"Says the alpha driving like he's qualifying for NASCAR." He's already out of the car, already moving to the trunk.
I take a deep breath, counting backward from five before I allow myself to exit the vehicle. Calm. Control. Discipline. These arethe things that keep me from committing justifiable homicide on a daily basis.
The trunk is already open when I round the car. Whiskey has the box balanced on one broad shoulder, one of the bags dangling from his other hand. He looks at me expectantly.
"You just gonna stand there looking pretty, or are you gonna help?"
I grab the remaining bag and slam the trunk shut. "Let's go."
We walk toward the elevator in silence with the items for Ivy's heat. The tension between us stretches thinner, but doesn't break. I feel Whiskey's eyes on me, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of looking back.
The elevator arrives with a soft chime. We step inside and I press the button for the third floor. The doors slide closed, trapping us in the small space together. Whiskey is quiet again, but his cinnamon-spiced scent fills the elevator. I press myself against the opposite wall in a fruitless attempt to get away from it.
He smells like fucking apple pie.
Perhaps I’ll make one with extra arsenic just for him.
Chapter
Thirty-Nine
IVY
Iadjust the last of the blankets in my half-finished nest, trying not to pay attention to the sounds of the action movie playing on the TV. It helps mask any sounds we make up here, but the explosions are a bit distracting.
A metallic scraping against the fire escape jerks me out of my nest-building trance. Something's scratching at the side of the building. Something big. My muscles tense automatically, fight-or-flight response already kicking in.
"Did you hear that?" I whisper, though Wraith is already moving toward the window, his massive frame coiled with alert energy.
Wraith nods, his blue eyes narrowed as he peers out. The tension in his shoulders eases a fraction, and he turns to sign to me.
W-H-I-S-K-E-Y… P-L-A-G-U-E… S-U-P-P-L-I-E-S.
"They're here already?" I check my phone. It hasn't even been an hour since I placed the order. "Wow. That was fast."
Wraith shrugs and moves to unlock the window. The sound of shuffling and muffled cursing grows louder as he slides itopen. I grab Wraith's sweatshirt and pull it on over the t-shirt I'm already wearing, suddenly self-conscious about my scent. Nesting has only intensified it.
"Holy shit, why is this window so small?" Whiskey's booming voice carries through the open window. "Who designed this? Fuckin' hobbits?"
"Andersen Windows," comes Plague's measured response. "Keep your voice down."
"Shit. Sorry."
I hover at the edge of the room, as wary as I am curious. I've met these alphas, sure, but only briefly. Now they're coming into what's somehow become my space. My nest. My instincts are a jumbled mess of contradictions.
Wraith steps back as Whiskey attempts to squeeze through the window. It's like watching someone try to fit a refrigerator through a doggy door. His brown leather jacket catches on the frame as he stubbornly tries to wriggle through, a muscular arm stretched awkwardly above his head and the other clutching a huge cardboard box with a purple omega symbol pattern all over it.
"You realize you don't have to fit throughwiththe box, right?" Plague asks, irritation bleeding into his already frigid tone.
"Realize my ass!" Whiskey grits out through his teeth, the box caving in between the window frame and his beefy torso.
Wraith stares at him for a long, judgmental moment before grabbing Whiskey by the arm and yanking him through with enough force that Whiskey topples headfirst onto the floor. Thebox miraculously stays intact, though Whiskey lets out a string of colorful curses.
I wince, listening, but thankfully don't hear any reaction from downstairs. The action movie Wraith put on is still blaring, which is hopefully drowning out Whiskey's perpetually bellowing voice. Pretty sure he only has one volume setting, and it's "grizzly bear with a stubbed toe."
"What the fuck, dude!" Whiskey mutters, pushing himself up to his knees. "You could've broken my fucking—" He stops mid-sentence as he looks up and catches sight of me standing near the nest. His pupils dilate instantly. "Holy shit."
I shift uncomfortably under his gaze, all too aware of how my scent must be hitting him. The sweatshirt isn't doing much to mask it.
