"Hi," I manage, crossing my arms over my chest.
Behind Whiskey, Plague appears in the window opening. Unlike his packmate, he slips through with effortless grace. He's carrying two large bags, which he sets down carefully next to the door. His pale blue eyes meet mine for only a fraction of a second before sliding away, but that brief contact is enough to send a strange flutter through my stomach.
"We brought what you requested," Plague says, his voice perfectly neutral despite his stiff posture. "There are additional items the store recommended for your... situation."
"Thanks," I say, suddenly finding it hard to form coherent thoughts. Three alphas in one small space is a lot to process, especially with my heat simmering just below the surface. The air feels charged, thick with competing scents. Whiskey's scentis cinnamon-tinged while Plague's is crisp is wintery. They couldn't be more different.
"So this is the lair of the beast!" Whiskey says once he's managed to tear his gaze away from me, climbing to his feet and spinning in a slow circle to take in the loft. "Gotta say, it's nicer than I expected. You’re so casually goth, I was thinking, you know, chains on the walls, maybe some human bones scattered around." He gestures to my carefully arranged nest on the bed. "But this is downright cozy."
Wraith's low growl rumbles through the room, a clear warning that Whiskey ignores completely.
"Oh man, you have a TV? We've been trying to get you to watch movies with us for years, and you've had your own setup the whole time?" Whiskey continues, poking at Wraith's bookshelf. "Sweet, dude, vintage comic books. Who knew you were a nerd under all that?—"
Wraith's hand shoots out, grabbing Whiskey's wrist before he can touch another book. Wraith lifts a finger to his mouth behind his mask in the universal sign for "shut up."
"What?" Whiskey looks bewildered. "Am I being too loud?"
"Yes," Plague says from where he's methodically unpacking one of the bags. It looks like they even ordered more clothes for me. "And touching things that aren't yours."
"We're trying not to alert Valek," I explain pointedly, coming a bit closer but still keeping my distance. "Hence the loud movie."
"Right. Shit. Sorry." Whiskey lowers his voice to what he probably thinks is a whisper but is really just his normal speaking volume. "Secret omega hiding operation. I'm on it."
Plague rolls his eyes. "Perhaps you could assist by opening the box you brought rather than cataloging Wraith's possessions?"
"Fine, fine." Whiskey crouches down to tear open the box. "But just so we're clear, I'm helping because Ivy needs this stuff, not because you told me to."
I watch the three alphas move around each other with the careful awareness of predators sharing territory. There's an undercurrent of aggression, but not hostility. More like an established pecking order being renegotiated in my presence.
Wraith positions himself between me and the others, not overtly blocking them but making it clear that I'm under his protection. Plague keeps his distance, his movements careful and controlled, though I catch his eyes drifting toward me whenever he thinks I'm not looking. Whiskey is the wildcard, radiating an energy that fills the entire loft.
"So," Whiskey says, laying out nesting supplies. They're mostly soft blankets in varying textures and specialized pillows designed to support an omega's body during heat. "How's the whole hiding-in-the-loft thing going? Must be better than the tunnels, right?"
"Whiskey," Plague warns, but I wave him off.
"It's okay." I edge closer to inspect the supplies, curiosity overcoming my instinctive wariness. Although truthfully, my instincts aren't all that wary around any of these alphas. "It's definitely an upgrade. Running water, actual bed, no rats..."
"Rats?" Whiskey looks horrified. "You had to deal withratsin the tunnels?"
I shrug, trying to make light of it though the memory still makes my skin crawl. "Just one or two. They stayed away from my nest. Mostly." I pause, realizing how bizarre this conversation must sound to these alphas who probably never had to worry about basics like safety and shelter. "You learn to adapt."
Something dark passes over Whiskey's face, a flash of anger quickly masked. "No one should have to 'adapt' to that."
"No," I agree softly. "They shouldn't."
An awkward silence falls. I focus on the supplies instead of their reactions, picking up one of the softer blankets and running it between my fingers. It's heavenly, plush and gentle against my skin.
"This is perfect," I say, feeling a bit lighter despite the strange situation. "Thank you for getting all this so quickly."
"Of course." Plague's voice softens slightly.
Wraith touches my shoulder lightly, drawing my attention. His hands move in the air between us.
W-A-N-T... T-H-E-M… G-O-N-E?
Despite his obvious discomfort with their presence, he's leaving it up to me whether they stay or go. I consider it for a moment. Part of me wants to retreat back into the safety of isolation with just Wraith. It's simpler, safer. But another part—perhaps the part influenced by my approaching heat, but I don't think that's it—wants them to stay. Just for a little while.
"They can stay," I say, then add quickly, "If that's okay with you."
