Jenkins shakes his head, still chuckling. “And who is this lucky lady who’s been claimed without her knowledge?”
“The new doctor,” I say, returning to my task. “Holly Chang.”
The laughter stops abruptly. “The one staying with you and those other two troublemakers? The beta?”
I don’t correct his assumption about Holly’s designation. That’s her secret to keep or share.
“She’s it,” I say simply.
Jenkins studies me for a long moment, his weathered face serious now. “You sure about that? You’ve never shown interest in settling down before.”
“Very.”
More sure than I’ve been about anything else in my life.
“Well,” Jenkins says finally, “if anyone can handle you three knuckleheads, it’s probably a doctor.” He claps me on the shoulder. “Just make sure she actually agrees to it before you start building her a homestead in the middle of the wilderness or something equally dramatic.”
I don’t tell him I’ve already been mentally designing that cabin in my head. Where it would sit on the mountain. How the morning light would fall through the bedroom windows. The wrap-around porch where she could drink her coffee and watch the sunrise.
Instead, I grunt noncommittally and return to stocking shelves, letting Jenkins believe what he wants. The old man knows me well enough to read between the lines anyway.
The rest of the morning passes in a comfortable routine. I help customers, unpack deliveries, clean the hunting gear in the back room. But underneath it all, my mind keeps circling back to Holly. To the house I’d build her. To the life we could have.
To the fact that, one way or another, she already belongs to me.
I just need to wait for her to realize it.
TWENTY-THREE
HOLLY
I pushopen the heavy front door of Kai’s house, exhausted from a shift that felt twice as long as usual. My shoulders ache from tension, and my mind buzzes with too many thoughts. The house is quiet as I step inside, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the entryway.
Noah’s scent is faint, which means he hasn’t been back here all day.
It’s been over twenty-four hours since I’ve seen him. His day off coincided with my early shift, creating a perfect storm of avoidance that I’m not entirely sure is accidental. The bond between us pulses like a bruise—present but distant, as if he’s deliberately keeping himself closed off from me.
What the fuck have I done?
During my lunch break, I hid in the clinic’s small library, using the ancient desktop computer to research cases of accidental bonds. I scrolled through medical journals, forum posts, and legal precedents, searching for stories like mine—omegas who bonded with alphas unintentionally, pairs who chose to live separate lives despite their connection.
The results weren’t encouraging.
Bond severance is theoretically possible but dangerous, with high rates of depression, immune system collapse, and even suicide among those who attempt it. Most accidental bonds eventually result in formal mating or, at minimum, regular contact to maintain hormonal balance.
And that’s for normal bonds. One-sided bonds like mine with Noah are even rarer, with even fewer successful separation cases. The omega—me—experiences the full force of the connection while the alpha feels a weaker pull, more like a persistent awareness than a biological necessity.
This is permanent. And it’s my fault.
I trudge up the stairs, heading for my room to change out of my scrubs, when a movement catches my eye. Kai emerges from the heat suite, arms loaded with blankets, pillows, and what appears to be a string of fairy lights.
“Hey there, Hollipop!” His face brightens when he sees me. “Perfect timing. Grab that duvet, will you?”
I stare at him, trying to process the request through my mental fog. “What are you doing? And also,Hollipop?”
“Dinner prep. We’re eating in the den tonight.” He nods toward a pile of bedding spilling out of the doorway. “And I’m trying to come up with a good nickname. The only other thing I could think of was Hollandaise or Holly-lulah.”
“Yeah, both of those are terrible. And you might not know this, but nicknames are supposed to be shorter than actual names.” I pick up the duvet automatically, the soft fabric comforting against my skin. “Why aren’t we eating in the dining room?”
