***
The rotation quickly becomes reality.
Monday night, Drake is in my nest. Just him. His citrus-and-sunshine scent, his easy laugh, his warmth against my back.
It's good. It's familiar. But I can hear them down the hall—Ragon's low rumble, Eli's quieter responses, Marie's soft laugh. Two alphas with her while I get one.
I know it balances out by the end of the week. I know Wednesday I'll have Ragon and Drake both.
The math doesn't make it hurt less.
Wednesday is my night with Ragon and Drake.
We end up in Ragon's room—his space is larger than mine, less nest, more fortress. There's a proper bed, but over time he's adapted—added extra blankets, a soft rug, warmer lighting. My scent lingers from other nights spent here, woven through his like a thread.
Drake is already sprawled on one side of the bed when I arrive, scrolling through his phone. He looks up and grins. "There she is."
Ragon sits on the edge, wearing dark sweatpants and nothing else. The tattoos on his arms seem darker in the low light, the black bands around his biceps like markers of territory. His hair is down for once, falling just past his shoulders, dark brown and slightly wavy.
He looks younger like this. More accessible.
"Hey," I say.
"Hey yourself." Ragon pats the spot between them. "You look grouchy."
"I am grouchy."
"I noticed," Drake says.
I crawl between them, and immediately Drake's arm comes around my waist, pulling me against his chest. His warmth seeps into my back, familiar and easy. Ragon watches us, blue eyes intent.
"Better?" Drake murmurs against my hair.
"Getting there."
We settle like that for a while—Drake warm and solid behind me, Ragon's hand coming to reston my ankle, thumb stroking slow circles. It's good. It's what I needed after Monday's sharp edges.
But then Drake's phone buzzes. He checks it and sighs. "Shit. Work's calling me in early tomorrow. I need to prep."
My stomach sinks. "You're leaving?"
"Just for a bit." He presses a kiss to my temple. "Ragon's got you. I'll be back before you know it."
He slides off the bed, gives Ragon a meaningful look I can't quite read, and slips out.
The door clicks shut.
Suddenly it's just me and Ragon in the low light, and the air feels different. Heavier.
He reaches up and cups the back of my neck, thumb rubbing slow circles where Drake's hand just was. His scent wraps around me, and my body shudders with relief I didn't want to admit I needed.
"I'm not trying to hurt you with this."
"Intent isn't magic."
"No. It isn't. But I'd still like you to remember that I'm not doing this to punish you."
"Then why?" The question slips out before I can swallow it.
