Page 49 of Stream Heat
A pause, then, "At four thirty in the morning?"
"Best time to think. No distractions."
Another pause, longer this time. I could almost feel him analyzing the strain in my voice, the too-quick response.
"Need anything?" he finally asked. "Coffee? Food?"
"I'm good, thanks."
"Alright." His footsteps retreated down the hall, but something in his tone told me he hadn't believed me for a second.
I sank onto the edge of the bed, suddenly exhausted despite the early hour. This had to stop. I needed to return the items I'd taken, establish proper boundaries, remember what this arrangement was supposed to be. A business partnership, not... whatever this was becoming.
But even as I resolved to gather everything up, my fingers found Reid's hoodie again, clutching it like a lifeline. The comfort it provided was undeniable, immediate, and terrifyingly potent. One breath of his scent and my anxiety receded, my muscles relaxed, my mind cleared.
"Just until the withdrawal passes," I whispered, a compromise with myself. "Just until I'm stable again."
Another lie, but one I could almost believe.
I spent the next hour organizing my stolen treasures, telling myself I was preparing to return them while actually arranging them more efficiently around my space. Reid's hoodie and cap on the chair beside my bed. Ash's tools neatly aligned on the nightstand. Malik's cushion positioned perfectly in the reading nook. Theo's magazine displayed on the shelf.
Only when I stepped back to survey my work did I realize what I'd done.
I’d created a nest.
Not the elaborate, fabric-lined structures from Omega lifestyle magazines, but a nest nonetheless. A space filled with items carrying the scents of alphas my hindbrain had decided were mine.
The worst part? It looked right. It felt right. For the first time since moving into the Pack Wrecked house, my room felt truly comfortable.
"This is temporary," I reminded myself firmly. "Just until the withdrawal symptoms subside."
But even as I said it, I knew it was more than that. This wasn't just about physical comfort during withdrawal. This was about something deeper, more primal, the need for connection, for belonging, for pack.
I was saved from further self-examination by the sound of movement in the house. Malik was rising for his morning meditation stream, the quiet routine of the earliest riser signaling the start of the day.
I quickly changed into more presentable clothes, determined to act normal despite my internal crisis. By the time I emerged from my room, the smell of coffee and something delicious wafted from the kitchen.
Malik stood at the stove, stirring something that smelled like heaven. He glanced up as I entered, his expression warming.
"You're up early," he observed, his voice pitched low in deference to the others still sleeping. "Trouble sleeping?"
I shrugged, aiming for casual. "Medication schedule. You know how it is."
His eyes, which were much too perceptive, lingered on my face, but he didn't press. "Hungry? I'm making protein porridge before my stream."
"Sounds good." I poured myself fresh coffee, hyperaware of my earlier theft from this very room. Did the space look different without Reid's cap on the hook? Would Malik notice?
"You seem tense," he remarked, sliding a bowl toward me. "Withdrawal symptoms flaring?"
"Something like that." I focused on the food, avoiding his gaze. "Dr. Patel said to expect fluctuations."
He nodded, accepting the deflection. "The meditation techniques help, if you're interested. I could show you a few more after my stream."
The offer was casual, without pressure, but something in me recoiled from the kindness. I didn't deserve their continued patience, not when I was secretly stealing their possessions like some designation-crazed kleptomaniac.
"Maybe later," I managed, shoveling porridge into my mouth to avoid further conversation.
We ate in companionable silence, Malik respecting my obvious desire for space. When he left for his morning stream, I breathed a sigh of relief, only to tense again as Jace appeared, silent as always.
