She’s just on the other side of that door, I reason with the snarling instinct in my gut.Still close. For now, it has to be enough.
We make it to the living room. I glance at my brothers. They’re all feeling it.
Tristan is pacing, hands clenching and unclenching as he rolls his shoulders. Diego has his eyes closed, his hand pressed over his heart as if to physically quiet the ache of his alpha’s discontent. Even Dane looks… unsettled. He’s standing by the window, but he’s not looking out at the city. He’s looking at the reflection of Zoe’s hallway in the glass.
We’re a wreck. All of us.
Tristan dumps his blanket and pillow on the couch, raking his hands through his hair. “Well,” he says, his voice strained despite the forced lightness, “that was... something.”
Diego is pacing now, his usual calm completely shattered. “We can’t just pretend it didn’t happen. We burst into her room armed with kitchenware. She must be terrified.”
“Or mortified,” Dane says quietly from where he’s standing at the windows, arms crossed over his chest. “Probably both.”
“She had a sex dream about us,” Tristan says, as if we need the reminder. He spreads his arms wide, “About Rett, specifically.” He doesn’t quite meet my eyes. “Anyone else feel like we just walked in on our parents?”
A low sound of agreement escapes me. “I know what you mean,” I mutter, running a hand over my jaw.
Tristan’s forced smile drops. “She had a sex dream so intense it made her scream. A sex dream about us. About you. And we all heard it. We all smelled it.” He finally looks at me, and his eyes are a dark, confusing mix of raw arousal and something else... something that looks a lot like jealousy. “Frankly, I don’t know whether to be turned on or pissed off.”
“Both,” Dane suggests, his voice a dry, flat rumble from the corner. “You can be both.”
Diego stops pacing to shoot Dane a disapproving look. “Don’t encourage him.” Dane shrugs.
I need to regain control of this situation. Of my brothers. Of myself. Especially myself, because the memory of Zoe’s scream is still echoing in my ears, and the knowledge that she was dreaming of me—calling my name—is doing dangerous things to my self-control.
“The point is,” I say, forcing my voice into the steady, authoritative tone that usually works on my pack, “the bond is reacting in ways we didn’t anticipate. We need a strategy.”
“A strategy,” Tristan repeats, his voice flat. “For what, exactly? How to survive breakfast after hearing our mate have a mind-blowing orgasm while dreaming about us?”
“For how to help her through this,” I correct, glaring at him. “She’s confused. Scared. Probably feeling violated and exposed. We need to make this easier for her, not harder.”
Diego stops pacing, his expression shifting to something more focused. “You’re right. She’s embarrassed. We need to show her there’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”
“How, exactly?” Tristan asks, throwing himself onto the couch. “I can barely look at her without remembering the sound she made. That little gasp right before—fuck.” I can literally see him getting hard, his cock growing under his boxers. “I’m just saying, this is weird for all of us.”
“Weirdest for her,” Dane says quietly.
We all fall silent at that, the truth of his words settling over us. Zoe didn’t ask for this. For her gallery to get robbed. For these dreams. Or for us to burst into her room in the middle of the night.
“So what do we do?” Diego asks, looking to me for answers. He always does. They all do. It’s my job as pack alpha to have the solutions, to know the right path forward. But right now, I’m as lost as they are.
“We act normal,” I decide, the words coming out with moreconfidence than I feel. “We don’t mention the dream. We don’t make this any more awkward than it already is.”
“Normal,” Tristan repeats skeptically. “You want us to pretend we didn’t all hear her.”
“Yes,” I say firmly. “That’s exactly what we do. We give her the dignity of pretending it didn’t happen.”
Diego’s face brightens with sudden inspiration. “I’ll make breakfast. Something special. A welcome breakfast for her first morning with us.” He’s already moving toward the kitchen, his anxious energy finding purpose. “Huevos rancheros. Or maybe that apple cinnamon French toast she was looking at on her phone yesterday.”
Tristan and I exchange a glance. “How do you know what she was looking at on her phone?” I ask carefully.
Diego waves a dismissive hand as he pulls ingredients from the refrigerator. “I happened to glance over when she was scrolling. She lingered on it. I notice things.”
“That’s not creepy at all,” Tristan mutters, but there’s a fondness in his voice.
“It’s observant,” Diego corrects, pulling out a mixing bowl. “There’s a difference.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night, stalker,” Tristan says, but he’s already moving to help, grabbing eggs from the fridge.
