But I've been on edge all week. The pack has been... fine. Good, even. Dorian's trying so hard to give me space it's almost painful to watch. Oakley's being sweet and careful. Corvus stopped stalking me. Mostly.
And I've been going quietly insane.
Because being claimed by three Alphas has done something to my body. Something I'm only now starting to understand. I'm restless. Needy in a way that doesn't make sense. The bondshum constantly under my skin, satisfied but hungry, like they're waiting for something.
Maybe practicing with Ben will help. Maybe being around someone who isn't pack, who doesn't make every cell in my body light up with biological imperative, will be good for me.
Maybe I'm lying to myself.
I throw on leggings and a loose tank top—comfortable, appropriate for movement work. Pull my hair into a messy bun. Grab my keys.
Dorian's sitting in the living room when I come downstairs. Of course he is. Alpha hearing means he knows I'm leaving.
"Where are you going?" Not accusatory. Just curious.
"Theater building. Running lines with Ben."
His jaw tightens. "At midnight."
"His scene partner bailed. He needs help."
"We could help you run lines."
"You're not in the class." I grab my jacket. "I'll be back in a couple hours."
"Vespera—"
"Don't." I turn to face him. "Don't make this a thing. He's my friend. We're running lines. That's it."
"At midnight. Alone. In an empty building."
"Yes." I meet his eyes. "Do you trust me?"
The question hangs there. Heavy. Loaded.
"I trust you," he says finally. "I don't trust him."
"Then trust that I can handle myself." I head for the door. "I'll text when I'm done."
I feel his eyes on me as I leave. Feel the bond pull with disapproval. But I go anyway.
Because I need to prove something. To him. To them. To myself.
That I'm still me. That the bonds don't control everything. That I can be attracted to someone who isn't part of the pack.
Right?
Thetheaterbuildingismostly dark when I arrive. Just emergency lighting and the glow from Studio 3C on the third floor.
Ben's already there, sprawled on the floor in joggers and a t-shirt that shows off his arms. Looking unfairly good for someone who texted me thirty minutes ago.
"You came," he says, sitting up.
"I said I would." I drop my bag, start stretching. "What scene are we running?"
"Williams. A Streetcar Named Desire. Stanley and Blanche."
I freeze mid-stretch. "That's... intense for scene study."
