As we move toward the stairs, I detect the barest hint of anxiety in the other alphas' scents. It's faint, but unmistakable.
"So," I say as we begin climbing the stairs, "tell me about this penchant for violence your team seems to have. First Wraith puts me in the hospital, then your living room gets demolished in a 'celebration.' Should I sleep with one eye open?"
Whiskey makes a sound that might be a laugh or a growl. It's hard to tell. "Only if you're planning midnight explorations of private areas you shouldn't be in."
"Whiskey," Plague warns, his tone sharp.
"What?" Whiskey asks innocently. "Just letting our new teammate know the house rules."
"Which are?" I ask, turning to face them on the landing.
"Pretty simple," Thane interjects. "Respect private spaces, as he so bluntly put it. No unauthorized guests. Don't eat food with someone else's name on it."
"That last one's important," Whiskey adds, his tone deadly serious. "Plague caught me eating his salad once and nearly stabbed me with a fork."
"It had my name clearly labeled," Plague says, not denying the accusation. "In five places."
Despite myself, I find the corner of my mouth quirking upward. There's something almost charming about their dysfunctional dynamic. Almost.
"I'll be sure to keep my hands off your things," I say to Plague.
His eyes narrow above his mask. Definitely the dangerous one of the group.
Thane leads the way up the stairs, with Whiskey and Plague following behind me. Flanking me like herding dogs. Making sure I don't deviate from the path. The hair on the back of my neck prickles. I don't like having alphas at my back, particularly ones with reason to dislike me.
"Where's your brother?" I ask Thane casually as we reach the second floor. "I was hoping to apologize for our misunderstanding yesterday."
Thane's shoulders tense momentarily before he forces them to relax. "Wraith's not here."
"Oh?"
"He likes to run in the mornings," Whiskey supplies from behind me. "Burns off the murderous impulses."
A joke, but not really. Whiskeywantsme to be wary of Wraith. I can tell.
"Understandable," I reply with a light chuckle. "We all have our methods of decompression."
"What's yours?" Plague asks, his voice carefully neutral.
I glance over my shoulder at him. "Chess."
"You play chess?" There's a hint of genuine interest in Plague's tone now.
"Since childhood. It teaches patience. Foresight." I smile thinly. "The art of the sacrifice."
"I have a set," Plague offers unexpectedly. "If you're interested in a game sometime."
Thane and Whiskey exchange surprised glances, and Whiskey looks vaguely betrayed. Apparently, Plague doesn't extend such invitations often.
"I'd be delighted," I respond, and I find I'm not really lying. "Though I should warn you, I rarely lose."
"Neither does he," Whiskey mutters. "It's fucking annoying."
"Is that why you start knocking my pieces off the board with your queen?" Plague asks dryly.
Whiskey shrugs his broad shoulders. "Hey, she's the queen. She can do whatever the hell she wants. That's why she's the best piece."
They keep bickering like an old married couple as we enter the upstairs hallway, which is less perfect than downstairs. More lived-in, with hockey gear stacked outside one door. Whiskey's,judging from all the colorful keychains I've heard he collects from fans. But there's a section at the far end that catches my eye. Something about it is off, but I can't quite put my finger on what it is.
