But then I tune in to him, the way the others are watching him with that intense, evaluating interest that means they care what he says. Drake asks first, leaning in, “So, what did you do before you moved here?”
Jasper explains he worked construction, mostly. Site management. He’s good with his hands. I believe it. When Ragon asks about his old houses, Jasper tilts his head, thinking.
“I moved around some,” he says. “A couple packs. Some nice enough, but… it never fit. There was always a gap, something missing. Not the wrong people, just the wrong combination.”
Marie’s eyes soften. “But you think this will be different?”
Jasper glances at her, then at me and the rest of the room. For a second, I think he might not answer at all.
Then he says quietly, “I think I can be useful here. I think this pack needs someone with an outside perspective.”
I snuggle into Drake, relaxing into a sleepy stupor as they continue talking.
For about ten minutes, it's nice.
Then Marie shifts.
"Drake, can you help me with something in the kitchen?"
"Now?" He doesn't move. "We're mid-game."
"It'll just take a second. Please?"
Her voice does that thing. That soft, pleading omega thing that alphas are biologically wired to respond to.
Drake's body tenses beneath me. "Uh—"
"I'll take her," Ragon says.
Before I can protest, Ragon's hands close around my waist, lifting me off Drake and settling me into his own lap instead.
Drake stands, shooting me an apologetic look before following Marie to the kitchen.
I sit stiffly in Ragon's hold.
His arms come around me, but it feels different. Perfunctory. Like he's filling a space rather than wanting me there.
"Relax," he murmurs.
I can't.
His scent is all wrong right now—still holding traces of dominance from earlier, still edged with the irritation I caused. Sitting in his lap doesn't feel like comfort.
It feels like damage control.
Like he's only holding me because it would look bad if he didn't. Because he needs to keep the peace between his two omegas and this is the most efficient solution.
I force myself to stay still. Force myself not to pull away.
But everything in me is screaming that this is wrong.
Across the room, Jasper draws a card, plays his turn, and says nothing.
But I feel his eyes on us.
Cataloging. Noting. Adding it to whatever mental file he's building about this pack's dynamics.
Later, we all decide to watch a movie.
