First layer was Alfie’s vintageThe Clasht-shirt, soft as butter and smelling of spiced rum. I pulled it on. It hung off my shoulder, exposing the bite on the left.
Second layer was Kit’s wool socks. I fished them out from under the bed. They came up to my knees, thick and grey and smelling of safety.
Third layer was Euan’s noise-canceling headphones. They were on the nightstand. I didn't plug them in. I just draped them around my neck, the cool plastic resting against my collarbones, framing the marks.
I grabbed my tablet from the side table. The battery was at 12%. Enough.
I opened a new file.
POST-CLAIM ANALYSIS log_01.
I looked at the sleeping pile of Alphas. My Alphas. My pack.
Alfie shifted, muttering something unintelligible about a chorus hook. He blinked, his eyes struggling to open in the daylight. He spotted me sitting there, wearing his shirt, tapping on a screen.
A slow, lazy, devastatingly smug grin spread across his face.
"Morning, fox," he rasped. His voice was ruined, a jagged wreck of a thing. "You look... thoroughly edited."
"I look occupied," I corrected, not looking up from the screen. "How are the vocal cords?"
"Shredded," he whispered happily, dragging himself up the mattress until he could rest his chin on my knee. "Worth it. I’d ruin them again right now."
"Don't," I said, tapping the glass. "I need you vocal for the acoustics on Thursday."
Kit groaned, rolling onto his back and scrubbing a hand over his face. The ink on his chest seemed darker against the flush of his skin. "She’s doing QA," Kit rumbled, his voice a seismic event. "The woman has three bites on her neck and she’s doing Quality Assurance."
"Someone has to," I said. "Alfie."
"Yeah?" Alfie looked nervous now.
"At minute forty-seven," I said, referring to my internal timestamp. "During the second bite sequence. You rushed thetempo. You were rushing the beat. We need to implement a breath-reset protocol next time so you don't hyperventilate."
Alfie’s jaw dropped. "I wascrying, Z! I was having a spiritual experience! I wasn't counting bars!"
"Spiritual experiences require breath support," I countered. "Otherwise you pass out, and then Kit has to carry you."
"I would have carried you," Kit promised, reaching out to squeeze Alfie’s ankle. "But she’s right. You were rushing."
"Et tu, Brute?" Alfie gasped, falling back onto the pillows dramatically.
"Euan," I continued, looking at the sleeping form of the technician.
Euan didn't move, but his eyes opened. Slate grey. Alert instantly.
"Listening," he murmured into the pillow.
"Your structural integrity was optimal," I said. "However, the angle of entry on the second latch... you were three degrees off center. It caused unnecessary friction on the approach."
Euan sat up slowly. The sheet fell away. He looked at me, his expression shifting from sleepiness to a terrifying, heated intensity.
"Noted," he rasped. "I will recalibrate for the next session. I will require... extensive testing to ensure the new angle is correct."
"Approved," I said, fighting a smile. "We can schedule trials for Wednesday."
Kit laughed, a low, rich sound that made the mattress shake. He sat up, leaning against the headboard, pulling me back until I was resting against his massive chest.
"And me?" he asked, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. "How was the furniture?"
