I drop my hands, my voice becoming a pitch-perfect imitation of a sad, apologetic alpha. “Am I just supposed to wait around until one of them gives me the ‘It’s not you, it’s my primal need for a knot-receptive, heir-producing mate’ speech? I’ll be a footnote in their pack’s history. The weird beta they mated by mistake in ‘25.”
Leah is quiet for a long moment. Then, “Oh Zo… you’re forgetting one thing in all your scientific calculations,” she says softly.
I raise a questioning eyebrow.
Her voice drops. “Maybe it’s not about biology. Maybe it’s just… you.”
Her words land and echo in my brain, ricocheting over and over.
“Have they tried to contact you?” she asks after a moment.
I glance at the thermos and pastry box on my kitchen counter. “Diego sent coffee and a croissant…from your bakery.”
Leah’s eyebrows shoot up. “Really?Mybakery? I like them already.” She grins.
I scowl, and she chuckles. Just like that, she manages to make me laugh. I collapse on the couch beside her once more.
“What? They support omega-owned businesses AND they could have stormed your apartment like typical knotheaded alphas, but they didn’t.”
“They kept my planner, though.” I frown.
Leah’s brows shoot up. “Huh? Your planner?”
“I know!” I exclaim before doing a poor imitation of Rett Sterling. “‘Talk to us or you’ll never see your appointments again.’”
Leah bursts out laughing. “Sounds like they genuinely like you.”
“Or they’re just really good at getting what they want,” I counter. “They’re alphas, Leah. I can’t even wrap my head around the idea of having one alpha, let alonefour,” I say, running a hand through my hair. “How do you even handle three plus Mason?”
Leah smirks. “Very enthusiastically.”
“Leah!”
Leah’s expression is sympathetic but tinged with amusement. “Oh, Zo. I don’t think this is going away.”
Before I can answer, one of the babies stirs, making a small, discontented sound that quickly escalates into a full-blown cry. The other follows suit almost immediately, as if they’re synced for chaos.
“And that’s my cue,” Leah says, standing and gathering the car seats. “Crisis management is on hold until these little monsters are fed and changed.”
I help her collect their diaper bag.
“Aren’t you going to call Caleb?”
She shrugs. “I can carry them down myself. Poor thing had been up with the twins all night last night. He takes turns with Jude, Mason, and Liam, but he deserves a few more minutes of alone time.”
At the door, she turns to me, her expression serious despite the wailing infants.
“For what it’s worth,” she says, “Don’t be like how I was, Zo. I think you should talk to them. Not necessarily to accept the claim, but to understand it at least. This is uncharted territory, Zoe. For all of you.”
I nod, not trusting myself to speak.
“And maybe,” she adds with a wink, “wear a turtleneck to work tomorrow. Those marks are...impressive.”
With that parting shot, she’s gone, leaving me alone in my apartment once more.
I touch my neck again, tracing the outlines of each mark.
Tomorrow, I have to go back to work. Face the world. Pretend everything is normal when I’m walking around with the equivalent of four alpha billboards plastered across my throat.
