Chapter 1
The zoo entrance smells like sunscreen, fried food, and too many people crammed into one space. Underneath all that human noise, my instincts pick up sharp edges—strange alphas, restless betas, omegas trying to corral their kids and keep their anxiety from spiking.
Normally, it would make me tense.
But today, I'm bracketed by my pack.
Drake is on my right, fingers laced snugly with mine, his athletic frame relaxed despite the crowd. His scent—bright citrus and sunshine—radiates pure good mood. He's wearing that smile that makes the hazel in his eyes catch the light, the one that crinkles the corners. His wavy dark brown hair is getting long enough to curl behind his ears the way he hates but I love.
Eli is on my left, close enough his sleeve brushes my arm now and then. He's lean where Drake is broad, his short blond hair still damp from this morning's shower, green eyes thoughtful behind his glasses. His scent wraps around me like tea and clean linen—calm, steady, grounding.
And behind us, like a walking wall, is Ragon. Pine smoke, steel, and that deep alpha steadiness that always makes my muscles unclench. He's taller than both of them, muscular in a way that comes from actual physical labor rather than a gym. His dark brown hair is pulled back in that man bun I tease him about, showing off the strong line of his jaw and those piercing blue eyes that miss nothing.
I'm small next to all three of them. Five-foot-four with blonde hair that's currently pulled into a messy ponytail, brown eyes that Eli once described as "honey in sunlight" (which made me blush for an hour), and a body that's soft in all the places omega bodies tend to be soft. I don't mind. They never make me feel like it's wrong.
I inhale slowly, letting their familiar scents drown out everything else. My instincts soften, curl up, purr.
Safe.
It's been almost five years since Ragon brought me home from the registry. Five years since he sat across from me in that cold, sterile meeting room and said,"If we don't find our scent match in five years, we'll bond you officially. Mark you. Make it permanent."
Five years is next month.
I don't know if they remember.
I don't know if I want them to.
The thought of being bonded—truly, permanently bonded, not just pack-adjacent buttheirsin a way that can't be undone—makes something warm and terrified twist in my chest. Because bonding without a scent match means something. It means they're choosing me over the possibility of finding that perfect, fated connection. It means they're closing that door forever.
Once an alpha bonds an omega who isn't their scent match, the scent match possibility dissolves. Gone. They'd never be able to have that perfect, effortless pull toward someone who was made for them.
But if a scent matchisfound and bonded into the pack first... then the pack can still take other omegas afterward. The hierarchy shifts, but it doesn't exclude.
I shove the thought down. Today is good. Today is the zoo, and them, and the careful way Drake's been looking at me all morning like he's storing up memories.
"I swear the flamingos are this way," Drake says, already tugging me in a direction that does not, in fact, look like the flamingo area.
"You say that about every direction," Eli replies, unfolding the map he picked up at the gate. The paper crinkles as he smooths it with careful fingers. "They are, in fact, on the complete opposite side."
"They moved them. I can feel it."
Ragon snorts under his breath. "Your 'feeling' got us locked in the aviary last year."
"In my defense, the sign was very small."
"It was not."
I giggle, pressed between Drake's enthusiasm and Eli's quiet patience. Ragon's mild exasperation hums at my back like a big, warm engine.
This is what being with them feels like: layered. Balanced. Drake pulling me forward into everything bright. Eli quietly grounding me. Ragon watching every angle, making sure nothing gets too close.
"Let me see." I reach for the map.
Eli hands it over immediately, his fingers brushing mine, scent rippling with a little pulse of fondness.
I scan the page. "Okay. If we go straight, past the snack stand and the gift shop, the flamingos are just after the small primates."
Drake leans over my shoulder and squints. "That's what I said."
