He lingers a moment longer, scent sweeping over us, then heads back inside.
Alex watches him go, thoughtful.
"You okay?" he asks me, low.
"Define okay."
He nods like that's an answer.
We spend another hour poking at roots and talking nonsense. When they finally head back—Finn promising coffee—I feelsmoother at the edges.
Less like I'm going to crack open the next time someone says scent match.
***
Later that night, we pretend to be a normal pack watching a normal movie.
Eli sits at one end of the couch, me in his lap, legs draped over the cushions, his arms around my middle. Ragon takes his usual chair, a glass of something amber in his hand.
The movie is forgettable. Something with explosions.
I don't care what's on.
I'm basking.
Eli's heartbeat under my ear. His fingers tracing circles on my hip. My scent and his blended.
For once, I'm not actively braced for impact.
The front door opens mid-car-chase.
Drake and Marie tumble in on a gust of cold air and popcorn scent, laughing. She's in a soft dress and tights; he's in jeans and a hoodie.
They look like a date.
Theywerea date.
My chest does that twisty thing.
"Hey. We're back. The movie was terrible."
"It was delightful," Marie corrects. "You just have no taste."
"I have impeccable taste. Look who I'm with."
She beams.
Eli's hand tightens on my hip; he presses his mouth briefly to my hair.
Marie's gaze flicks around. Lands on Ragon.
Without hesitation, she crosses and plops herself right into his lap.
No pause. No reading the air. No gauging his mood.
She just goes.
He grunts, more surprised than annoyed, and automatically adjusts to accommodate her.
