"Hey, you're the one who wanted us all to bond. This is me bonding."
He gives me a look that promises consequences later. The threat skitters across my nerves, making my instincts jitter.
"Thank you for cooking," Marie says quietly. "Truly. It smells wonderful. I just might need a few days to eat normally."
Reasonable explanation. Does nothing to soothe the sting.
I stab my bacon. "Do whatever you want."
The rest of the meal is stilted small talk punctuated by my seething silence.
Drake fills gaps with random work stories. Eli asks gentle questions about her favorite tea, books, whether she prefers baths or showers for scheduling purposes. Ragon mostly listens, interjecting with logistical questions about her things, routines, needs.
I sit and catalog every flinch, every dart of her eyes toward the alphas, every shift when her scent brushes mine.
By the time plates are cleared, I feel raw.
***
The morning blurs into them circling each other.
Marie hovers in doorways, unsure where she's allowed to exist. The alphas hover around her, trying not to crowd while trying to make space.
"Mi casa, su casa," Drake jokes at one point, sweeping his arm at the living room. "Except you have to share it with three very large men and a feral omega who might bite you."
"Ha-ha."
Marie gives a strained smile. "I appreciate the warning."
We end up in the living room after lunch—even more awkward than breakfast. The TV plays some nature documentary on low volume that everyone pretends to watch. Marie sits on one end of the couch, feet tucked under her, hands wrapped around tea Eli made. Drake takes the middle, leaning forward with elbows on knees. Eli claims the armchair closest to me; I've taken the floor there, back against his leg so I can feel his presence without having to look at his face.
Ragon is by the window in his usual post, arms crossed, gaze scanning room and beyond like a guard dog.
Theater rehearsal. Everyone playing at normal while instincts snarl beneath the surface.
"So," Drake says after too many minutes of manufactured silence. "Tell us about yourself. I'm sure you're sick of hearing us analyze your bloodwork."
She huffs a tiny laugh. "A little."
Eli's lips twitch. "We don't do it in front of you."
"Comforting."
Ragon inclines his head. "Share what you're comfortable sharing. You don't owe us your entire history on day one."
Her shoulders relax slightly. "Thanks."
She sips tea, gaze dropping to the mug. "There's not much to tell. I grew up about an hour from here. Small town, big church, everyone knowing everyone's business. My parents were strict. Not in the 'no friends, no TV' way. More the 'your value is in how well you obey' way."
My stomach twists. That flavor of control is familiar.
"They weren't thrilled when I presented as omega. Too much. Too needy, too emotional, too expensive. Everyone in town knew—omegas are rare enough that we don't get to keep it quiet. Suddenly my mom had this prize on her hands."
She says "prize" like it's a bruise.
"They sold you." The words escape before I can stop them.
Her eyes flick to mine. "They set up meetings with packs. No one made me sign anything without consent. They knew they couldn't. But they made it clear 'no' wasn't really an option. Said it would stabilize me. Said it would be selfish to cling to them when I needed strong alphas to handle me."
