The phrase fits him too well.
He flicks a quickglance at my throat.
I know what he's looking for.
Marks.
There aren't any.
My skin prickles.
"So," he says carefully. "You, uh. Live with...?"
He tips his head toward our house.
My tongue goes dry.
Yes, I live with three alphas, another omega, and a registry alpha currently auditing our lives. No, I'm not marked. No, I don't know if I ever will be. Yes, I attacked my packmate and spent hours kneeling on hardwood as punishment.
"Yeah," I say instead. "I live here."
Smooth, Vee. Very smooth.
Finn's brows knit. "Cool. They seem... intense?"
"You met them?"
"Just at the fence. Ragon, right? And Eli. Jasper hovered in the background like an ominous cloud. Malcolm is convinced Jasper is secretly an auditor sent to break his spirit."
"Not far off," I mutter.
"What?"
"Nothing. They're a lot. It's an occupational hazard."
"Of being alphas."
"Of beingthem."
He snorts.
"You bake?" he asks suddenly.
My brain stumbles. "What?"
"You look like someone who bakes. You have baking energy."
"Is that in the DSM?"
"I've done some studies. Garden, soft clothes, tiny smudge of flour on your sleeve—"
I glance down. There is, in fact, a faint dusting of flour from kneading dough this morning.
"Stalker."
"Neighbor. Huge difference. One involves binoculars. The other involves casseroles."
I try not to smile. Fail.
