Us. The word lands strangely in my chest. There is no us when it comes to Max. There's Atlas, who touched him. Zero, who wants to own him. And me, hovering at the edges, wanting things I can't name and definitely can't have.
"That's not what I mean." Atlas stands, moves to the window, his back to us. His hands are clasped behind him—the pose he uses in boardrooms not with family. "We need ground rules. Boundaries. We can't just—"
"Can't just what?" Zero sits up now, suddenly alert. The whiskey sloshes but doesn't spill. "Take care of him? Because that's exactly what we did. He was falling apart, and we helped him. Easy. What's the problem?"
I could tell him. I could say the problem is that I held his wrists while our brother made him come, and I've never been so jealous of anything in my entire life. But I don't. I never do.
"The problem is this can't be a free-for-all." Atlas turns to face us, and there's something hard in his expression. Something territorial. The alpha in him, usually so carefully leashed,showing its teeth. "Max is vulnerable. He's in the middle of his first heat, he's confused, he's scared. We can't all just—"
"Spit it out, Atlas."
Zero's voice has gone flat. Dangerous. I've heard that tone before—usually right before something gets broken.
"I'm saying one of us needs to take the lead. Be his primary." Atlas's jaw tightens, a muscle feathering beneath the skin. "The others can assist, but—"
Zero laughs. It's not a nice sound. It's the laugh of a man who's been waiting for a fight and finally found one. "Let me guess. You're volunteering."
"I'm the oldest. I have the most control. I can—"
"You can what? Claim him for yourself while the rest of us watch?" Zero is on his feet now, whiskey forgotten on the couch, hands curling into fists at his sides. "That's bullshit and you know it."
My pulse kicks up. The air in the room has changed—thickened with pheromones and tension. Two alphas squaring off, circling each other without moving. I can smell it: Atlas's cedar and bourbon gone sharp with dominance, Zero's gunpowder and winter turned acrid with challenge.
And underneath it all, still clinging to my skin, the ghost of Max's scent. Honey. Vanilla. Smoke.
"That's not what I'm saying."
"It's exactly what you're saying." Zero steps closer, and there's danger in his posture—weight forward, shoulders rolled, chin tilted down in that way that meanstry me. "You want to be his alpha. Hisonlyalpha." Another step. They're barely three feet apart now. "News flash, brother—you don't get to make that decision alone."
Atlas doesn't back down. Never does. He meets Zero's stare with that cold, calculating look that's made grown menflinch. "Someone has to make decisions. Someone has to think about what's best for Max instead of just what they want."
"And that someone is you? The one who had his fingers inside Max an hour ago?" Zero's lip curls. "Real selfless, Atlas. Real fucking noble."
I stay quiet. I always stay quiet when they get like this. The peacekeeper. The mediator. The one who smooths things over after they've torn each other apart.
But inside, something is burning.
He's mine too.
The thought is so loud I'm surprised they can't hear it. So fierce it steals my breath.
I watched Atlas claim what I wanted. I held Max down while someone else made him feel good. And now Atlas wants to formalize it—make himself Max's primary, like Max is a business acquisition, like the rest of us are just consultants on the project.
Fuck that.
My fingers dig into the armrests of the chair. I force myself to stay seated. To keep my mouth shut. To let them fight it out like they always do while I sit on the sidelines and pretend I don't have a stake in this.
But I do. God help me, I do.
I want Max in ways that have nothing to do with alpha instinct and everything to do withhim. The way he chews his lip when he's nervous. The way he’s at peace curled over a book. The way he looked at me in the library that night—like he saw something in me worth seeing.
I don't just want to claim him. I want toearnhim.
And I can't do that if Atlas locks him away like some prize to be protected.
"We're not discussing this now." Atlas's voice is clipped. Final. He turns back to the window, dismissing us both with therigid line of his spine. "Max needs rest. We all need rest. In the morning—"
"In the morning, what? You'll have drawn up a contract?" Zero sneers, and I watch his upper lip curl, watch the vein in his neck pulse with barely contained fury. "Established visiting hours? This isn't a business negotiation, Atlas. He's not a merger."
