Her Alphas. We're officially claiming her to random delivery people now without her knowledge or consent. This fake pack arrangement is getting very real very fast and I'm not sure any of us are pretending anymore.
The delivery guy looks between us and the door, clearly trying to figure out the dynamics here and whether this is worth minimum wage plus tips. "I'm just doing my job. I need her signature or I can't complete the delivery."
Reverie groans behind us—deep and frustrated and completely done with our shit. I can feel her trying to push through again, small hands pressing against my back with more force this time, against Theo's shoulder, trying desperately to create any kind of space between three bulky Alphas who have far too much muscle and possessiveness and protective instinct working in our favor.
She's not strong enough to move us. Not even close. An Omega against three Alphas who've decided she's not getting past this wall? Not happening. We don't budge an inch.
She huffs—the sound of someone who's reached the end of their patience and given up on reasoning with unreasonable people. Her voice rises, projecting over our shoulders to the increasingly nervous delivery guy who's probably regretting taking this particular job.
"Sorry! Can you just leave them downstairs with the shop owner? She can sign on my behalf. I'll pick them up later."
The delivery guy shrugs, clearly deciding this isn't worth the hassle. "As you wish, ma'am."
He turns to leave, then pauses. Looks back at the apartment door.
"Your apartment is leaking, by the way."
The three of us growl in unison.
Not at him. Just the general statement. The implication that something's wrong with her living space. The Alpha instinct to fix and protect kicking in immediately.
The delivery guy practically runs down the hallway. Smart move.
Reverie rolls her eyes so hard I can hear it. But then she looks down at her feet.
Frowns.
I follow her gaze downward and see it—a clear puddle of water seeping out from under her apartment door like a slow-motion flood. Growing. Spreading. Creating an expanding pool across the hallway floor that's soaking into the carpet runner and probably going to cause property damage that she definitely can't afford based on what I know about her financial situation.
Her bare feet are standing directly in it. The water is creeping toward us, dark and ominous against the beige hallway carpet.
It takes her exactly three seconds to process what she's seeing. I watch the realization hit in real-time—eyes widening with dawning horror, mouth dropping open in a perfect O of shock, the sharp intake of breath that precedes absolute panic.
"The bathtub!" She shrieks, the sound piercing enough to probably wake everyone on this floor. "It's flooding! I turned the tap on whenI was about to answer the door... and forgot to pull the drain plug and oh my god?—"
She spins around.
Doesn't wait for permission or help or any kind of response from the three Alphas standing in her hallway. Just turns on her heel and runs back into her apartment, heading straight for what I assume is the bathroom where a tub full of water is currently overflowing onto her floors.
The apartment below hers is probably flooding too. The ceiling, the walls, everything getting soaked with bathwaterwhile she was having her self-care moment. Property damage. Repairs she'll have to pay for. A landlord who's going to be pissed.
"Reverie, wait—" I start, moving forward instinctively. My hand reaches out even though she's already too far away. "Be careful, the floor is wet and you're?—"
Too late.
Her foot hits the wet hardwood floor inside her apartment. The water that's been spreading from the bathroom for god knows how long, creating a slick surface that's basically an ice rink. She's moving too fast, too panicked to be cautious, bare feet offering zero traction.
She slips.
It happens in slow motion. Her arms windmill desperately, trying to catch balance that's already completely gone. The towel starts to slip—she grabs for it instinctively instead of trying to catch herself. Her shriek cuts through the air—high and terrified and making every protective instinct I possess roar to life.
Move. Fucking move. Catch her.
I lunge forward, arms reaching, but I'm too far away. Standing in the hallway while she's already inside her apartment. The distance is insurmountable in the fraction of a second I have.
Theo moves faster—those military reflexes kicking in even with his damaged knees, pushing past the pain to reach for her—but even he can't close the distance in time. His fingertips brush her shoulder. Miss. Can't get a grip.
Grayson shouts her name. The sound is desperate, anguished.
