The three alphas exchange glances, some unspoken communication passing between them. Plague speaks first. "Of course," he says, his voice smooth and careful. "Take all the time you need."
I appreciate that they're not pushing, but I need to establish clear boundaries. Alphas sometimes hear what they want to hear.
"I'm going back up to the loft with Wraith," I continue, my decision made even as I speak it. I feel Wraith tense beside me in surprise, but I press on. "And I don't wantanyof you to bother me up there until I come down on my own and we can talk more. Understood?"
The simple declaration seems to stun all of them, Wraith included. His massive body goes still beside me, and I can feel the weight of his gaze on the side of my face. But the other three alphas nod in silence, even though Whiskey looks like he's physically restraining himself from protesting as we head for the front door.
He loses that battle. "Wait—are you sure that's a good idea? Going up there with him? Alone?"
I turn slowly, my hand still resting against Wraith's arm. "Am I sure? Let me think." I tap my chin in mock consideration. "Should I go with the alpha who's been gently taking care of me while I was sick, bringing me medicine, food, and letting me sleep in his bed while he took the couch? Or should I hang out with the alphas who just tried to break into my sanctuarythrough a trap door like a pack of deranged raccoons?" I raise my eyebrows. "Tough call."
Plague blows a puff of air through his nose at that.
Whiskey's mouth opens, closes, then opens again. A flush creeps up his neck to his ears, but there's something like grudging respect in his eyes. "Yeah, alright. Message received." He shakes his head, the ghost of a grin on his lips. "Guess you're the only person on the entire planet who gets the gentle version of Wraith."
"And don't forget it," I mumble.
I can still feel the heavy gazes of the other alphas on us as we leave. They clearly have more to say, but they hold back.
Well,that'sunexpected.
Alphas with actual self-control.
Let's see how long that lasts when I'm not brandishing a hockey stick.
Chapter
Twenty-Eight
IVY
The moment the door closes behind us, I let out a shaky breath and press a palm to my forehead, suddenly lightheaded. If it weren't for the night air, cool and soothing against my flushed skin, I'd need to sit down.
Wraith's huge hand brushes my shoulder gently, drawing my attention. He signs to me.
O-K?
"I'm fine," I assure him, though fine is probably the last thing I am right now. "Just... processing."
He nods, understanding in his gaze. Then he gestures toward the fire escape, a question in the tilt of his head.
"Yeah," I murmur. "Let's go back up."
The fire escape stretches above us, a metal skeleton clinging to the side of the pack house. I stare up at the first platform, at least eight feet off the ground—easy enough for Wraith to reach, but well beyond my grasp. The cool night air nips at myexposed skin, making me pull his oversized coat tighter around my shoulders.
"I guess there's no ladder that comes down?" I ask, already knowing the answer.
Wraith shakes his head.R-U-S-T-E-D.Those intense blue eyes are still studying me as his hands move in the air between us, gesturing to himself, then to me, then upward.
"You want to lift me up again?" I translate.
He nods, a question in his eyes. Asking permission. Always asking, never assuming. It's such a stark contrast to what I've grown used to that it still catches me off guard every time.
"Okay," I agree, stepping closer to him.
Wraith positions himself in front of me, those massive hands hovering near my waist, not quite touching. Waiting for my final confirmation.
I nod, and his hands settle on my waist, engulfing it completely. His touch is gentle despite the raw power I know those hands possess—power I just witnessed demolishing half the living room downstairs. He could crush me without effort, yet his grip is feather-light, almost reverent.
