"On her own terms," I echo. "Must be nice."
"Vee," Eli warns gently.
I drag a hand through my blonde hair. "Whatever. I did my bit. Can I go now, warden?"
"You can," Eli says. "Thank you."
I nod, not trusting myself to speak, and slip out of the room.
***
Marie arrives the next afternoon.
I know the exact moment the car pulls into the driveway because all three alphas react at once.
I'm in the kitchen, staring blankly into a mug of tea I haven't drunk. Drake is at the sink, rinsing a bowl, his tall frame bent over the counter. Eli is scrolling through something on his tablet at the table, green eyes focused behind his glasses. Ragon is nowhere visible, but I can feel him in the house the way an omega feels a storm in her bones.
The sound of tires on gravel filters through the window.
Drake's head snaps up, wavy hair falling across his forehead. Eli's grip tightens on the tablet. Ragon's scent gathers in the hallway before he appears, back straight, jaw set, every inch the commanding alpha.
"She's here," Drake says unnecessarily.
My heart starts pounding. My palms go slick.
"Remember the boundaries," Ragon says, looking directly at me for the first time. "You will be polite. You will not pick a fight. If it gets to be too much, you excuse yourself and go to your room. Understood?"
I want to say no. I want to say I'll do whatever I want.
"Yes, Alpha," I force out instead.
His scent loosens a fraction. "Good girl."
There's a knock at the door. Not tentative, not aggressive. Just there.
Drake wipes his hands and practically jogs to answer it, scent flaring with nervous excitement. Eli stands slowly, placing the tablet down with deliberate care. I stay where I am in the kitchen doorway, half in shadow, half in view.
Close enough to see. Far enough that I can bolt without it being dramatic.
Drake opens the door.
Fresh air and unfamiliar scents flood the house.
One scent rises above the rest.
Sweet. That's the first thing. Sweet like sugared milk and something floral—jasmine or honeysuckle, but softer, creamier. Underneath, there's a thread of warmth that reminds me of baked bread and clean sheets.
It hits me in the chest like a physical thing.
My instincts recoil and sharpen at the same time.Omega, they say.Big omega, strong omega, new omega.My own scent spikes defensively, trying to reclaim space.
Drake inhales sharply. Eli's scent flares, then steadies. Ragon's deepens, heavy and complex.
"Marie," Drake says, and I hate the way he says her name—soft and bright and nervous.
"Hi," a woman answers.
I lean just enough to see.
