I rarely talk about them. About being handed a suitcase and a check and an apology. About the way their scents turned from warm to distant overnight.
"I am not them," Ragon says. Each word is sharp enough to cut.
"Then stop sounding like them. Is she pretty?" The question bursts out before I can stop it. Petty. Small. So human it hurts.
Drake freezes. "That's not—"
"Answer me."
His shoulders sag. "She's… yeah. She's pretty. Dark hair, blue eyes. She's soft. Scared. Sweet."
All the things an alpha wants to protect.
"Is she younger than me?"
Ragon's eyes narrow. "Vee."
"Answer."
Eli winces. "A few years."
"Of course she is. New and shiny. Unbroken."
Drake's breath shudders. "Don't say that about yourself."
"Why not? It's true, isn't it? I'm the secondhand omega. The one someone else already returned."
Eli moves so fast I barely track it—he's on his knees in front of me, hands braced on my thighs, green eyes blazing behind his glasses. "We never thought that. Not once. You are not some leftover consolation prize."
"Then what am I? Because clearly I'm not the scent match. I’mneverthe scent match."
He closes his eyes. When he opens them again, they're wet.
"You're Vee. You're the omega who makes this house feel alive. Who leaves hair ties everywhere and makes sure we eat more than takeout. You're the reason Drake stopped sleeping at the hospital and the reason Ragon stopped volunteering for triple shifts."
"Enough," Ragon grinds out.
Eli looks back at him, jaw tight. "She thinks we see her as disposable."
"You are not disposable," Ragon says, looking at me.
"Funny. Feels like it."
His scent spikes—frustration layered over something that might be grief. "We do not control what our instincts do when they meet a scent match. If any of us could choose, we wouldn't be sitting here hurting you."
"You're hurting me. As if you're the victims."
His eyes flash. "Do not twist my words."
"I'm not twisting anything! You're telling me there's another omega, one your instincts like better, and I have to what—help you decorate her room? Make her cookies?"
Ragon's voice drops dangerous and low. "You will be civil to her."
Something in me rebels.
"No. I will not promise that."
His scent flares, dominance whipping through the room. Drake straightens. Eli sucks in a breath.
