Just yesterday morning before heading to the Cirque, I'd listened to Asher and Kane discussing plans for a hydrotherapy pool."Swimming would be good for her," Asher had said, as if I wasn't standing right there. "She hates running and you should see her face when Xander tries to get her on the rowing machine."
At the time, I'd rolled my eyes, but warmth had also bloomed in my chest. Their dedication was overwhelming sometimes, bordering on obsessive, but after a lifetime of being treated like a specimen, being treated like a treasure was incredible. Besides, learning to swim sounded amazing.
I kicked off my shoes and pushed away from the wall, wincing slightly as another cramp rolled through me. My Alphas were all in the living room now. That space was littered with the evidence of our touring life—props from the Cirque, motorcycle helmets, discarded jackets, fast food containers we’d been too lazy to toss. The men were taking care of it all, stowing gear and packing away nonessentials, revealing parts of the coffee table we hadn’t seen in a while. There’d been a weekend here and there when we’d had time to jet home. Our quick visits had left it worse each time.
“I’m going to shower,” I said to the room at large. Five heads snapped up, gazes going dark with possibilities. I held up a hand, laughing quietly. “Alone,” I clarified. They frowned and went back to work.
My bare feet made no sound against the steps as I padded up to the pack suite. I’d found out from the guys that it used to be four separate rooms, but then they’d knocked the walls down and expanded the smaller bathroom. When I walked through the door, my eyes landed on the giant bed where we all slept together each night in a tangle of bodies. Each time I looked at it,the memory of our marking and mating came to mind, sending intense waves of desire through me. I wondered if that feeling would ever fade.
Inside the large bathroom, I stripped off my clothes, grimacing at the lingering scent of smoke and sweat from the show. I loved these smells when they were fresh, but as hours passed, they grew stale and unpleasant. When I turned the shower faucet on, hot water burst forth immediately. I stepped into the glass-enclosed shower. Wet warmth cascaded over my body, and I tilted my face into the spray, letting it wash away the night's performance.
While I scrubbed every inch of myself, I was struck by how different my body felt now compared to six months ago. The bones that had once pressed against my skin with alarming prominence were now cushioned by healthy muscle and a layer of softness. My light grey hair, once brittle and thin, now fell in a heavy curtain down my back. Even my skin had changed. It was still ghostly white, but the network of purple veins seemed less visible.
When I emerged from the shower in a cloud of steam, I found my five Alphas waiting for me. Sweat and grime still clung to them in heavy layers, but their eyes were fixed on me, their expressions a complex mixture of desire, protectiveness, and something deeper I was still learning to name.
Fallon moved first, unfolding his tall frame from where he'd been perched on the edge of the sink. He held out a towel—oversized, plush, warmed on the rack—and wrapped it around me with careful hands.
"Thank you," I murmured, leaning briefly into his solid chest.
Kane approached next, a second towel draped over his forearms. "Your hair's dripping," he said, his voice gruff with affection. He placed the towel over my head and began to gentlydry the strands, his touch firm but tender. I closed my eyes, surrendering to the care.
When Kane stepped back, Xander knelt before me, a pair of black lace panties dangling from one finger. My cheeks heated, but I placed my hands on his broad shoulders for balance, lifting first one leg and then the other as he slid the fabric up my thighs. The pajama shorts followed, soft cotton that settled low on my hips. They were my favorite, ones from the Eros suitcase, courtesy of Doctor Swann.
Nitro approached next, his expression softer than I ever believed possible. He held a simple t-shirt, white and well-worn. "Arms up, Lucy-Loo," he commanded, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers through me despite the warmth of the room. I complied, allowing him to slip the shirt over my head, his knuckles deliberately grazing my sides as he pulled it down.
Last came Asher, a brush in his hand and a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He took my hand and guided me out of the bathroom to sit on the edge of the giant bed, then positioned himself behind me. Ever-so-gently, he worked the brush through my damp hair. When he was done, he pulled me back against his body and wrapped strong arms around me.
"Better?" he asked, his breath warm against my ear.
I hummed in response, feeling the cramp in my abdomen ease slightly. I didn’t think a day would ever come when this tender care of theirs wouldn’t take my breath away. Five Alphas, dangerous and dominant in every other aspect of life, rendered tender by their need to care for their Omega.
"I'm going to check my blog in the living room," I said after a moment, pushing his arms away slowly, making sure I didn’t hurt him by being too abrupt. I stood, tugging the hem of my shirt down.
All five of them moved to follow, and I laughed, turning to face them with my hands on my hips. "You guys all stink," I pointed out, wrinkling my nose for emphasis. "Shower first."
A chorus of playful growls answered me, but I could see the affection beneath their mock annoyance. They would give me a few minutes to myself, and then they would follow, drawn by the invisible tether that bound us together.
"Don’t start anything without us," Asher quipped, earning himself an elbow in the ribs from Kane.
I shook my head, still smiling as I left them to their showers. The cramping continued, but for the first time in my life, I wasn't afraid of what my body might do. I had five Alphas who would move mountains to keep me safe, to keep me well.
For over twenty-three years, I couldn't have imagined this life. Now, twenty-four and counting, I couldn't imagine any other.
I moved slowly into the living room. The compound was quiet save for the distant sound of running water as my Alphas showered. I grabbed my tablet from where it had been charging on the fireplace mantle, the screen glowing to life at my touch. A small ping of anticipation went through me as I settled onto the oversized sofa, tucking my feet beneath me. My blog had once been a way to stay sane, a tool to connect to a world that excluded me. Now, it had become my lifeline to the past. A lifeline to the good parts, at least. The connections I'd managed to salvage from a life spent behind glass.
At the start of the Cirque du Sang tour when we’d traveled outside Nevada, Asher had suggested I restart my blog."People will want to know what happened to you,"he'd said, his blue eyes serious despite his casual tone."Besides, you're the only one who can tell your story right."
He hadn't been wrong. The first tentative post—just a short update explaining that I was alive, well, and traveling with theCirque—had garnered hundreds of responses. Doctor Emerson from Brightfield had been the first to comment, his relief palpable even through the screen. Several nurses had followed, their messages filled with a mix of concern and genuine joy at seeing me thrive.
The little boy I’d been tutoring before the experimental treatment touched base. His math scores had improved, he'd told me proudly, and he'd thought of me every time he solved an equation. Doctor Swann from Eros had reached out too, absolutely thrilled at how well I was doing. We’d had a long conversation by phone. I hadn’t realized that the men had handled the probationary period stuff, telling the Institute in no uncertain terms that I was their Omega. Doctor Swann had been apprehensive, but somehow my men had proven to her that they were committed and they’d never harm me. Well…never harm me again.
These blog connections felt like golden threads stretching from my new life back into the old, binding together the fragments of who I'd been with who I was becoming. I was glad I’d taken Asher’s advice. I had no regrets.
I navigated to my most recent post—a reflection on our second to last performance, complete with a carefully angled selfie that showed me flanked by my Alphas, all of us grinning. The comment section had exploded, as it always did when I included photos of the men. I scrolled through the usual mix of congratulations and flirtatious remarks aimed at my Alphas, smiling to myself.
And then my heart stopped.
The comment was innocuously nestled between two others, almost lost in the flood of responses. The username caught my eye first: TommyG, accompanied by a small soccer ball icon. It wasn't a long comment, just four simple words that sent my world tilting on its axis.
