Or maybe the best. Depends which part of me you ask.
Eli tells me at dinner, because of course he does. He's honest to a fault and incapable of hoarding information if he thinks I'll trip over it blind.
"Ragon's forcing a rotation again. He wants Drake with you tonight."
My fork pauses over the sink. "Why?"
"He wants to restore the balance. And because he told Drake to 'be mindful' yesterday, which is alpha for 'pay attention to the person you've been ignoring.'"
My chest tightens. "Do you want that?"
His gaze flicks to me, surprised. "Do you?"
I dry my hands on a towel so I don't fidget. "I miss him. I miss when it was easy. When we didn't have to think about whose scent is on who. But—" I swallow. "I don't want to lose you in the bargain."
"You're not trading one for the other. We're not divvying you up like a schedule. I'm still in your nest. Tonight he just shares."
The word shares lands oddly. Hope and dread in the same syllable.
"He's not going to magically smell like before. He's basically been living in Marie's nest."
Eli's jaw tightens. "I know."
"And what if he only shows up because Ragon told him to? What if it feels pitying? Or dutiful? I don't want that."
"Then if it feels like that, you kick him out. You are allowed to say no."
The idea is so wild I almost laugh. "Culturally, I feel like that's debatable."
"Personally, I will barricade the door for you if you say 'I want him gone.'"
I look at him, at the stubborn set of his mouth, the worry in his eyes, the way his scent is already curling around me like a protective fog.
"Okay. I believe you."
He leans in and kisses my temple, letting his lips linger. "I'll be with you until he knocks. And if you want me back later, I'll come."
"Even if it's three in the morning?"
"Especially then."
We're still in my room when the knock comes later.
Eli and I are sprawled in the nest, me half over his chest, his fingers idly tracing shapes on my back through my shirt. The room smells like him again—tea, linen, warmth. My shoulders are finally starting to unhook.
There's a hesitant tap at the doorframe.
"Vee? You decent?"
Drake's voice.
"No. Never."
Eli's chest moves under my cheek with a quiet laugh. "Come in."
The door opens a crack. Drake's scent hits a second later and my entire body goes rigid.
Under the familiar—citrus, scrub soap, that restless alpha spark—there's something else.
