He makes a quiet sound that might be a protest but doesn't argue.
I tug on leggings and an oversized black hoodie, running my fingers through blonde hair until it looks less like "crying, sex, and heartbreak" and more like messy on purpose. When I glance at the mirror, there's a faint mark at my throat, low enough to be hidden by the hoodie but high enough that I can see it.
Not a bond mark. Just a bruise from Eli's mouth.
Pathetic that it makes me feel a little steadier.
"Ready?"
"No," I say honestly. "But let's go anyway."
He opens the door, and the house hits me all at once.
Scents. Sounds. The faint hiss of a pan on the stove. A soft laugh that isn't mine.
Her.
We walk down the hall together. My bare feet are silent on the wood, but my heart is loud.
When we step into the kitchen doorway, I stop so abruptly Eli nearly runs into me.
Marie is at the stove, barefoot in my grey t-shirt—the one that hangs off one shoulder, thin and soft from years of washing. The sight makes something ugly pinch behind my ribs.
Drake stands just behind her, chest almost brushing her back as he reaches around to adjust the heat on the burner. He says something low, and she tips her head up to look at him, brows knit in concentration. Her dark hair is half-braided, the rest falling in loose waves down her back.
She looks pretty. Soft. Omega. Comfortable.
Drake smiles at her, bright and warm and stupidly fond.
Then he leans down and presses a quick kiss to her forehead.
The sound inside my chest is small and sharp and stupid.
Marie blushes, ducking her head, a little pleased flutter in her scent. Eli goes still beside me. Ragon leans against the island, arms folded, watching the scene with his usual quiet intensity. His dark brown hair is pulled back in its neat man bun, the strong line of his jaw clean-shaven, the black ink on his arms stark against his skin. He looks like he belongs in some painting of warriors and kings, not my ordinary kitchen with its cheap cabinets and chipped countertop.
For a flickering second, it all looks like it's already settled.
My alphas. Their new omega.
And me—extra.
Marie turns her head and sees us.
"Oh—good morning."
Drake follows her gaze and brightens. "Hey! Sleep okay?"
He doesn't come over. Doesn't touch me. Doesn't ruffle my hair or press his hand to the back of my neck the way he did a hundred other mornings when it was just us.
"Fine."
Eli steps past me to the coffee maker, his scent turning more neutral, professional even, like he's putting on scrubs. "Coffee. Want some?"
"Please."
Marie picks up the spatula and stirs the eggs. "I tried to make them the way Drake said you like them. I hope that's okay."
"Sure. You're already learning the menu. Impressive."
