Rett’s spine stiffens, his hand tightening around his untouched beer. Tristan’s smile freezes in place, taking on a dangerous edge. Dane shifts almost imperceptibly, his weight balanced as if preparing to stand.
But Zoe just looks annoyed, not afraid. “Not interested, Dave.”
The alpha—Dave, apparently—pouts dramatically. “Aw, come on. Don’t be like that. We had fun last time.”
Last time? I feel an irrational surge of jealousy that I have no right to feel.
“Last time you spilled beer on my shoes and threw up across the bar,” Zoe replies dryly. “Not exactly the highlight of my social calendar.”
Dave laughs too loudly, then leans in closer, bracing one meaty hand on the table. “I’ll make it up to you. Ditch these suits and?—”
“The lady said she’s not interested,” Rett interrupts, his voice carrying that edge of alpha command that makes most people instinctively back down.
Not Dave, though. He straightens, focusing on Rett for the first time. “And who the fuck are you? Her keeper?”
“No,” Dane answers before Rett can. “Her alphas.”
The plural hangs in the air between them. Dave’s bleary eyes widen as he finally notices the claiming marks on Zoe’s neck. All four of them, distinct and unmistakable.
“Well, shit,” he says, taking a step back. “Didn’t realize you were into that kind of thing, Zo.”
“There are a lot of things you don’t realize, Dave,” Zoe says coolly. “Now, if you don’t mind, we were having a conversation.”
Dave holds up his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, no problem. Just trying to be friendly.”
“Try somewhere else,” Tristan suggests with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.
Dave looks like he might argue, but then thinks better of it, casting one last look at Zoe before shuffling back to his friends at the bar.
Once he’s gone, Zoe turns to us with a frown. “‘Her alphas’? Really?”
“It was efficient,” Dane shrugs.
“It was presumptuous,” she corrects. “I haven’t agreed to anything yet.”
“Yet,” Tristan echoes, a hopeful note in his voice. “So you’re considering it?”
Zoe sighs, reaching for her planner. “I’m considering not running screaming from this bar, which is about as far as I’ve gotten.”
“That’s progress,” I offer with a small smile.
She doesn’t smile back, but she doesn’t immediately shut me down either. Instead, she traces the cover of her planner with one finger, her expression thoughtful. “So this static... Is it really that bad?”
“Worse,” Rett says grimly. “It’s been five years of progressive deterioration. Headaches, insomnia, difficulty focusing. For the last year, it’s been nearly unbearable.”
“And I make it stop,” she says slowly, like she’s trying to process this information. “All of you? Or just Tristan?”
“All of us,” I confirm. “To varying degrees. Being near you helps. Physical contact is... better.”
Zoe’s cheeks flush slightly at that, and I know she’s remembering what happened back at the penthouse.
“So what happens now?” she asks, her voice quieter. “If these marks are really taking hold, if I’m really bonding with all of you... what does that mean? For any of us?”
It’s the million-dollar question, and one I’m not sure any of us has a good answer for. What does it mean for a beta to be claimed by four alphas? There’s no precedent, no guidebook, no advice column for this particular situation.
“It means we figure it out,” Rett says simply. “All of us.”
“One day at a time,” I add.
