I wake up in the middle of the night, muscles sore and head pounding.

For a minute, I stare dazedly up at the cabin ceiling. It's still dark outside, but the moon is bright in the sky. I move my eyes to the window and frown at the moon.

Why am I awake?

Why does my head hurt so much?

It takes me a moment to realize. I take a slow breath through my nose and the smell hits me.

Earthy, like the forest, but human. Familiar.

"What is happening?" I whisper to myself, lifting a hand to cover my nose. It's so strong, overwhelmingly so, that my head is killing me.

Beneath it, I can smell other things. The starchy scent of my bed sheets. The lingering smell from dinner, still in the air. My toothpaste on my breath.

What is going on?

There's no way I'll be able to sleep with all these smells around me.

I press my fingers into my temples and start rubbing circles there.

I think I've finally snapped. Between discovering the existence of werewolves, and training for hours every day, something in my brain has finally twisted out of place.

I'm going crazy.

I exhale a long breath and close my eyes.

Maybe this is all just a really weird dream. A nightmare. Any second now, I'll wake up and everything will be back to normal. Well, as normal as living with three werewolves can be.

Except, I can still smell my bed sheets, and my toothpaste, and with my hands this close to my face, I think I can even smell my skin.

This isn't working.

"No," I mutter, pressing my hands over my eyes. A burning feeling erupts behind my eyes, and I think I might cry out of pure frustration.

Instead, I huff and slam my hands back down by my sides. They hit the mattress and I turn my head to glare out at the moon. Somehow, I think this is its fault.

My muscles groan as I shift my body. I force myself to sit upright, my legs hanging off the bed.

Well, there's no way I'm sleeping tonight.

I don't even know what time it is. My bedroom is so empty, there's not even a clock on the wall, and my phone is still dead. The moon is still high in the dark sky. I couldn't have slept more than a few hours.

Rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, I stand and head for the kitchen.

Maybe some tea or warm milk will lull me back to sleep.

As soon as I open my bedroom door, that earthy smell grows stronger. I squeeze my eyes shut. It's strong, but not unpleasant.

And it's so familiar.

I turn towards the end of the hall. Blake's room.

As if in a trance, I find myself walking towards it, that smell growing and growing. The silver string between us sparks to life and I wonder if he's awake—if he sees it too.

I lift a hand to knock on his door. My fingers hover over the wood and I freeze.

What am I doing?

It's the middle of the night and I'm sneaking into the room of a man I barely know?

Except, he's not a stranger, I realize. He's my mate. I've been through these steps before.

The thought makes me uneasy.

My hand falls back to my side. What on earth am I doing? The last time I came here, I had an excuse; I was healing. I had just discovered that mates exist. Werewolves exist.

Now, what's my excuse?

Shame floods me. I have none. I have no reason to be here, except for the plain fact that I want to be here. I want to be near Blake. I want him to let me into his room.

But his words from last time echo in my mind—you shouldn't be here. Sure, he let me stay in the end, but I still woke up, alone in my room the next morning.

I don't think I can handle that sort of rejection this time. Not now, when I know what Blake's touch feels like.

I turn, ready to hide back in my room, when the door opens.

I suck in a sharp breath, my eyes finding Blake's bright blue ones. He frowns down at me. His hair is messy, and he blinks slowly at me. He must have been asleep after all.

"What is it?" he asks, his voice thick with sleep. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I just—" I hesitate. Here, with him right in front of me, the smell is stronger than ever. It's him, I realize. He's that familiar smell. "I can't sleep. My nose..."

His frown deepens, before his brows lift and he sighs. He steps to the side, opening his door wider for me.

"Come in," he says.

I don't need to be told twice. I shuffle into his room, trying to ignore the rising mixture of embarrassment and shame inside of me. What am I doing? Seeking comfort from Blake of all people?

Blake, who clearly doesn't want me near him. Who can barely sit at a dining table with me to share a meal. Who can't even bear the smallest brush of skin with me.

It's been so long since I've turned to someone for comfort. Everything about this feels unnatural for me.

And yet, it also feels right.

As soon as he opened that door for me, it was like relief flooded my chest.

Even being near him, my headache pounds a little less. And in here, the smell of Blake drowns out all other scents—and I don't hate it.

I stagger into his bed and help myself to his sheets, as if it's my own room.

The bed is still warm, and I stretch across it, trying to feel it on every inch of my body. It all smells earthy and absolutely wonderful. Something in me tells me, this is where I'm meant to be, and the silver string jutting out of my chest glows brighter, as if agreeing with me.

He shuts the door behind himself and pauses, looking down at me lying in his bed. He runs a hand through his hair and sighs again.

"Clover," he starts, but then he presses his lips shut and slowly stalks over to the other side of the bed.

"This whole room smells like you," I say, shoving my face into his pillow. I breathe it in, unable to help myself. "What is happening to me?"

"Your sense of smell is improving," Blake notes. "Now that the full moon is getting closer."

I lift my head from the pillow to frown at him. "Improving? You mean, you smell all this stuff, all the time?"

"And more," he affirms, nodding. "Think of yourself like a toddler wolf at this stage. When the full moon hits, and you"— he hesitates — "transform, your senses will be that of a full-grown wolf. It'll take some getting used to."

I think about it for a moment. So, this whole time, his sense of smell has been this advanced?

I wonder what I smell like to him.

Suddenly, I blush. I remember the day we met inside that diner. I hadn't showered in days. I fight the urge to groan and run away.

"Your head hurts," Blake says.

I blink, trying to shove the thought of our first meeting out of my mind. "Yeah. It's all the smells. It's too much. How do you make it stop?"

"You don't." His eyes move from my face to my neck, and I know he's looking at my bite mark. It's faded a little over the days, but it's very much still there. His face drops.

In this dark of the night, with his face illuminated by the moon, he looks so exhausted.

He steps forward, his knees hitting the mattress. It's like he's processing something, playing chess in his head. I guess he chooses his move because he slinks forward and joins me on the bed.

The mattress dips towards him and I shift, turning onto my side to face him. He's all stiff, his arms squeezing by his sides as if he's terrified his elbow might brush me. Still acting like I have the plague, I see.

Except, now he's so close. If I shut my eyes, it's like I'm in the forest. The scent of trees surrounds me. Trees, and grass, and morning dew.

Subconsciously, I move forward until Blake makes a throaty sound and my eyes burst open. I've drifted so close, I'm only inches from his chest. The silvery rope glows in front of my face.

"Sorry," I mutter, but I don't feel sorry at all. This feels more right than anything I've felt before.

He looks at me. His gaze flickers across my face, his brows scrunched in clear worry and conflict. He closes his eyes, only for a second, before they open again.

"Fuck it," he murmurs.

All the worry on his face drifts off and he reaches forward, a hand coming around my waist as he pulls me into his chest.

It's exhilarating.

I land face-first in his chest. All of him is touching all of me, and my body is reacting like it's drowning and ascending all at once.

The first thing that hits me is that foresty scent. I feel like I'm swimming in it, and it's pure relief to breathe in his scent.

The second thing is the way my headache instantly fades, taking the pain in my muscles with it.

But I barely even notice that. I'm too absorbed in how it feels, pressed here against his chest.

If I could lay in his arms forever, I would, which is just pure crazy talk, but I can't help it.

A part of me hates it, hates relying on others, hates having this urge to just be close to another person, but I can't deny it. I love this feeling.

My heart thrums as my chest presses against him. The rope is squished between us, vanishing with the lack of space.

I press my face against his chest, relishing the high feeling I get when we touch, when I realize he isn't breathing.

He holds himself very still, his chest not rising nor falling. One hand lays on my back, but his fingers are splayed and frozen, holding me so lightly, like his muscles are straining against his will—like he's still deciding if he wants to touch me or not.

"Go to sleep," he mutters.

At first, I think he's insane. There's no way I'll be able to sleep like this. This is the first time I've felt alive in years.

But then, I close my eyes and I realize, it's also the first time I've felt completely at peace in years. Like, here, in Blake's arms, everything is right. I'm safe. I'm okay.

I don't want to sleep. I want to spend every second in his bed awake and aware. I want to feel that exhilaration every time he shifts, and a bit of his skin touches a bit of mine.

My body disagrees with me, though, because sleep comes almost too easily.

Days' worth of fatigue drags me down into my dreams and I find myself drifting off, with my face pressed against Blake's chest, and his arm light on my waist.

***

I wake up with Blake's arms wrapped tightly around me. His hands dig into my back, not in an unpleasant way, and I'm surrounded by that foresty scent.

Somehow, in the night, I've climbed higher up on him so that my face is buried in his neck. Here, his scent is stronger than ever.

And because my face is buried in his neck, his face is buried in mine.

He must still be asleep, judging by the long, slow breaths that fan across my collarbones.

Honestly, I'm glad, because I know as soon as he wakes up, he'll be back to treating me like I have the plague.

Being here in his arms, I feel like I finally understand what it means to be mates.

But then, I can also understand how Blake feels.

If we spent more time together like this, I'm not sure I could ever go back to the way things were, and if I don't make it on the next full moon... I don't even want to think about the possibility.

I'm not sure how much time has passed when Blake finally shifts. His arms grow tighter around me, and I hold myself very still.

He yawns loudly, then leans closer, burying his face deeper into my neck. I think his lips brush my skin there, and I can't help the shiver that runs through me.

"Blake," I murmur.

"Shit," Blake mutters back. He releases a long breath then slowly, painfully, he drags his arms off of me.

We sit up together, and he meets my eyes.

"Morning," I say, offering a smile.

He looks away, shaking his head. "How's your head feeling?"

"Much better," I say. I'd forgotten all about it, actually. He opens his mouth to speak, when I pause, eyes widening. I turn towards the door and sniff the air. "Do you smell that?" I ask.

"Smell what?"

"Waffles," I reply.

It's like my instincts take over. I scramble away from Blake and pull his bedroom door open. The smell only grows stronger. The closer I get to the kitchen, the more I can smell. Waffles, bananas, syrup, strawberries. My stomach growls.

"Oh! Good morning," Leyla says. Her eyes drift past my shoulder, then back to me. "Ready for another training session?"

I ignore her, following my nose to the counter where the strawberries await. In one swift motion, I shovel five strawberries into my mouth.

"I guess your wolf-side was hungry," Blake mutters from the entryway.

I warm, looking down at my strawberry-stained hands. "Oh, my God. I'm sorry, Leyla. It's like I smelled strawberries, and something just came over me."

"Oh, I see," she says, sharing a look with Blake. "Your wolf-side is coming out, huh?"

I drop my head and sigh. "Unfortunately."

Here, next to Leyla, I can even smell her—a mixture of soap and linens.

She giggles, grabbing the plate of strawberries and sliding them on top of some waffles. With a clatter, she places the plate onto the table and gestures towards it.

"Don't worry about it," she says. "I was the same. Blake didn't know how to react when I started chasing cars in the street."

I snort. "You didn't."

She shrugs. "They should roll up their windows if they don't want me to smell their food." I laugh and she grins at me. "I mean, we're only three weeks away from the full moon now. It'd be more surprising if your instincts weren't kicking in."

The way she says it sends a shiver of fear through me. Three weeks. That's all I have left to prepare for my transformation. If only I hadn't wasted my first two days being asleep.

"Hey, don't worry," Leyla says, drawing my attention back to her. She offers me a gentle smile. "Both Thomas and I have gone through it before. We're practically experts."

I nod slowly, trying to reflect her smile back at her, but it's hard. All I can think about is the full moon, three weeks away. I can't help the image of my body breaking and contorting in all directions from forming in my mind.

"Well, I have to head to town today," Blake announces. He rubs his eye and yawns widely. It's the most human I've seen him be since I met him.

"Town? What for?" Leyla asks.

"Pack's running out of supplies," he replies.

"And you can't send one of the housekeepers? Jan? Megan?"

"No. It's my own fault. I didn't plan this month's supplies well enough."

"Blake," Leyla says, sighing. She shakes her head at him. "You know, the old Alpha made mistakes too sometimes. It's not your fault the pack used more toilet paper than usual."

"It was my error so it's my responsibility to fix it. I'm just concerned about leaving you all alone."

His eyes drift towards me and I frown.

"You mean me," I say, filling in the space for him.

Slowly, he nods. "You're not used to your new senses."

"We can take care of her," Leyla chimes in.

Blake twists his lips. He has that same look on his face that he had on last night—his thinking face. I can imagine the chess pieces sliding around in his head.

"I don't want her running off, chasing down a pizza delivery bike or something," he mutters, more to himself than anything else.

My cheeks turn hot. "I won't..."

I can't even finish my sentence, because there's a part of me that's pretty sure I will. Even now, between the smell of strawberries and my void stomach, I'm tempted to scarf the whole plate down with my hands.

"We're too far from any form of civilization," Leyla points out.

"We thought the same for you," Blake murmurs.

"The wind was strong that day," Leyla says, her ears turning pink. "How were we supposed to know?"

"We'll all go," he decides. "The more eyes on Clover, the better. And it'll be faster that way. Maybe exposure in the town will help train you to keep your instincts under lock." He nods towards my plate of waffles. "You'd better eat and get ready, then we'll ride into town."

He doesn't wait for confirmation before turning and stomping back to his room, that thoughtful expression on his face the entire time.

I turn back to Leyla, frowning. "Ride?"

Her smile grows and she nods. "Ride."