“Drunk consent,” Zoe counters, “after a night of... whatever that was.”
“Amazing sex?” Tristan suggests with a hopeful smile.
Zoe doesn’t smile back. “Sex that was preceded by an absurd amount of champagne, which you all kept refilling.”
“We weren’t trying to get you drunk,” Rett says, a note of defensiveness creeping into his voice. “We were just?—”
“Just what?” Zoe cuts in. “Just having a good time? Just going with the flow? Just indulging a passing fancy for a beta you met at a gala?”
There it is. The heart of her anger laid bare on a sticky table in a dive bar.
“No,” I say firmly, meeting her gaze. “It wasn’t like that. Not for any of us.”
She studies me, her expression softening almost imperceptibly. “Then what was it like, Diego? Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like four alphas decided to have some fun with a beta, then got carried away and now don’t know how to back out gracefully.”
The accusation stings, all the more because I can see why she might think that. From her perspective, we’re just four rich, powerful assholes who took what we wanted without consideration for the consequences.
“It wasn’t fun,” Dane says suddenly, his quiet voice somehow cutting through the din of the bar. “It was relief.”
Zoe’s attention shifts to him, her eyebrow raised in question.
“The static,” he explains, tapping his temple. “In our heads. For years. Constant. Like a radio stuck between stations. Loud. Painful.”
“Static,” Zoe repeats slowly. “What are you talking about?”
Rett sighs, running a hand through his hair. “It’s a condition. Rare. Affects unmated alpha packs. A sort of... biological alarm system that goes off when a pack has been together too long without a stabilizing influence.”
“A mate,” Tristan clarifies. “Usually an omega, but apparently...” He gestures to Zoe.
“You’re saying you have some kind of... noise in your heads?” Zoe looks skeptical. “And what, I make it stop?”
“Yes,” we all say in unison, with varying degrees of desperation.
She sits back, crossing her arms. “That’s convenient.”
“It’s the truth,” I insist. “When we’re near you, the static quiets. When we touch you, it stops completely. When Tristan was with you at the gallery today?—”
“Complete silence,” Tristan finishes. “For the second time in five years. It was... incredible.”
Zoe’s eyes narrow. “So what you’re saying is, I’m your aspirin. Your beta-blocker. Your convenient biological mute button.”
“No,” Rett says firmly. “It’s not like that.”
“Isn’t it?” She leans forward, her voice dropping. “You claim me in a drunken haze, then discover I magically cure your alpha headaches. How convenient.”
“That’s not—” I begin, but she cuts me off.
“And let me guess,” she continues, “these claiming marks? They’re not supposed to take on a beta, right? Not so many, at least. Normally, they’d fade?”
I exchange a glance with my brothers. She’s not wrong.
“Usually,” I admit. “Beta-alpha bonds are rare enough. Beta-alpha pack bonds are almost unheard of. But these marks...” Igesture to her neck, where the four distinct bites are visible. “They’re not fading. They’re intensifying.”
“Again, how convenient for you,” she says, but there’s a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. “You accidentally claimed the one beta in Sweetwater who can both cure your headaches and actually bond with you.”
“Zoe,” I say gently. “We’re just as surprised as you are. None of this was planned. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t real.”
Her fingers go to her neck, absently tracing one of the marks—Tristan’s, I think, based on the placement. “Real or not, it doesn’t change the fact that you kept my planner hostage, invaded my workplace, and generally acted like possessive assholes.”
