She's smaller than I imagined. Not in height—she's probably only an inch or two taller than my 5'4"—but in the way she holds herself, shoulders tucked in, hands clenched around the strap of a duffel bag. Dark hair pulled back in a low braid, glossy and thick. Her skin is pale with a hint of olive undertone, cheeks flushed from the climb up the steps. She's wearing a simple dress and a cardigan, nothing flashy.
Pretty.
Of course she's pretty.
Her eyes flick over Drake, Eli standing behind him, and then to Ragon as he steps into view. Each time, theirscents respond—rising, sweetening, spiking with that instinctiveyes, thisreaction.
It makes my stomach lurch.
"Come in," Ragon says, his voice low and formal. "We've been expecting you."
Marie steps inside. Her scent unfurls more fully now that she's not half outside, curling through the house, brushing against mine.
My instincts bristle.
Her gaze moves past the alphas and lands on me.
For a second, everything narrows.
Omega to omega.
She takes me in—my messy blonde hair pulled into a low bun, the oversized T-shirt with my favorite band's logo, the leggings, the bare feet. The hickey fading at the side of my neck from a week ago when I still thought I was the only one they kissed like that.
Something tightens in her eyes.
Jealousy. Appraisal. Unhappiness.
Obviously, she was hoping I wouldn't still be here.
"Marie," Ragon says, gesturing between us. "This is Vee. Our omega."
Our.
The word lands like a shot of adrenaline and grief.
Marie's jaw ticks almost imperceptibly. Then she forces a small smile, tight at the edges.
"Hi," she says. "It's nice to meet you."
Her voice is soft, careful. Not high, not low. Plain.
"Is it?" I ask before I can stop myself.
Eli makes a soft warning sound. Drake's scent spikes with alarm. Ragon's eyes cut to me, sharp.
Marie's fingers dig into her bag strap. "I hope it will be. Eventually."
Fair answer. Reasonable. My instincts, petty and hurting, hate it anyway.
I step out of the doorway fully, crossing my arms, trying not to flinch at the way all three alphas adjust their stances unconsciously—subtly repositioning so Marie is more in the center of their circle.
"So you're the miracle match," I say.
"Vee," Eli says, a warning edge in his voice.
Marie's cheeks flush deeper. Her scent wobbles—embarrassment, insecurity, a little hurt. "I didn't ask for that. I didn't know what was happening until your alphas explained."
Your alphas.
