Me: Please don't.
Mom: Too late. I already bought the bedazzler. This is happening.
"I like your mom." Carlos is reading over my other shoulder now. "She has excellent energy."
"She's going to interrogate all of you with a spreadsheet when she gets back."
"Looking forward to it." Sergio refills his coffee.
The doorbell rings.
All four alphas go still. Nacho's hand automatically goes to where his gun would be if he were on duty. Pedro straightens. Sergio sets down his coffee. Carlos grabs the spatula like it's a weapon.
"Are we expecting someone?" I look around.
"No." Nacho's already moving toward the door.
I follow him to the front entrance. He checks the peephole, and his shoulders relax.
"It's Stacey and Harmony."
He opens the door. Both women stand on the porch wrapped in scarves against the November chill. Stacey's hair is styled in perfect waves despite what must have been a long drive. Harmony looks exhausted, dark circles under her eyes, and her scent is all wrong. The usual gentle chamomile and rain is sharp with stress, spiked with something bitter that makes my omega instincts prickle.
"Finally." Stacey pulls me into a crushing hug. "You look good. Like, annoyingly good for someone who just went through heat."
"How long did you drive?" I hug her back, then reach for Harmony.
"Six hours." Harmony melts into my arms. Her scent shifts slightly, the bitter edge softening to something more like burnt sugar and worry. She's trembling.
"You okay?" I pull back to look at her.
"Long drive. Stacey's playlist choices." She tries to smile, but it wobbles. The stress scent intensifies, sweet turning acrid.
"My playlists are art," Stacey protests. She steps inside and tosses her coat toward the rack. Misses. Leaves it on the floor. "Hey, pack. Looking appropriately domestic."
The brothers have gathered in the living room. Sergio leans against the doorframe. Pedro's abandoned his coffee on the side table. Carlos still has the spatula. Nacho closes the door behind us.
"How bad was the drive?" Carlos asks.
"Educational." Stacey kicks off her shoes. "I learned that Harmony has seventeen different ways to ask me to change the music."
"It was the same song for an hour." Harmony's voice is quiet, but her scent spikes with frustration. Sharp lemon cutting through the chamomile.
I catch her hand. It's cold despite the warmth of the house. "Come sit. Tell me what's wrong."
We move to the couch together. The brothers follow. Sergio takes the armrest beside me. Pedro sits on my other side. Carlos perches on the coffee table. Nacho turns a dining chair to face us.
Stacey settles next to Harmony, close enough that their shoulders touch.
"What happened?" I ask gently.
Harmony's scent shifts again. Fear now, metallic and cold, overwhelming the sweetness. "I think someone's following me."
The room goes still.
"Following you how?" Nacho's voice is immediately professional. Cop mode.
"Little things at first." Harmony's hands twist in her lap. "Flowers on my doorstep with no card. Three times in two weeks. Then photos showed up. Of me. Leaving my apartment. Getting coffee. At the gym. Someone's watching me."
