Page 87 of Knot Your Sugar

Cole steps forward though not too close. "What do you need, Elena? Tell us. We’ll get it for you."

"I need you toget out," I blurt, the words surprising even me. My cheeks flame. "Oh God, sorry! That sounded awful. I just… I need to be alone for a moment. But also—" I grab the expensive sheets, trying to simultaneously rub my cheek against them and wrestle them into something resembling a pile. "I need— uh… could I… could I maybeborrowyour shirts before you go?" I peek at them through my lashes, feeling utterly ridiculous.

The three men exchange glances. It’s a complex look: a dash of confusion, a sprinkle of dawning comprehension, and a hefty dollop of pure alpha pride. Then, without a word, they comply like a synchronized stripping team. James pulls off his soft undershirt. Cole sheds his navy t-shirt. Dorian unbuttons his crisp, probably-costs-more-than-my-rent Supima cotton shirt. They offer these items like sacred tributes.

For a split second, my instincts waver between their delicious, athletic bodies and the precious fabric they're offering. But the latter wins, my hands darting out to snatch the bounty.

I immediately bury my face in all of it, inhaling deeply. Cedar, bergamot, sandalwood,mine. I rub my cheeks against the soft fabrics, a low, contented purr rumbling in my chest.This is weird. This is so weird. Why am I doing this? Why does it feel so good?

"Nesting instinct," Dorian murmurs as if on cue, his voice a low rumble of satisfaction. "Normally, this would be a pre-heat symptom, but given how long you've been on medication, and the stress of the competition..." He trails off. "But it's starting. As I suspected." He glides toward a set of tall, lacquered doors on the far side of the room. "Elena," he says, "maybethiswill be of assistance?"

He opens the doors, revealing not just a closet, but an Aladdin's cave of textiles. Bolts of velvet, piles of faux fur throws, cashmere blankets, silks, and a mountain of plush pillows in every conceivable soft shade. It’s an omega’s fantasy.

My jaw drops. "Is that… is thatcashmere?"

Dorian’s lips curve. "And Belgian linen, Andean alpaca wool, and yes, hand-spun Panjore silk. I ordered them the other night. Had a hunch… wanted to be prepared." He looks genuinely pleased with his foresight. "I contacted a rather exclusive importer. He was very efficient, everything arrived on time."

This must have cost an absolute fortune. Gratitude wars with the sharp, insistent urge to bealonewith these treasures. I need to bury myself, arrange,create. I open my mouth to thank him, but all that comes out is a low, impatient whine.

The sound has an immediate effect on all three alphas. They go rigid, alert, their bodies practically vibrating with the need to respond to my distress. James takes a half-step forward before catching himself, while Cole's hands clench at his sides. After a moment to compose himself, Dorian, reading me like an open book, nods. "Gentlemen," he says, turning to the others, "I believe Elena requires privacy for her…preparations." Heturns back to me, his gaze softening. "Water and food are on the console. There's a call bell by the bed. Ring it if you needanything. We'll bring it to you."

A wave of relief and desire crashes over me as I realize they understand what I need.

"We'll be near," Cole promises, his voice steady.

"Take all the time you need," Dorian adds.

"No pressure," James chimes in, his smirk softened with understanding.

Their care penetrates my hormone-fogged brain. It’s… so sweet.

"Soon," I promise, clutching their shirts. Then, with an apologetic but firm look, I shoo them toward the door. The moment it clicks shut, I turn, my eyes gleaming, ready to face my mountain of fluff.

* * *

Time dissolves into a blur of folding, fluffing, and arranging. I work like a woman possessed, driven by an instinct older than words. The base needs to be sturdy, the sides secure, the centerperfect.

I tear open pillowcases and scatter the plush cushions throughout. Cashmere blankets are folded and refolded for the perfect foundation. The velvet bolts become luxurious walls, while faux fur throws add texture and warmth to the outer edges. Silk scarves and fabrics are woven through the structure like ribbons, and throughout it all, I incorporate their shirts; creating an intricate tapestry of soft materials and their combined scents.Myalphas.

The nest grows, taking over the huge room's corner, a soft, inviting cocoon large enough for four but built for intimacy. It’s… perfect. I sit back, admiring my handiwork, when another heat wave crashes through me, stronger, sharper. It steals mybreath, making me clench my thighs together. The silk robe is suddenly unbearably hot. I tear it off, a whimper escaping me.

"Alpha," I pant, the word tasting new but right. "Needalpha."

My trembling fingers find the bell. I ring it, a frantic jingle. At the same time, an uncontrollable, high, keening whine escapes my lips. It's the omega's call, pure distress, pure need.

The reaction is instantaneous. Footsteps. Three distinct sets, pounding down the hallway like they’re running the Pamplona Bull Run, and I’m the finish line.

A loud knock. "Elena? Princess? Are you alright?" James's voice, breathless and urgent. Looks like he's the first one to arrive.

James.

"James?" My voice is a ragged whisper. "You can… come in."

The door bursts open. He’s there, filling the doorway, eyes wide, scanning until they land on me: naked, flushed, surrounded by my…creation. Concern wars with a dawning, possessive heat in his gaze. Dorian and Cole appear behind him moments later, their expressions equally intense, scents flaring as they take in the scene. Together, they form a wall of protective, hungry alpha energy.

"What do you need, princess?" James asks, his voice rougher now.

The sight of him, ready to charge to my rescue, flashes with the memory of him at the festival, risking everythingfor me. Lust, sharp and sudden, jolts through me.

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