Page 95 of Saddle and Scent
Another piece of furniture selected with hopeful intentions.
"How did you sleep?" I ask, settling into the conversation I've been wanting to have since she woke up.
Her face lights up in a way that makes my chest warm.
"It was amazing," she says, gesturing with her fork. "That cushion situation was pure paradise. So soft and perfect. I don't think I've ever slept that well in my entire life."
Mission accomplished.
"We had the intention of making that space your nest," I say carefully, not wanting to pressure her. "If you want it, obviously. We're not trying to rush anything."
Her smile widens, and I can see the relief in her expression at my reassurance that we're following her timeline.
"Well, I haven't ever had a really nice nest," she admits. "The last attempt was... less than ideal."
Something in her tone makes me pause, coffee cup halfway to my lips.
"What do you mean by 'less than ideal'?"
She shifts uncomfortably, suddenly very interested in cutting her pancakes into precise squares.
"The last nest was basically a tent outside. They called it the 'dog house.'"
I choke on my coffee, the liquid burning as it goes down wrong. I'm coughing and patting my chest, trying to process what she just said while my lungs stage a revolt.
"Are you okay?" Juniper asks, looking genuinely concerned.
"Can you repeat that?" I manage between coughs.
She sighs, the kind of sound that carries years of disappointment and resignation.
"The last pack—well, I guess I can call the main Alpha my ex, though we didn't really last long enough for me to consider it a real relationship. Anyway, he and his buddies made a tent outside during winter and told me to sleep there because that's where their Omega belongs when she doesn't listen to what they want." She laughs nervously, the sound brittle around the edges. "You guys know I'm not really the submissive type, so I guess that was a turn-off for them."
I'm out of my chair before I'm fully conscious of moving.
The idea of someone treating her like that—like an animal to be punished and controlled—sends rage coursing through my veins so hot and fast it nearly blinds me.
She blinks up at me innocently, clearly surprised by my sudden movement, but I'm already reaching for her, fingersgripping her chin gently but firmly to ensure she's looking directly at me.
"You should never not act like yourself with us," I say, my voice coming out rougher than intended. "We don't want a submissive Omega who just does things to make us happy without regard for what pleases her. That's not what we want at all."
That's the furthest thing from what we want.
We fell in love with her fire, her independence, her willingness to challenge us and call us on our bullshit.
Why would we want to extinguish the very things that make her who she is?
She opens her mouth like she's going to speak or maybe argue, but then she pauses, studying my face as if she's weighing something important.
When she finally speaks, her voice is barely above a whisper.
"So if your Omega told you to go on all fours and crawl to her, you'd do it?"
The question hits me like lightning.
I stare into the depths of her storm-gray eyes, recognizing that this is more than just a hypothetical question. This is a test, but also an exploration—she's trying to see how far she can push, what kinds of dynamics might be possible between us.
She's guarding her expression carefully, but I can see the vulnerability underneath.
