48 - Lavender & Fire

The house was asleep.

At 4:02 a.m., the cold had settled over the house like a second skin, clinging to the walls, the floors, even the breath in the air.

Ezra lay awake, the sheets tangled at his waist, heart pounding too loudly in the stillness. The scent of sleep and lavender clung to the air—his Omega, warm and pliant beside him.

Sebastian slept curled toward the window, lashes brushing his cheeks, his scent blooming sweet and low with sleep—soft lavender, honeyed warmth, and the faintest trace of Ezra still clinging to his skin. His breath came in slow huffs, almost inaudible.

Ezra couldn’t resist the pull inside him.

He reached out, brushing Sebastian’s waist with his fingers, drawn to the curve of his spine like a tide to the moon. Ezra’s breath trembled.

The need wasn’t sharp tonight—it was slow, syrupy, desperate in a way that whispered please without saying a word.

“Sebby,” Ezra whispered, voice husky and low in the silence.

Sebastian stirred, a drowsy inhale, a soft exhale of heat. “Mm?”

Ezra pressed closer, his scent flaring with need—spice and sandalwood growing more intense, wrapping around Sebastian like a second blanket.

He kissed behind Sebastian’s ear, the curve of his neck, the sensitive dip just above his collarbone.

He moved slowly, reverently, like every kiss was sacred, like every inch of Sebastian’s skin was the only truth left in the world.

“It’s cold,” Sebastian mumbled, still half-asleep. But his thighs parted, instinctive and obedient, the scent of Omega heat rising, curling into the space between them like smoke.

“I’ll keep you warm,” Ezra breathed against his skin, mouth trailing kisses down Sebastian’s spine. His hand slid beneath the hem of the oversized shirt Sebastian wore to bed—Ezra’s shirt—and he exhaled at the feel of bare skin.

This wasn’t like the night before.

This was slow. Raw. A heat built from months of stolen touches and unspoken truths, steeped in pheromones and longing.

Their bodies moved in a rhythm that was more about feeling than friction—each thrust matched to the beat of Ezra’s heart, every kiss a prayer he didn’t know how to say aloud.

Sebastian gasped into the pillow, his scent flooding the room now—lavender turned sharp with want, edges curling like crushed petals.

Ezra’s grip tightened on his waist, holding him steady as their bodies met over and over again, slow and deep.

“Ez,” Sebastian moaned, his voice trembling with sleep and submission and something darker—something sure.

Ezra pressed his mouth to Sebastian’s shoulder blade. “I’ve got you.”

Hands curled in the sheets, but Sebastian’s body stayed pliant, open, drenched in trust. Ezra kissed him, his words falling between breaths. “I’m sorry,” he whispered against Sebastian’s skin. “I’m sorry. I’m here.”

And then—

“She doesn’t get them,” Sebastian said suddenly, his voice cracking like dry wood under pressure.

Ezra froze. His next breath stuck in his throat. “What?”

“Clara,” Sebastian gasped. “She doesn’t get the twins. Or Mia. Not one moment more. I don’t want her near them.”

Ezra’s chest tightened, the scent of his own arousal tangled now with anger, fear, need. He buried his face in the crook of Sebastian’s neck, breathing him in like it could steady him.

“Okay,” he said, but it wasn’t enough.

Sebastian turned his face, pressing his cheek into the pillow, voice trembling but firm. “You have to mean it, Ez.”

Ezra moaned low, his hips rocking deeper, grounding them both. “I do.”

“Say it.”

Ezra’s hand slid around Sebastian’s waist, pulling him tighter, scenting him deliberately. His voice was gravel and honey. “She doesn’t get them. They’re yours. Ours.”

Sebastian choked on a breath, his body trembling as he clutched Ezra’s arm. “Say it again.”

Ezra licked up the back of Sebastian’s neck, feeling the shiver that ran through him. “They’re ours.”

The air between them snapped—Sebastian gave in with a sound caught between a sob and a moan, body going slack, scent spiking so sweet Ezra could barely breathe.

They fell together in that moment—silent, bonded in everything but name, wrapped in heat and exhaustion and the truth neither of them could say aloud.

6:30 a.m.

The first glow of sun painted the kitchen in gold, but the house still felt half-asleep, wrapped in the after-scent of heat and comfort.

Sebastian stood at the counter wrapped in Ezra’s hoodie, the sleeves too long, his scent still laced with Ezra’s.

His Omega scent was softer now—muted, contented, but unmistakable. He poured cereal for the twins as they shuffled around him in a chorus of sleepy giggles and thudding feet.

Ezra leaned against the counter, rubbing his eyes, his own scent mellow and deep, still tinged with satisfaction and something protective. His gaze never strayed far from Sebastian.

Mia padded in next, her hair a wild halo, Mr Biscuits winding around her legs. She yawned wide and collapsed onto a stool.

Sebastian handed her toast without a word. She leaned into him, familiar as breathing, and he buttered it for her with quiet affection.

“You’ve got a check-up today,” Sebastian murmured, brushing her curls gently from her eyes.

Mia groaned. “Can I skip it?”

“Nope,” he said, ruffling her hair. “Told the school already.”

Few hours later, Mia sat on the exam table, legs swinging. The doctor—a gentle-faced woman with steel-gray hair looked between her and Sebastian.

“At fourteen, we usually expect an Omega to have started cycling. Mia’s is a little delayed.”

Sebastian’s scent turned sharp—protective, anxious. He wrapped his arm around Mia’s shoulders, rubbing slow circles against her arm.

“Is it serious?”

“No,” the doctor said kindly. “Likely stress-related. Hormonal disruption, delayed first heat. She’s internalizing a lot more than she lets on. We'll continue to watch her for now and see what happens. I'll prescribe some progesterone too.”

Sebastian didn’t let go of Mia for the rest of the visit.

“Can I come with you to work today?” Mia asked after a long silence.

Sebastian blinked in surprise. “You want to?”

Mia nodded, offering a shy smile. “I just don’t wanna be alone.”

At the clinic, Mia sat in the waiting room with her sketchbook. Her scent was quiet—neutral, guarded.

A receptionist passed by and whispered to another, “She looks just like her dad.”

Another nurse smiled. “That waist. She’s going to grow up tall and graceful—like Sebastian.”

Sebastian paused in his doorway, scent catching in his throat.

By evening, when Mia and Sebastian returned home, the house was full of energy.

“Daddy!” Caleb shouted. “Guess what? We did Mom and Me Day!”

Sebastian stilled, the words hitting like a slap.

“We won ice cream!” Camden added. “But no dog so you are better.”

Sebastian bent, scent tight with pain, but kissed their foreheads anyway. “Go wash up, sweethearts.”

He turned toward the kitchen. Ezra was by the sink, body tense, shoulders stiff. His scent had soured—guilt, unease, Alpha-wrong. He didn’t look at Sebastian.

Sebastian didn’t say a word. He walked outside instead, letting the cold hit his skin and sharpen his thoughts.

Clara stood on the porch, sipping juice. Her scent was sweet but artificial, like flowers that had long since wilted. She smiled lazily.

“We need to talk,” Sebastian said, voice steel beneath soft edges.

Clara raised an eyebrow. “Oh, what now, Daddy?”

Sebastian folded his arms, his scent rising—a warning. “Stay away from my pups.”

Clara’s smile twisted. “Your pups?”

He nodded, jaw clenched. “Yes. They don’t need confusion. They don’t need you showing up at school events for attention.”

She laughed, the sound laced with pheromones sharp and biting. “You sound threatened.”

“I’m done playing games.”

Clara stepped closer. “That’s funny. Because I was trying to be subtle before. But now? I’m going to take Ezra. And those kids. Right from under you.”

Her words slithered into the air like poison. Her scent sharpened—competitive, layered with challenge.

“You keep pretending this life is yours,” she whispered. “But Ezra’s still figuring it out. And when he does… he’ll remember who came first.”

Sebastian’s scent flared in defense, Omega instinct clashing with logic. “You’ll never get away with it.”

Clara’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not in control here, darling. I’ve waited a long time for this.”

Sebastian didn’t back down. But as he stood there, scent bristling with fear and fury, he felt it—that flicker of doubt, gnawing deep in his gut.

What if Ezra chooses her?

The thought wrapped around him like a noose, tightening with every breath.