Page 81 of Primal

I lift my hand, slow and almost timidly, and let my fingers trace the curve of her cheek. Her skin is cool to the touch, but nowhere near as cold as it would have been if I hadn’t kept myself wrapped around her while she slept. She stirs at the contact, leans into it in her sleep like she’s chasing more of it. It’s intimate and cleaves something open in me.

I tell myself not to do it, but I do.

I lower my head and press the barest kiss to her temple, like it might shatter her if I’m not careful. Her lips part on a sigh, and something deep in my chest stirs. The bond—frayed and bleeding but still hanging on—vibrates in quiet response.

It’s still there. She’s still mine.

I give myself one last minute to enjoy the stillness of this moment, then I force myself to move, slipping from the lounge without waking her. She doesn’t stir, not even when I gently pull one of the blankets from her body and wrap it around my waist. An improvised solution in case I run into someone inside. I know Seren and Siggy live here full-time, but I don’t know where they sleep or if anyone else has taken up residence in this house. Noa didn’t give me the space to pry for such information—her boundary clearly in place—so I hadn’t.

I move slowly, carefully, as I gather her into my arms. She’s far too light, too fragile, but she fits against me so easily it physically causes a pain to bloom behind my sternum. My heart. She lets out a soft, unsettled whine, unmistakably omega, the kind that calls out to my alpha instincts. My chest rumbles with a soft purr in answer, and it soothes her instantly. Her head tucks beneath my chin, her breath brushing my skin, and her bodygoes still again. I hold her tighter, unwilling to tolerate even the air coming between us.

Carrying her feels natural, grounding. I shoulder through the back door and step into the sunroom. I follow the light streaming through a set of cracked French doors and step into the manor’s kitchen. It’s updated but maintains that original charm of the Victorian era. The walls are painted a dark green that makes the space feel inviting and the vintage pendants above the workbench fill the room with dim, warm light that shines on the hanging dried herbs, mismatched jars, and everything else that makes the room feel lived in. The kitchen reminds me more of an apothecary than a place to cook, but there’s something comforting in it. It’s the heart of her home and it screams of…her.

It makes me—maybe foolishly—wonder what she’ll do to my house. How she’ll change it. What she’ll claim and make hers. Because she can have free rein. I couldn’t care less what color the walls are or what ridiculous pattern she chooses for the damn throw pillows on the sectional. If she’s living there, coexisting with me as my mate, my omega, my Goddess-given Luna, she can paint the ceilings neon orange and leave her witchy shit in every corner of the place, for all I care. Hell, I’ll hand her my credit card with a smile on my face if it means she makes it ours. Hers. A space that feels like her personal touch is in every aspect of it. A space that feels like a home and not just a house.

I’m about to search for the stairs when a sweet scent cuts through the quiet—peony and white tea.

I turn, my body tensing instinctively.

Seren steps into one of the arched doorways that decorate either end of the long kitchen. With a cup of chamomile tea in her right hand that looks untouched and cold by the lack of steam, she leans against the doorframe. It’s a movement that screams of fought-for restraint. It’s the look that borderssomewhere between grief and barely contained rage in her pale blue eyes that validates this thinking. Her unwavering eye contact is bold for an omega. I find I can’t help but respect her confidence.

She breaks through the silence first.

“I went to check on her and found her room empty,” she says. Her voice is calm, but I can hear the edge beneath it. “Thought she’d run off to do something recklessly altruistic since that seems to be where her head is these days.” She pauses, exhaling through her nose as she looks past me toward the sunroom. I don’t have a chance to ask what she means when she adds, “I wasn’t surprised to find her outside. Her mom used to do the same thing when she couldn’t sleep. But Thalassa, at least, had the sense not to do it when winter wasn’t edging us.”

She’s clearly agitated, frustrated, but it’s just as obvious that it’s coming from a place of unfathomable fear for her best friend.

Her gaze returns to mine and sharpens.

“Iwassurprised to find you with her,Alpha,” she adds, and the title is laced with enough disdain to make it feel like a slur.

“I found her out there when I got here,” I say, adjusting my hold on Noa, who remains blissfully unaware of the tension in the room. Good. She needs to sleep as long as her body will allow her. “I made sure she stayed warm.”

“How noble of you.”

I bristle but bite my tongue. Seren’s been here on the front lines, no doubt scrambling to glue the pieces of her best friend together.

She tilts her head slightly, lips pressing into a thin line. “And whatexactlyare you doing here, anyway, Fallamhain? You didn’t choose Noa, remember? You turned your back on her. So, what else could you possibly want from her now? Or are you some kind of sick sadist who just likes seeing his handiwork up close?”

It’s my turn to scowl at her, my wolf stiffening and his ears pinning to his head as a warning snarl builds in the back of my throat.

“Watch it…” I caution.

She doesn’t heed my warning. The blonde omega shoves off the doorway and marches forward a few steps. It’s clear her devastation on behalf of her friend is fueling her right now. “She doesn’t have anything left to give you. You already took everything! So why the fuck are you here?”

At her raised voice, Noa shifts in my arms, another pitiful whimper escaping her pouted lips. Not giving a shit if we have an audience or not, my alpha side responds to her distress instantly, my chest revving back up with a vibrating purr.

Through the rumble, I glare back at my omega’s irate friend. “Keep your fucking voice down. You can be pissed at me all you want, but if you wake her up when she so clearly needs sleep, you’re going to find out which one of us is scarier when mad.”

I feel my wolf push forward, my eyes shifting as he peers out at her.

She’s wise enough to retreat a step, the air that was fizzing around her with fury waning, but she’s not done yet, not really. “You can’t show up here and act like you give a shit now, Fallamhain.”

Her point is valid, which is why I retract some of my own terseness.

“You might not believe me, and I’m not going to beg you for your understanding or forgiveness before I’ve had a chance to get on my knees and plead for my life with Noa first—since she’s the one who needs to hear it and not you—but I will answer your earlier question, Seren. I’m not here to take anything from Noa,” I tell her as I notice I’ve rubbed the underside of my chin along Noa’s temple, twice, since confronted by Seren. It’s as if the need to scent mark her as mine in the face of someone who mightpossibly try to pull her from my arms has worked its way into my subconscious. Seren notices too, but I don’t bother trying to look ashamed. I just do it again to be sure Noa’s properly coated in my scent. “I don’t want totakeanything. I want togiveher everything. I just want to fix it. Heal her.”

Seren doesn’t look convinced, but it’s obvious I’ve piqued her interest, whether she wants me to or not. “You want to fix it?”

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