The alphas are all here: Bastion, Ranier, and Wyatt. They’ve arranged themselves by height, which is the kind of petty I appreciate. Bastion’s got his hands in his pockets and his head cocked. Ranier’s in the center, arms folded and shoulders set to “don’t fuck with me.” Wyatt leans against the banister, a loose huddle of sideways glances.
No one speaks for three solid beats.
Then Bastion, voice flat, says, “You brought a plus one?”
“She’s not staying,” I say. “Just helping.”
Eloise gives them a wave. “I’m the muscle.”
Wyatt’s lips twitch, almost a smile. “Noted.”
I haul my suitcase up the first step, and instantly the alpha wall breaks apart. Ranier turns on his heel and leads the way up the staircase, not bothering to check if I’m following. Bastion trails close behind, and Wyatt brings up the rear, just far enough back that he can’t be blamed if I trip and die on the steps.
The air inside is a few degrees warmer than outside, but the house itself is cold in a way that has nothing to do with temperature. Everything is polished, symmetrical, oppressive. Portraits of dead ancestors glare down from the walls with their faces pinched in judgment.
Ranier stops at the first landing. “Your room’s this way,” he says, voice clipped. He starts down a side hall, and I follow, boots muffled on the ancient runner.
The room they’ve given me is at the far end, just past a linen closet and two doors marked “PRIVATE.” Ranier pushes open the door and stands aside, letting me see my new kingdom.
It’s… underwhelming.
The bed is a basic queen, the sheets white and aggressively starched. There’s a desk, a nightstand, and a dresser. The walls are painted a shade of gray so pale it almost reflects, and the windows are latched tight. The only concession to comfort is a cheap shag rug, the kind that leaves tufts of synthetic fluff onyour socks. There’s nothing on the walls. No art. No mirrors. It could be a hospital room, or a prison with better lighting.
Eloise whistles low. “Sick setup, Grey.”
I drop my duffel at the foot of the bed and poke around. The closet is empty except for a single plastic hanger. The drawers stick a little, but they’re clean.
“Where’s the bathroom?” I ask.
Bastion points down the hall. “Shared. Two doors down, on the left.”
My stomach drops. “No en suite?”
Ranier’s expression doesn’t flicker. “Wyatt and Bastion have the only two with bathrooms attached.”
Eloise lets out a stage whisper. “I can sabotage their water heater if you want. Just say the word.”
I force a smile. “It’s fine.”
Ranier clears his throat, bored and annoyed all at once. “You need anything else, or are you good?”
I look at the barren bed, then at Eloise. “We’ll manage.”
The alphas leave as a unit, Wyatt lingering just long enough to give Eloise a two-fingered salute. The door closes behind them with a soft click.
Eloise immediately drops her bag and drops on to the bed, bouncing twice. “That was… frosty.”
I start unloading my stuff, organizing by emotional importance: art supplies on the desk, extra bedding for nest-construction, toiletries next to my pillow. Eloise helps without asking, as ever.
“Do you want the fairy lights now, or after we do the pillows?”
I think for a second. “Pillows first. If I can’t make it feel like home, I’m running back to yours.”
She snorts. “You won’t. You love it here already. It’s a challenge.”
She’s right. I do.
We start the transformation. Eloise unzips the duffels and unpacks the throw pillows, all in mismatched brights and neons and gaudy prints. I line them against the wall, building a soft barricade behind the headboard. Blankets come next. We layer them until the bed looks like a birthday cake for someone with boundary issues.
