Chapter 22: Little Wolf
All I know is warmth. Heavy warmth pressed around me from every direction. Soft blankets. Pillows crammed under my arms and between my knees. The deep, grounding smell of males wrapping around my head, physically holding me together.
"Oh my fucking God." I bolt upright.
The room spins, heat crashes through me in thick nauseating waves and I make a pathetic noise before collapsing sideways back into the pile of stolen clothes.
My nest.
Absolutely not.
I stare at the mountain of blankets and hoodies surrounding me in genuine terror. Sometime during my mental breakdown yesterday, I escalated from emotionally unstable to full woodland creature. There are pillows stacked against the headboard. Corrian’s hoodie is wrapped around my waist. Ezra’s stupid expensive shirt is bunched under my cheek. I think there’s one of River’s socks under my leg.
I’ve made a boy lasagna. A horrifying scent-based emotional support lasagna. I press both hands over my face and groan into my palms.
Outside the bedroom, someone slams into the wall.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" Jax shouts somewhere in the hallway.
"She can hear you," Corrian says sharply.
"GOOD."
Another loud thud.
"She’s in heat, Corrian."
My entire body freezes.
Then Corrian again, lower this time. Controlled in that terrifying way that means he’s actually furious. "We don’t know that yet."
"Bullshit," Jax snaps. "You smelled the nest."
My face burns. Shit. SHIT.
I bury myself under a blanket, please smother me to death before I ever have to face another human being again.
"I’m serious," Jax continues outside. "This is bad. Her scent changed overnight. It’s everywhere."
"Lower your voice."
"I’m trying, but I can literally hear her crying through the fucking wall."
I am crying, I didn’t even realise.
Then Corrian says, very carefully, "You are not going in there."
A beat before Jax, sounding personally betrayed. "What?"
"You heard me."
"She needs us."
"She needs quiet. Not five grown men losing their goddamn minds outside her bedroom."
"I am quiet."
"You put your fist through the kitchen cabinet thirty seconds ago."
"That cabinet knew what it did."
Despite myself, a tiny hysterical laugh escapes me. Silence falls outside my door again. I clamp both hands over my mouth trying to take the sound back.
Too late.
A low noise rumbles through the hallway, deep enough that I feel it in my chest. Heat curls low in my stomach in response.
This is not normal.
Nothing about this is normal.
I curl tighter into the nest instead, dragging the blankets around me desperately because the room feels wrong again. Scents are fading too fast. Panic flickers sharp and ugly under my ribs.
No no no.
I start grabbing blindly for more fabric, pulling shirts against my chest. Still wrong. The air feels empty.
My throat tightens. Fresh Tears spring free.
"Frankie?"
Corrian’s voice now.
"I’m fine," I croak. An obvious lie.
"You’re not."
"No shit, Sherlock."
Then quieter, "Can we come in?"
Absolutely not.
Yes.
Maybe.
I don’t know.
Every emotion in my body is turned up so high that panic crashes into sadness crashes into heat crashes into overwhelming aching loneliness.
"I don’t..." My voice wobbles horribly. "I don’t know what’s happening to me."
River speaks. "You’re frightened, baby." He sounds like he understands, it breaks something in me.
"I hate this," I whisper, tears spilling down my face. "I hate all of this."
The doorknob turns and River steps inside alone. The others stay outside. Thank God.
Weirdly not thank God.
He closes the door gently behind him and just... stops. No sudden movements or weird intensity. No overwhelming Alpha energy like the others carry naturally without even trying.
Just calm. The room feels quieter with him in it.
He’s wearing dark sweatpants and a charcoal long sleeve shoved up his forearms, tattoos disappearing beneath fabric and muscle. His dark hair is loose around his face instead of tied back. He smells like the feeling of rain. Cold air after a storm. Forest earth. Pine.
His eyes drift over the nest. Then to me buried inside it. "Comfortable?"
"No."
"You built yourself a fine fortress."
"I’m aware."
"Mm." I narrow my eyes.
"Don’t mm me." That tiny almost-smile appears again. It does dangerous things to my nervous system.
He’s carrying a tray full of fruit, toast, a small bowl of sweets, a cup of tea, glass of water. I didn’t notice at first because I was too busy internally combusting. He crosses the room slowly, sets the tray down and crouches next to me.
"You need to eat."
"I need a priest."
"That too, probably."
Another watery laugh escapes me. God, I’m tired. Everything hurts. Even the soft blanket against my bare legs feels overwhelming. Every sound in the house too sharply in my ears. I can hear footsteps downstairs. The refrigerator humming in the kitchen. Wind moving through trees outside.
And underneath all of it, them.
I stare at River pleading with my eyes for understanding. "I can hear too much."
His expression doesn’t change, which confirms this is real more than anything else so far.
"Your senses are adjusting."
"Adjusting to what?"
He’s quiet for a long moment. Then softly replies, "Yourself."
I glare at him through tears. "That’s wise and tells me squat at the same time."
"Thank you."
"I wasn’t complimenting you."
"I know."
My heart hurts. He’s not looking scared, or like I’m disgusting or broken or insane. I look from him to the tray and burst into tears again.
"...What happened?" He asks.
"I don’t know," I sob angrily. "The yogurt looked caring."
"Oh." That devastatingly soft smile again.
He reaches for the tea first and holds it out toward me carefully. I try to take it with shaking hands, but he keeps hold and nods at me to take a sip. As I pull my hand away our fingers brush and just like that, everything is right in the world once more.
I take a small sip and a needy sound catches in my throat
River goes very still, and humiliation slams into me as I jerk backward.
"Sorry."
His brows pull together slightly. "For what?"
I stare at him. "For being whatever the fuck this is."
Something changes in his face. A small movement, but real, sadness maybe.
"Frankie," he says quietly, "don’t apologise for needing comfort."
Somewhere deep and bruised takes his statement as a prod. Nobody has ever said something like that to me before. After my short childhood ended in blood and screaming, everything after that has been survival. Scraping rent, bad jobs, worse ment, loneliness so constant it became background noise.
Neediness got you hurt.
Neediness made people leave.
Neediness made you weak.
So why does this feel so—
I make another awful choking sound and River is moving. He sits carefully on the edge of the bed and opens one arm slightly. An offering. A choice.
The thing inside me that’s been screaming since I woke up lunges toward him before pride can stop it. I practically crawl across the nest and slam into his chest hard enough to make him grunt softly. The second his arms close around me, relief detonates.
"Oh, sweetheart," River murmurs against my hair.
That absolutely does not help.
I clutch handfuls of his shirt while he just holds me there against his chest, one large hand moving slowly up and down my spine.
I can feel his heartbeat.
I cling harder without meaning to.
"I’m sorry," I whisper wetly against his chest.
"There’s that word again."
"I’m literally using you as a weighted blanket."
"Effective."
I laugh weakly through tears and pull back remembering myself. I’m swinging wildly from need to hysteria. I wipe furiously at my face while avoiding eye contact completely.
"Love whatever fresh hell this is." I mutter hoarsely.
River studies me quietly. "You’re overwhelmed."
"No shit."
"You’re fighting yourself."
I look up sharply. "What does that mean?"
His gaze drifts briefly toward the nest around us. Then back to me. "Your body knows something your mind doesn’t yet."
I am going to strangle this mysterious forest cryptid man with my bare hands if he says that one more time.
"Can you answer one question normally? Just once? As a treat?"
His mouth twitches. "Probably not."
"Unbelievable."
Instead of entertaining my tantrum, he holds out the spoon filled with cereal. He feeds me slowly while I sit wrapped in blankets trying not to cry anymore. Which feels deeply manipulative honestly. At one point my head drops heavily against his shoulder. He says nothing. Just shifts slightly so I’m more comfortable.
The room slowly darkens around us. Hours pass strangely. Sometimes we talk, mostly we don’t.
The heat gets worse again, sharp painful waves crashing through me. River cools a cloth with ice water and presses it gently against the back of my neck.
Every time he pulls away even slightly, panic flares beneath my skin. By the time evening settles outside the windows, I’m exhausted enough to feel delirious.
He stands, and the fear is immediate.
"No." I hate the desperation in my own voice. "I just..." My throat tightens painfully. "Don’t go yet."
Something unbearably soft moves across his face. "I’m not very far away, sweetheart."
River watches me unravel quietly for another second, then, without a word, he kicks his shoes off and climbs carefully onto the bed beside the nest. Giving me choice.
The second he settles against the pillows, my body moves toward him instinctively anyway. I curl against his side beneath the blankets with a shaky exhale. River says nothing about it, just pulls one blanket higher over my shoulder and rests his hand lightly against my back.
My eyes drift shut and the last thing I hear before sleep drags me under is River’s quiet voice against my hair.
"Rest while you can, little wolf."
