“Come in,” I call, already grinning. By process of elimination it must be Wyatt.
Wyatt pokes his head around the door, eyebrows raised. He’s not wearing a shirt, but there’s a cardigan wrapped around him like a bathrobe, and he’s holding two mugs, both steaming. He clocks the mess, the paint, and the slightly unhinged look in my eyes, and doesn’t even blink.
He balances the mugs while stepping over art supplies. “Good morning. Did you sleep?”
I stretch my arms over my head and yawn so hard my jaw cracks. “Define ‘sleep.’”
Wyatt sets one mug down on my makeshift table and hands me the other. “Caffeine. Sugar. And I may have spiked it with that syrup you like.”
I sniff the cup. “Is this… blueberry?”
He looks deeply offended. “It is artisan-crafted, locally sourced blue raspberry syrup, thank you.”
I sip, savor, and then make a noise that’s part-moan, part-giggle. “You are too good to me.”
“Lies.” Wyatt sits cross-legged on the floor, just outside the border of my nest. He stares at me, not in a creepy way, but like I am a sculpture he’s trying to memorize for a test. “Do you know you look like a work of modern art right now?”
I glance down. There’s more paint on my thighs than on the canvas. My shirt is a size too big, half off one shoulder, and the hem of my shorts is sticky with something neon and probably permanent.
“I hope it’s my good side.” I let the brush rest on the rim of the palette.
“It’s all good side.” There’s a softness in Wyatt’s tone that makes my face go hot.
We sit for a second, the silence easy. The only real sound is the background music.
“Ranier’s gone?” Wyatt asks, voice casual.
I nod. “Council stuff. I just know he’s super happy about that.”
Wyatt snorts. “That tracks.” He runs a hand through his hair and his gaze drops to my neck. To the new mark, right above my collarbone. Wyatt grins, broad and a little wolfish. “So it’s official. You’re the most claimed omega in city limits.”
I touch the spot and can’t help smiling too. “Was there ever any doubt?”
“Only every second until last night.” He leans forward, elbows on his knees and eyes bright. “Are you okay? Really?”
I nod, more certain than ever. “I’m better than okay. I feel… I don’t know. Like I finished the final exam and now there’s nothing left to study for.”
Wyatt’s smile softens. “Good. You deserve to feel that way.”
We sip coffee in tandem.
Wyatt then taps his mug. “Are you going to show me what you’ve been working on for the exhibition?”
I choke. “The what now?”
He laughs. “Don’t play dumb. Bastion said you’ve been prepping for weeks. I want to see what you’re going to hang in the gallery.”
I grin. “Most of it is… I don’t know. Stuff I’ve never shown anyone. Except Eloise, of course.”
Wyatt’s look turns serious. “Will you show me?”
I hesitate, the old embarrassment prickling, but then I remember: I am unbreakable now. I have nothing to lose.
I stand, nearly tipping the paint water, and pad over to the wall behind my bed. There’s a stack of canvases, none of themframed yet, all just leaning in a lopsided row. I pull out three: one large, one medium, one so small it’s barely bigger than a postcard.
I hand him the smallest first. It’s a sketchy, fast portrait of all three of my alphas standing on the roof of the manor, staring at a smudgy sky. They’re not holding hands, but they’re close enough to. At the bottom I’ve written,“Nobody wins unless we all do.”
Wyatt blinks. “You made this?”
