I push off from the wall and make myself walk toward the couch with as much confidence as I can muster. My legs are shaking slightly. Everything is shaking slightly. But I make it to the armchair and sink into it with what I hope looks like casual grace rather than desperate relief.
The alphas exchange glances.
Then, slowly, they follow.
Cole kicks his bag aside and claims one end of the couch, his hair still sticking up in every direction from running his hands through it. Jalen takes the other end, his bandaged hand resting carefully on his knee. Malik perches on the edge of the loveseat, and Dax...
Dax pulls over one of the stools from the kitchen and positions it between me and the others.
The protective gesture isn’t lost on me. He’s physically placing himself as a barrier, and I can’t tell if it’s to protect me from them or them from me.
Maybe both.
“Right,” Malik says, his phone lighting up. “Ground rules.”
“Are you seriously taking notes?” Cole asks, a hint of his usual humor creeping into his voice.
“I like to be prepared,” Malik replies. “This is a high-stakes situation.”
“A high-stakes situation?” Cole snorts. “What are you, a hostage negotiator?”
“Worse,” Malik deadpans. “I’m an alpha stuck with three idiots during an omega’s heat. If I don’t mediate, someone’s going to lose an eye.”
I can’t help it. Despite the heat, the tension, and the sheer absurdity of the situation, a laugh bubbles up, half hysterical but still a laugh.
All four of them look at me.
“Sorry,” I say, pressing my hand to my mouth. “You just sounded like you were about to defuse a bomb.”
“I am,” Malik says without missing a beat. Then he glances at me, his lips twitching. “You’re the bomb.”
Jalen groans. Cole chokes on a laugh. Even Dax huffs something that might be amusement, muttering, “Not with the bad jokes,” under his breath.
The tension in the room eases just a bit.
“Okay,” I say, getting myself under control. “Rules. Boundaries. What do we need?”
“Separation,” Dax says immediately. His voice is rough, strained, and I notice his hands are clenched on his knees. “Physical distance. You stay in your room; we stay in ours.”
“Agreed,” I say quickly, because yes, distance is good. Distance is necessary. Distance is the only thing standing between me and some very poor decision-making.
Another wave hits me, stronger this time, and I can’t completely hide it. Heat blooms across my skin, and I feel slick gathering between my thighs. My scent must spike because all four of them go rigid.
Dax’s hands clench tighter. Cole’s breath catches. Malik’s fingers freeze over his phone. Jalen shifts in his seat, jaw tight.
I shift in the chair, trying to get comfortable, and catch Dax’s eyes tracking the movement. His gaze drops to my thighs, then snaps away as if caught stealing, a muscle jumping in his jaw.
Right. Super obvious, Sierra. Very subtle.
“Food,” Malik says, his voice slightly strangled. He clears his throat and tries again. “We need a system for meals. We can’t just avoid eating for however long this lasts.”
That brings a question.
“How long does a rut usually last?” I ask, even though I’m not sure I want to know.
There’s a pause. Cole shifts uncomfortably. Jalen looks away.
“Depends,” Dax says, his voice tight. “Could be a few days. Could be longer. Hard to say. Especially with all four of us syncing. We’re in uncharted territory.”
