The first thing Kaelen became aware of was a profound, bone-deep sense of peace. The internal furnace that had been consuming her was gone, replaced by a warm, languid heaviness in her limbs. The second thing was the scent. Not the cloying, painful brandy-peach of her rut, but a gentle, mingled fragrance of rain-soaked jasmine and her own, now-calmed, peach-like scent. It was a smell that spoke of comfort, of safety, of… belonging.
She opened her eyes. Early morning light filtered through the windows, painting the room in soft shades of grey and gold.
And there, beside her, was Sera.
She was asleep, facing Kaelen, one hand tucked under her cheek. Her dark hair was spread across the pillow, and her features were relaxed in a way Kaelen had never seen before. All the guarded tension, the sharp wit, the performative grace it was all gone. She just looked… peaceful. Young. Beautiful.
A memory, hazy and dreamlike but intensely real, surfaced from the storm of the previous night. A voice cutting through her agony. "Who are you?" Not an accusation. A question. A lifeline. And then… not a surrender to biology, but a choice. A connection forged in the heart of the crisis, a desperate, shared anchor in the storm.
A warmth that had nothing to do with pheromones spread through Kaelen's chest. She was… glad. Overwhelmingly, terrifyingly glad. Sera was here. She had stayed.
Moving with a care she didn't know she possessed, Kaelen slipped out from under the sheets. She pulled on a soft robe, her body feeling strangely new, aches and pleasures mingling in a way that was confusing but not unpleasant. She paused in the doorway, looking back at the sleeping form in her bed. A protective urge, fierce and pure, surged within her. This was hers to protect now. This fragile peace.
In the kitchen, she moved with a quiet purpose. The silence of the penthouse was no longer oppressive; it was serene. She scrambled eggs, remembering how Iris liked them with a little cheese. She toasted bread, found the strawberry jam Iris preferred. She even attempted to make pancakes, a food from her old life that felt like a celebration. The first two were hopelessly misshapen, but the third one was almost perfectly round. A small victory.
She was just setting a stack of slightly lopsided pancakes on the table when a small voice piped up from the hallway.
"Auntie Kae?"
Iris stood there, rubbing her eyes, her hair a glorious mess. She was clutching her glowing teddy bear. She blinked, taking in the set table, the smell of food, and Kaelen standing there in a robe, a spatula in her hand.
"You made breakfast?" Iris asked, her voice full of wonder.
"I did," Kaelen said, a genuine smile touching her lips. "Pancakes. And eggs. And toast. A feast."
Iris padded over to the table and climbed onto a chair, her eyes wide. She stared at the pancakes. "They look… creative," she said, diplomatically.
Kaelen laughed, a real, unrestrained sound that felt good. "They taste better than they look, I promise."
Just then, Sera emerged from the hallway. She was wearing one of Kaelen's dress shirts, which was comically large on her, the sleeves rolled up. Her hair was still tousled from sleep, and a faint blush colored her cheeks, but she met Kaelen's gaze steadily. There was a new softness in her eyes, a quiet understanding that needed no words.
Iris looked between them, her little face a comical mask of confusion. "Mom, why are you wearing Auntie Kae's clothes? And why does it smell like… like happy peaches and flowers in here?"
Sera's blush deepened. She walked over and kissed the top of Iris's head. "Good morning, sweetie. It's a long story." She looked at Kaelen, a tiny, almost shy smile playing on her lips. "It smells good because… it's a good morning."
Iris, satisfied with this answer, immediately turned her attention to the "creative" pancakes. "Can I have the one that looks like a squished robot?"
"You can have all the squished robots you want," Kaelen said, sliding the plate toward her.
They sat down to eat the recessive Alpha in her robe, the Omega in a borrowed shirt, and the little girl who was blissfully unaware of the seismic shift that had occurred in the night. They were a bizarre, mismatched family, sitting around a table of slightly burnt toast and lopsided pancakes.
And for the first time since she'd woken up on that cold floor months ago, Kaelen Blackwood felt, with a certainty that shook her to her core, that she was exactly where she was supposed to be. The 10% was a distant memory. In its place was a feeling too vast and too new to be quantified. It was the smell of coffee and pancakes, the sound of a child's laughter, and the quiet, steady presence of the woman sitting across from her, stealing a piece of toast from her plate with a look that was fond, familiar, and utterly, breathtakingly new.