“Great,” Dax growls. “So, we’re stuck in a house with our biggest rival, a storm that might require evacuation, and stress-baked goods.”
“Could be worse,” Cole says.
“How?” Dax demands.
No one has an answer for that.
I retreat to my bedroom and close the door behind me. My heart is racing, my skin is too hot, and my omega is very confused about why there are suddenly four alphas in my space.
This is fine. This is one night. Tomorrow they’ll leave, and I’ll have my alpha-free heat week back.
Nothing is ruined.
I almost believe it.
CHAPTER THREE
Sierra
I’m nesting.
The moment I see the master bedroom, my omega lights up like a Christmas tree. Huge bed. Soft linens. Ocean view. Multiple pillows. A closet that probably has extra blankets.
Perfect.
I don’t even try to fight it. What’s the point? I’m going into heat in a house full of alphas. I might as well have one thing that makes me feel better.
The decorative pillows are the first to go. Too stiff, wrong texture, completely useless. I toss them onto the chair in the corner and start rearranging the actual pillows, plus the ones I brought. Two behind me for back support. One on each side for barriers. The body pillow goes along the edge. Yes, that’s perfect.
The duvet needs to be fluffier. I shake it out, letting it poof up before draping it across the pillows. My throw blanket is soft and has a good weight to it. That goes at the foot of the bed, where I can pull it up if I need it.
“Better,” I murmur, stepping back to survey my work.
But it’s not quite right yet.
I grab the extra duvet from the closet. It’s white and plush and exactly what I need. I arrange it in the center of the bed, creating a little cocoon of softness. My hands smooth over the fabric, adjusting, perfecting.
There.
I should probably be embarrassed about giving in to my biology so easily. But honestly? Building a nest is one of the few things that actually helps when pre-heat anxiety hits. It’s soothing. Meditative.
And it’s not like the Knightley Pack is going to see it. This is my room. My space. My nest.
I move to the dresser, unpacking my bag and humming a tune to distract myself. Clothes in drawers. Toiletries in the bathroom. Everything in its place, everything organized, everything —
A burst of scent hits me from under the door.
Alpha.
Four alphas, to be precise, and without scent blockers, I can smell them clearly. Usually, they’d be wearing scent blockers for business, but here? They’re unmasked. And in my pre-heat state, my senses are so dialed in that I can pick apart the layers instantly.
Dax smells like burned caramel and black cherry liqueur. Something rich and reckless that makes my omega want to either submit or fight. I’m voting for fight.
Malik is cooler, like vanilla ice-cream, crisp and steady, the kind of scent you crave when you need comfort.
Jalen is warm, a cozy, fireside scent that reminds me of autumn nights and safety. It’s the kind of sweetness that sticks to your ribs. It’s... comforting, actually, which is annoying.
And Cole? He smells like cinnamon-glazed pecans, all heat and sugar, the kind of scent that would make any omega’s mouth water. And I hate that mine just did.
