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“Fever’s gone,” he reports. “It was just a spike.”
His dark eyes shift, meeting mine. Some of the worry ebbs, and something new takes its place.
Is he… proud? Of me?
“Well done, Theo. You gave her exactly what she needed.”
And I know I should be shitting a brick that my gorgeous girl could wake up and slap me right across the face. But here’s the thing: I am the pack fuck up. I forget my chores. I’m late for shit. I don’t remember where I set the mail or what password I used when I reset the wi-fi. I ruin clothes in the wash and leave puddles on the wood countertops.
So hearing both of my packmates tell me I didn’t fuck this up?
It means more than I imagined it ever could.
I press my face against her temple. “She’s exactly what I need.”
Archer’s hand grazes mine as he sets it on top of her head. “Me, too, big guy.”
chapter
twenty-nine
I wake up pleasantly cool and deliciously warm all at once.
It’s dark? Nighttime, for sure. And I’m in my new jersey… without panties.
A quick peek from one eye tells me I’m crashed out in someone’s bedroom. The motif is somber—shades of gray mixed with no-nonsense wooden furniture. I can already guess it’s Archer’s room before I see the medical texts stacked on his desk and the large Vitruvian Man print hanging over it. Somewhere in the distance, a fire crackles; but the delicious smoky smell surrounding me isn’t coming from any fireplace.
Ronan.
He’s under me. Which means the very solid pillow propped against my back probably isn’t a pillow, but another muscled alpha chest.
How did we end up in a cuddle puddle in Archer’s bed?
Oh. My. God.
In a flash, I remember everything: Ronan standing behind Theo’s naked chest. Archer’s sure, steady fingers checking my temperature and my pulse. Theo’s green eyes burning with feral need. And then burning with pain.
That last memory has me lurching upright, gasping.
Theo. Where is he?
Is he okay? Did I hurt him?
Oh God, I was insane. And after his big game!
I ruined everything!
Ronan’s bark is so soft, it hardly even registers as a command, “Breathe, omega.”
I gulp down air and realize I’m sobbing. Purrs break out all around me, filling the dim, quiet bedroom with three different types of comfort.
“Theo!”
I pick his rumble out of the others and fling myself toward the foot of the bed, where he lies propped up on one elbow. He’s blurry from my panicked tears, but I can see that he’s shirtless, wearing army green joggers, with his hair pulled back into a loose bun.
I press my palms to his chest, frantically searching for the injury I caused in my hormone haze. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I cry. “I don’t know what happened to me, but I’m so, so sorry.”
Theo’s rusty purr deepens, his arms coming around me in a huge bear hug. “No, precious, I’m sorry.”
