Not like someone who wanted them.

  Roan stood the tallest, broad and cut from glacier stone, pale blonde hair immaculately short, steel-gray eyes as sharp as ever—but softer, too. There was something in his stillness, in the calm he wrapped himself in, that felt like a shield thrown over all of us. That calm had always impressed me professionally.

  Now, it burned.

  The control he wielded over himself… the discipline of a man who had locked away his instincts for years. I could feel it, pulsing under his skin like heat beneath ice. And still, he didn’t move toward me. Didn’t even shift his weight. His restraint wasn’t rejection—it was reverence.

  And maybe that was the worst part.

  Because I could feel how badly he wanted to move.

  My eyes dragged to Rhett, standing just slightly off to Roan’s left, coiled and twitchy. All fire and honey-brown skin, his dark curls a little unruly from the hat he’d worn, brown eyes still sharp despite the aching edge of desperation beneath his usual swagger. He was beautiful in a way that always made people turn around twice—and when he smiled, it was lethal.

  Right now, he wasn’t smiling.

  But the wildness in him wasn’t hostile. It was devoted. He vibrated with the need to protect, to touch, to give. His lips were parted like he was holding back words—or something more primal—and his hands were fists at his sides.

  He'd go feral if I asked him to.

  God help me, that idea made me shudder.

  Then there was Jay.

  Dark where the others were light, sharp where they were broad. His black hair fell in a slant across his brow like it had been styled that way by intention, not wind. His lean frame moved with quiet grace as he adjusted something on the counter—some clutter I hadn’t realized I’d left. His hands were elegant, long fingers deft as he cleaned without fanfare.

  He didn’t look at me. Not yet.

  But he was listening.

  Jay always listened.

  The beta.

  Or… maybe not.

  Because when my scent rose again—slight, unwilling, but undeniably mine—I saw the shift in his spine. The way his head tilted, slow and deliberate, like a predator catching the edge of something they weren’t supposed to crave.

  He didn’t show hunger.

  He showed awareness.

  Of me.

  Of us.

  And still, none of them moved.

  Not toward me. Not toward each other. Just three distinct storms caught in the same current. All of them watching. Waiting.

  For me.

  I exhaled slowly. My body was still burning, still on fire in places I could barely stand to notice. But the pulse of it had slowed, just enough for thought.

  Just enough for desire to settle into fascination.

  My gaze moved from Jay to Rhett, then to Roan—and back again.

  This was the situation I’d been hiding to avoid. Not just the heat. Not just the loss of control.

  It was them.

  And what I might mean to them.

  And yet…

  They came.

  They found me.

  For a long moment, none of us moved.

  Not even to breathe.

  But I had asked them to stay.

  And they had.

  No hesitation.

  Just quiet, restrained chaos pressed into male bodies, all three of them wrestling with their own urges and instincts and not touching me—because I hadn’t said they could.

  And because Roan wouldn’t let them.

  That authority didn’t come with loud declarations. He hadn’t had to growl or posture or throw his weight around. It radiated from him like gravity—quiet, dense, unshakable.

  It steadied them.

  It steadied me.

  Enough to breathe through the worst of the heat flare. Enough to let my body settle into a strange place—still needy, still aching, but no longer frenzied.

  Still mine.

  Which was maybe the most important part.

  My breath came easier now, even if my body still trembled. I took another sip of water, knees drawn up toward my chest on the edge of the sofa. They’d all given me space without needing to be asked. Even Rhett, who looked like someone had tied him to the floorboards and whispered don’t move straight into his bloodstream.

  I glanced up at them.

  Three men. Three monsters.

  My monsters.

  Don’t think like that.

  “Okay,” I said slowly, voice hoarse but clearer than it had been. “If I remember correctly… we were placing bets on the weather.”

  Rhett lit up like I’d handed him a loaded squirt gun and pointed at a room full of suits. “Hell yes, we were. And I stand by my guess, blizzard. The kind where you can’t see the road signs, and someone loses a boot trying to check the mail.”

  Jay rolled his eyes and leaned a hip against the counter. “It’s not even snowing that hard right now. My guess is light snow overnight, clear by morning.”

  Roan’s gaze slid from one to the other, then to me.

  “Four more inches by midnight. Wind advisory. Ice warnings on secondary roads. Your basic shut-it-down storm.”

  I blinked at him.

  “Are you… quoting the forecast or making your bet?”

  His mouth twitched. “Just a guess.”

  Of course it was. He probably was the forecast.

  I blinked again, brain catching up. “Wait… does anyone have a phone?”

  “Just you,” Jay said, his voice mild as he straightened. He reached into his hoodie pocket and handed it over. “It started pinging again about twenty minutes ago. I silenced it.”

  I stared at him. “How did you…?”

  “You left it in the kitchen.” A pause. “Under a towel. Not exactly state-of-the-art hiding.”

  I took the phone from him carefully, our fingers not touching.

  The heat in me pulsed, deep and slow and unrelenting.

  But it didn’t spike.

  Okay. Okay…

  I unlocked the screen with a shaky thumb, ignoring the dozens of notifications lining my feed. Sports updates, PR pings, news alerts, and⁠—

  Yep. There it was. Weather app already open in a background window, probably from earlier in the week.

  I refreshed it.

  Then looked up.

  “Well?” Rhett asked, leaning forward like a very excited golden retriever trying to solve a murder mystery.

  I raised a brow. “Anyone want to change their bet?”

  Roan just gave me that patient, unreadable look.

  Jay tilted his head.

  Rhett made an exaggerated “nope” gesture with both hands.

  “Alright then,” I murmured.

  I read the screen out loud.

  “Current temperature, twelve degrees. Wind chill bringing it down to two. Snowfall expected to continue through the evening. Accumulation: four to five inches. Icy road warnings in effect through tomorrow morning…”

  I looked up at Roan.

  “You win.”

  His smile—small, faint, just the barest uptick of his lips—still somehow hit me low and hard.

  “Of course he does,” Jay muttered, pushing off the counter. “He’s probably telepathically linked to the fucking Doppler radar.”

  “Don’t be jealous,” Rhett said, but he was already grinning. “We’ll just beat him in the next round.”

  Roan looked at me then, and even from across the room, I felt the quiet weight of his attention. “So, Wren. We placed our bets.”

  My pulse tripped.

  “Time to collect,” Rhett added, a little too bright, a little too sharp.

  And I realized⁠—

  This was what it felt like to be wanted by all three of them.

  No pressure.

  No demands.

  Just open hands and simmering patience and want so deep I could feel it anchoring me to the earth.

  And the only one who got to decide what happened next… was me.

  I could still feel the heat curling inside me, but something about Roan’s steady presence gave me a buffer, made it if not easier, then possible to breathe. His quiet confidence and his patience acted like an anchor. It was so easy to sink into that, to let him take control in the way he knew best. How he always knew best.

  Of course, Roan had won. It was so him—never take a bet he wasn’t sure about. Never do anything half-assed. It didn’t matter if it was on the ice or in a game of odds about weather. Roan knew.

  Yet, even now, as I tried to hold onto a fragile clarity, I was still left strung tight. His quiet dominance was soothing in one moment, but in the next, it felt like too much. The weight of everything pressed down on me again, like it always did when I allowed myself to truly feel the space I was in with them. The presence of their bodies. The scent of them—fresh, masculine, burning-hot, and unyielding.

  “Are you going to help me sleep?” I asked before I could stop myself, and even as the words left my mouth, I was surprised by the vulnerability that bled into my voice.

  Roan’s eyes softened, but his jaw remained taut. “That was the bet,” he answered, his voice just as even, just as controlled as ever. But then he added, “Do you want to take a bath first? Eat something?” He raised a brow, clearly offering the decision to me.

  I blinked, caught off-guard. He’s giving me control.

  No one had ever done that before—not like this. Not with so much care woven into the offer. I could see the surprise flicker in both Jay and Rhett’s eyes. Neither of them had expected this from Roan—Roan Whittaker, the man who always had a plan, who was always the rock.

  But he was handing it over to me. All of it. I could feel the weight of it. What does that mean?

  Part of me wanted to give in. Wanted to let him take care of everything, to fall into the quiet, open strength he was offering me. But I didn’t—couldn’t—give in that easily. My thoughts were a tangled mess.

  “Maybe… sleep first?” I said slowly, testing the waters. “I don’t know that I can really eat, and I’ve showered so much already… maybe a bath later?”

  Roan’s face softened further, the sharp lines of control in his expression melting away. He nodded, just once, as if it was already decided.

  “Sleep it is,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. “Let’s get you into bed.”

  As he moved toward me with that purposeful grace that always had a way of putting everyone else on pause, I felt myself pull back. Not in fear, but in uncertainty. The flood of everything swirling inside me made it hard to know what was right anymore.

  Rising, I forced deeper breaths. My legs felt weak, and for the first time, I didn’t want to be alone. Not with the heat still coursing through my veins, not when the temptation to give in to everything was this strong.

  I paused in the doorway that separated the main room from the bedroom.

  I wasn’t sure what to say—what I should say—but in the end, the question slipped out of me, unexpected, almost reckless. “Will you stay?” My voice was soft, fragile in the air between us, but I didn’t care anymore.

  I knew the consequences of what I was asking. The consequences of needing them so badly. Of wanting them too much.

  But I still asked. “I know if you stay… it might mean you’re trapped here with me.”

  Roan’s gaze never wavered. His hand settled on my back, the blanket and the tank top I wore, keeping his skin from touching mine. Everything about him remained steady and calm, but his eyes? They were sharp, full of something that made me feel seen, understood. His voice rumbled low in the room. “I’m staying.”

  Then Jay spoke up, his voice carrying a seriousness that cut through the earlier tension. “We all are.”

  Rhett, too, didn’t hesitate. “Yeah. I’m not leaving.”

  They didn’t even flinch at the thought of being stuck here with me. It was something—something that shouldn’t have been this simple, yet was.

  I didn’t have to make the decision for them. They had already made it for me. For a fleeting moment, that sensation of relief flooded me all over again.

  They were staying. They were here. For me.

  I couldn’t explain why that felt so monumental, but I didn’t need to. All I knew was that for the first time in… forever, I wasn’t alone.

  Maybe, just maybe, I could stop pretending I could do it all myself.

  Roan’s hand slid to my shoulder as he gently coaxed me into the room, his presence grounding me. Rhett and Jay remained in place, just outside the door, but I could feel them. Even without looking, I knew they were there.

  It was a strange sort of peace, surrounded by all of them—my strength, my security, my monsters.

  I stepped into the room, feeling the weight of everything shift again, but this time… in a way I couldn’t explain. Or maybe I didn’t have to.

  I wasn’t sure of the future. But I was sure of this moment.

  I wasn’t alone.

  Not anymore.

  Chapter

  Sixteen

  ROAN

  She was trembling by the time I got her to her room.

  Wren didn’t weigh much—barely anything at all—but the determination in her kept me from just sweeping her up in my arms. She carried so much more right now than just this burning need. The weight of everything she’d hidden, everything she was still trying to hide, even from herself.

  I was careful and minimized the contact to just hovering close in case she stumbled. Maybe I was too careful, but I didn’t think that was possible. I didn’t let my skin touch hers, not once. I had gloves on, sleeves pulled down, jacket buttoned to the collar. She was a bonfire, and I didn’t want to go up in flames.

  Not without permission.

  She was quiet, mostly, but twitchy. Her body fought between exhaustion and instinct, nerves shot from the overexposure of the day. Her scent—gods, her scent—was thick, syrupy sweet, soaked in suppressed heat and tangled anxiety. It clawed through every restraint I had like it was looking for a way in.

  I straightened the blankets as she stared at the bed, almost belatedly realizing they were wrecked from her restlessness. Once she’d laid down, I pulled them up to cover her. Her eyes were already half-closed, whether in sleep or just lost in the haze, I wasn’t sure. Still, better to just tuck her in.

  “No,” she murmured. Her fingers fluttered out, reaching—not consciously, not quite—but the motion sent a jolt through me. Her hand was bare. My instincts surged, pushing past the walls I’d spent years building. I jerked back and snatched the throw blanket at the end of the bed, wrapping it around her in one swift motion before her fingers could graze mine.

  Her eyes blinked open, hazy and confused. “Why can’t I—” she shifted again, frowning. “You’re so warm. Why can’t I touch you?”

  Because I wouldn’t survive it.

  “You agreed to let me help you sleep,” I said, voice low. “That’s all we agreed on.”

  She opened her mouth like she might argue, but then the scent of her deepened again—warmth, frustration, longing. It caught in my throat like smoke. I forced myself to breathe through my mouth.

  “You’re hiding yourself,” I said before I could stop the words. “Suppressants?”

  Wren didn’t answer right away. Her eyes flicked to mine, sharp despite the haze, and for a moment I saw the real her—omega, fighter, survivor. Then her lashes lowered, and she nodded.

  “Over a decade,” she murmured. “They’re not illegal. Not really.”

  “No,” I said, jaw tight. “They’re not endorsed either. There’s a reason for that.”

  “They let me survive,” she whispered. “They let me... live the way I needed to.”

  And gods help me, I wanted to be angry. I was angry. At her. At the system. At whoever had made her think suppressing something so fundamental was the only way she could be safe, be free.

  But she was barely holding on. Her face turned into the blanket, cheek pressing into it like she was trying to disappear again, burrow away from the reality she’d peeled back just enough to show me.

  “Sleep,” I told her. It came out more like a command than I intended.

  She fought it. Of course she did. Her body was wound tight with lingering adrenaline, tension, scent. But the exhaustion was winning. Slowly, her muscles loosened, her breath slowed.

  I sat with her, holding her carefully—arms circled around the blanket, never under it. My head tilted back against the wall behind her bed, and I stared at the ceiling like it might offer me some way out of this storm.

  Her breath feathered against the side of my throat. Her warmth soaked into my chest through layers of fabric and resolve. Every inhale was torment—sweet, sharp musk that wanted to sink its teeth into me and stay.

  I stayed still. Locked it down. Iron-fisted control.

  She’d let me in this far. That was all she’d consented to. And I’d earned that much—barely. I wasn’t about to betray it.

  But the more I held her, the more I thought about all the ways she’d kept this hidden. The more I reframed every look, every tense breath, every time she flinched away from her own biology.

  And the angrier I got.

  I kept that locked down, too.

  Because this wasn’t about me. Not yet.

  She’d taken risks—unnecessary ones. Dangerous ones. The kind that could have hurt her. The kind that had clearly hurt her already.

  I had questions. Too many. But now wasn’t the time.

  She was asleep now—fitful, restless, caught in half-dreams, murmuring things I couldn’t quite catch. Her fingers flexed in the blanket. I didn’t loosen my grip. I didn’t let myself respond.

  One day, I’d ask her why. Why she chose this path. Why she thought she had to walk it alone. One day, I’d earn the right to those answers.

  But not tonight.

  Tonight, I would just hold her and burn.

  She shifted again in my arms, a soft exhale warming the side of my neck, and I focused on the rhythm of her breathing. Slow. Uneven. But deeper now. Sleep was claiming her, if only in pieces.

  Through the thin walls, I could hear Rhett pacing. His footsteps were steady, but erratic in pattern—he was struggling but thinking and worrying. I could hear Jay too, lighter on his feet, his movements purposeful. Cleaning, as he always did when he couldn’t fix something with his hands.