He comes behind me and rests his chin briefly on my shoulder, arms loosely around my waist. His scent wraps around mine, and for a moment, I almost feel like the old version of myself—the one whose place in this house was unquestioned.
Then Marie's scent wafts in from the hall, and the moment shatters.
She steps into the kitchen, looking from me to the mixing bowl to the oven.
"Wow. You're making a lot."
"It goes fast. ER people eat like they're preparing for hibernation."
Her smile is small. "I didn't know we did this."
"We used to." The words slip out sharper than I mean.
Eli touches my shoulder, a small warning.
Marie fiddles with the hem of her shirt. "Do you want help? I'm not a great baker, but I can read directions."
The kitchen is my space. My territory. The one place I haven't had to share.
My instinct is to say no.
My other instinct sees the hopeful look on her face and feels like a monster.
"You can measure sugar. Two cups. Level."
Her eyes light up like I've handed her a piece of the sun. "Okay."
We fall into a rhythm. I handle the mixer, the oven, the finicky parts. She measures, brings me ingredients, washes a few dishes. It's not terrible.
We don't talk much. The clatter of utensils and the hum of the oven fill the silence.
At some point, Ragon's heavy tread enters the room. He leans against the doorway, watching us both.
"Smells good."
I preen a little. "Obviously."
Marie smiles, shy. "She's a machine. I'm just opening bags and pretending to help."
Ragon's gaze lingers on me, and something hot and proud flares in my chest.
Then Drake shows up with his usual explosions of energy, and the rest of the day tumbles forward.
People start arriving early evening. The house fills with extra scents—betas mostly, one or two alphas who nod to Ragon with that wary respect other alphas always give him.
I flit between kitchen and living room, refilling bowls, handing out cookies, laughing at bad jokes. For a while, it feels almost normal.
Marie stays close to the edges. She perches on the arm of the couch, a little overwhelmed by the noise, but relaxed enough that her scent doesn't scream terror. Drake keeps checking on her between hands of cards. Eli brings her aplate of snacks and makes a point of explaining people so she doesn't feel like a stranger.
"I can handle my own introductions," I murmur to him as I pass with another tray.
"I know. But you shouldn't have to handle hers too."
Fair.
It's in the middle of this comfortable chaos that the death blow arrives.
I'm in the kitchen rolling out dough for another batch of cookies when the front door opens again.
