held us together in those early days after Sarah's death, giving us all a reason to show up.
Kit's breathing slowed slightly, her attention focusing on my voice. I could see the tension leaving her shoulders as the storm outside faded to background noise, her mind following my stories instead of tracking every crack of thunder.
"I wasn't a people person. Still not, really. Until Jonah kept asking questions and Micah started making me coffee like I belonged somewhere."
"What kind of questions?" Kit asked, her voice small but curious.
"Normal ones. How was your day, what are you working on, do you want to come over for dinner. Nothing earth-shattering. But no one had ever asked before, not like they actually wanted to know the answer."
After a beat of silence, Kit's scent shifted again, spiking with something that made my alpha instincts sit up and take notice.
"There was a box on my porch today," she said quietly.
She explained about the photographs, the anonymity, the violation of being watched without knowing it. Her scent turned sharp and acidic with fear as she described finding evidence of surveillance, of being hunted in the place she'd thought was safe.
I went utterly still as she spoke, every muscle in my body coiling with protective fury. But I didn't shout. Didn't panic. Didn't let any of the rage I was feeling leak into my scent or my voice.
"You're not alone," I said, low and sure. "Not tonight. Not ever again."
"Reed, I..." She wrapped her arms around herself. "I'm scared of being a burden. I keep bringing problems to all of you."
"You're not a problem, Kit. You're family." I leaned forward slightly, catching her eyes. "But I need you to promise me something. If anything else happens, you come to me. No secrets. That's the deal."
"Don't tell the others," she said quickly. "Not yet. I just need time to figure out how to handle this."
I wanted to argue, wanted to insist that Jonah and Micah needed to know about the threat. But the vulnerability in her voice stopped me.
"I won't say anything," I agreed. "But only if you promise to come to me if there's more. I can't protect you from things I don't know about."
She nodded, some of the tension leaving her shoulders.
Time passed. Her breathing slowed. The storm continued to rage outside, but the atmosphere in the room had shifted to something calmer, more settled. I started to adjust my position in the chair, preparing to settle in for the night.
"Don't sleep there," Kit said suddenly, her voice trembling but certain. "Please."
I froze, every alpha instinct I possessed suddenly laser-focused on her words. "You sure?"
"I just... I don't want to be alone. And I trust you."
I trust you. The same words she'd said to Micah, but now offered to me in her most vulnerable space.
Every part of me wanted to crawl into that nest and worship her skin, fuelled by the way her scent was shifting toward something warmer and more complex. Instead, I simply nodded.
"Then I'll stay. Just stay."
I climbed into the nest slowly, keeping careful space between our bodies, hyperaware of every movement and breath. The blankets smelled like her, like safety and home and everything I'd never dared to want for myself.
I tucked one of the blankets over her with slow reverence, my movements gentle and deliberate. The air between us was thick with heat and something unspoken, electric with possibility and restraint.
When I adjusted one of the pillows, our hands brushed. The contact sent a spark through me that had nothing to do with static electricity and everything to do with the way she was looking at me, like I was something worth reaching for.
