Page 89 of Unmarked

And there she is.

In the center of the disaster, looking like the cover model of Omega Meltdown Monthly.

Kneeling on the bed. My flannel shirt barely hanging on her, cheeks flushed, thighs soaked, and eyes glassy like she hasn’t blinked in a week.

And my shirt -my shirt -has never been so lucky.

She turns toward me, and the moment her eyes land on mine, I feel it - the bond we don’t have yet, but might as well. That primal, invisible tether between an alpha and something thatbelongs.

Her relief slams into me like a wave.

“Ash.” Her voice cracks, hoarse and broken andgrateful.“You came.”

“Yeah.” I nod once, swallowing hard. My body is taut, every muscle tight with the effort not to react - not totouch.“You asked.”

She sags like I just gave her the antidote to something.

I take a slow step forward. The door seals behind me with a hiss, and her scent coils tighter around me like a noose.

I try to ignore the way her slick glistens in the soft light.

I fail.

Lucian’s shirt is on the floor like it insulted her. The robe’s half-hanging off the bed. My shirt is the only survivor.

And fuck me, she looksperfectin it.

Too big, slipping off one shoulder. Sleeves rolled. Fabric clinging to the slick between her thighs like it was made to fit there.

My throat tightens. My body roarsmine.

But it’s the nest that hits me hardest.

“You made this?”I ask, gesturing at the chaos surrounding her.

Her brows twitch, unsure.“What?”

“This.”I nod at the cushions, the blankets, the chair now serving emotional support duty.“Your nest.”

She looks around like she’s just noticed it for the first time and isn’t sure if she should apologize.

“I didn’t like the room before,” she mutters. “I needed it to feel… safe.”

“You did good,” I say, dead serious. “Strong nest. Structurally sound. Pillow to blanket ratio is optimal. I’ve seen tactical bivouacs less secure.”

Something flickers in her expression. It's almost a smile.

“You did real good, sweetheart.”

Her eyes shine. Briefly. “I didn’t think…” Her voice wobbles. “I didn’t think you’d come back.”

I cross the room slowly. “I told you I would.”

“I thought maybe Lucian…” she trails off, fingers tightening in the bedsheet. “Maybe he wouldn’t let you.”

I snort. “Lucian can eat a brick.”

That earns me a real smile. Small. Fragile.

---