“What the hell were you thinking?”Noah’s voice booms through the game room. He’s nose-to-nose with Grayson, both alphas radiating enough tension to make the air feel electric.
I lean against the pool table, cue still in hand, watching the showdown unfold. Noah’s face has gone that shade of red that only appears when he’s truly pissed. Grayson, meanwhile, stands perfectly still, skull bandanna firmly in place, revealing nothing but those intense gray eyes that somehow manage to look both bored and dangerous at the same time.
“She needed help,” Grayson says, his voice so low I barely catch it.
“Help?” Noah sputters, jabbing a finger at Grayson’s chest. “That’s what you call taking advantage of an omega in heat?”
Grayson’s eyes narrow dangerously. “Didn’t knot her.”
“Oh, well, gold star for restraint!” Noah throws his hands up. “She’s my colleague and my patient, Ghost.My patient.”
“Didn’t see you helping her,” Grayson counters.
Noah looks so outraged that I actually wonder if they’re about to come to blows.
I shift my weight, the pool cue spinning nervously between my fingers. Part of me wants to step in, diffuse the tension with a joke like I usually do. But another part—the alpha part I try to ignore most days—is struggling with whose side I’m on.
Noah’s got a point about professional boundaries, but he’s also being a hypocrite. I’ve seen the way he looks at Holly when he thinks no one’s watching. And Grayson...well, Grayson actually helped her when she needed it most, though his lone wolf act sometimes crosses lines the rest of us would steer clear of. Frankly, it’s impossible to pick a side.
A slight movement in my peripheral vision catches my attention.
Holly stands in the doorway, bundled up in a blanket long enough that only a pair of fluorescent green socks are visible on her feet, dark eyes wide as she watches Noah and Grayson square off. She looks smaller somehow, vulnerable in a way that makes my chest tighten. Her scent is underlaid with the stink of anxiety, but I still get hints of something floral and fresh.
Well, that settles it. Right now, I’m on my side. Or rather, Holly’s side, which is the only one that matters right now.
Neither Noah nor Grayson has noticed her yet, too caught up in their ridiculous dominance display. I set the pool cue down silently and make my way around the edge of the room.
“Hey,” I whisper when I reach Holly, careful not to startle her. “You hungry? Want to raid the kitchen?”
She blinks at me, then glances back at the men arguing across the room and still somehow oblivious to her sudden appearance. “Shouldn’t we...?”
“Trust me, arguing is what they do best, and they rarely draw blood these days.” I gently place a hand on her shoulder, guiding her away from the doorway. “Let’s get you some food while we can. Omegas can go days without eating during a heat if they’re not careful.”
Holly hesitates, then nods, allowing me to steer her down the hallway toward the kitchen. I can still hear Noah’s voice rising and falling behind us, punctuated by Grayson’s terse responses. The sound fades as we round the corner.
“They’re really going at it,” Holly says, her voice small.
“Alpha posturing.” I shrug, trying to keep my tone light. “Noah’s the responsible provider, Grayson’s the protective warrior—they both want the same thing, but have very different ways of getting it. Nothing for you to worry about. They’re just playing their roles like the drama kings they are.”
“And what’s your role?” Holly asks, those intelligent eyes suddenly focused entirely on me.
“Comic relief, obviously.” I flash her my most charming grin. “Someone’s gotta keep things from getting too dramatic around here.”
The kitchen—my favorite room in the house—welcomes us with its gleaming surfaces and state-of-the-art appliances. I gesture for Holly to take a seat at the island while I head straight for the refrigerator.
“So,” I say, swinging the massive door open and surveying the contents, “how do you feel about crepes?”
Holly adjusts the blanket around her shoulders. “Crepes?”
“Perfect heat food.” I pull ingredients out and arrange them on the counter. “Light enough that you can eat them even when your body’s all...” I wave a hand vaguely, “you know, heat-weird about food but still sufficiently filling. Plus, you fill them with whatever ingredients you want—sweet, savory, both if you’re feeling adventurous.”
“You know how to make crepes?” Holly sounds genuinely surprised.
“It’s my specialty,” I inform her, grabbing a mixing bowl from a cabinet. “That and margaritas, but alcohol and heat don’t mix well. You’re probably mentally altered enough as it is.”
I move around the kitchen with practiced ease, measuring flour and cracking eggs without really thinking about it. The familiar motions calm me, giving my hands something to do besides fidget.
“You seem very comfortable in the kitchen,” Holly observes, watching me whisk the batter.
