Page 57 of A Pack of Mistletoe
Like this isn’t everything after so long.
Up ahead, Wyatt’s fingers are tangled in Jingles’s hair, rubbing slow, soothing circles into her scalp—one of the techniques from the touch deprivation treatment form. Harlan takes my hand in his and mirrors it, his thumb moving in careful spirals around my palm.
Another technique from the form.
“Have you been feeling any relapses lately?” he asks.
I take a breath. “No. Evander’s been careful about it. I’m fine.”
His purr rises, low and steady. It hits me like a warm bath on a freezing night. Like sunlight breaking through after a storm.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur. I said it after I told him everything about the omega clause and the trust I broke. But I’d say it a million times if it meant getting him back. If it meant being worthy of this.
“Logan.” His voice is low and level, but the sound of my name in it wrecks me. It hurts and heals all at once.
“You made some bad choices,” he says. “But I can appreciate that they were hard choices.”
We’ve stopped walking. The others are off now, lost in a sea of gravity-defying pillows. The moment feels suspended—just us and the weight of everything that almost broke.
I nod, throat tight. “I kept thinking I had to handle it all alone. Like trusting you would somehow make me weak. But I see it now—what it actually did was keep me apart from the person who’s always had my back.”
Harlan doesn’t speak right away. He steps closer, crowding into my space like he’s claiming it. Like he’s reminding me who I belong to. Not in a possessive way, but in the way that anchors you when you’re drifting.
“I don’t need you to be perfect,” he says, voice barely above a growl. “I just need you to be honest. With me. From now on.”
“I will,” I swear, voice hoarse. “You have it. All of it. My trust. My submission. My heart.”
Harlan’s mouth crashes into mine, not gentle or asking. Just taking. His hand fists in my shirt, pulling me flush to him, and my knees damn near buckle at the force of the forgiveness, the dominance, the fuckingclaim.
I whimper into his mouth. He growls in answer. My whole body goes pliant, pliable,his.
“You don’t have to prove anything to me, Logan,” he whispers against my lips. “But youwillshow me.”
Heat coils in my stomach. “Yes, sir.”
Rose
The nest is finally ready. The workers finished it while we were out getting the stuff to decorate.
It looks like a little holiday cottage pulled straight from a snow globe. The siding gleams a fresh, clean white, and the shutters are painted the deep red of Santa’s suit. Tiny wreaths hang on each window, their ribbons fluttering gently in the cold breeze. A small Christmas tree twinkles on the covered porch, its lights casting warm golden patterns across the snow. The air smells faintly of pine and fresh paint, and for the first time in days, something inside me settles. It feels like home in this new life I’m creating with this pack. A Christmas themed nest would have been absurd to me just a few weeks ago. But with Evanders list in place I decided to fully embrace it this year. Including in the new nest.
The Nest Store decorators have placed everything for me. Lots of omega's and packs think it's cheating to have someone besides the omega do it, but I wouldn't even know where to begin. More than that, I don't want to if I don't have to. The guys offered to wait until my heat to view the nest, but that doesn't feel right either. I want this to be for all of us.
Now we’re all standing outside the new auxiliary nest, snow crunching softly beneath our boots. I hold the key in one hand and Harlan’s steady warmth in the other. Wyatt stands close on my other side, his body radiating heat against the chill, while the rest of the pack gathers just behind us. I take a slow, bracing breath of winter air—the kind that smells like pine and woodsmoke, and turn the key.
The door creaks open, and I’m greeted by everything my quietly repressed omega heart could ever want.
It’s a true nest. Both traditional and intimate. The windows are shuttered from the inside, keeping the world out, and the light inside glows soft and golden. Twinkle lights are strung along the walls, wrapping the space in a gentle halo. There’s a recessed area for the nest itself, layered with plush cushions, fleece throw blankets, and pillows so soft they look like fresh snowdrifts.
A little black potbelly stove sits in the corner, crackling faintly, filling the air with the scent of cedar and warmth. The whole place feels like stepping inside a Christmas card—cozy, quiet, safe. My chest tightens with love.
Evander comes up behind me, sliding his arms around my middle, just beneath my breasts. His scent—mulled wine and something sweet, wraps around me like a blanket.
“Happy, Candy?” he murmurs against my ear.
And I am. More than I’ve ever been.
Wyatt
