My knees burn with every breath. My muscles tremble with the effort of holding myself together.
Alone.
Reflect.
Learn your place.
My place used to be in the middle of a pile of limbs and warmth. Now it's a patch of carpet beside a nest I'm not sure I'm allowed to claim anymore.
Down the hall, a door closes. Another opens. Footsteps pass my room and don't stop.
I wrap my arms around my knees and press my forehead there, breathing shallow.
The house has never felt so big.
Or I have never felt so small.
Maybe both.
Chapter 11
The first week, I wait for the ban to break like a fever.
The second week, I start to suspect it isn't a fever.
By the third week, it feels like the new climate.
Breakfast is the worst.
Not because of the food. I cook like I always have—eggs and toast and sometimes pancakes if my hands need something more complicated than stirring. The smell of coffee, the sound of plates, all the normal morning noises are there.
It's where I sit that's wrong.
The bar stool is too high. Too exposed. I perch on it like an extra the director forgot to write out of the script. The others claim the table: Ragon at the head, Eli on his left, Drake on his right, Marie wedged between Drake and the wall. Jasper sometimes at the far end, sometimes standing, leaning against the counter, watching.
The space between the bar and the table isn't big. Four steps, maybe five.
It feels like an ocean.
"Pass the salt?" Drake asks Marie.
She leans across him, laughing when he lifts it just out of reach. Eli snorts and says something about sodium intake. Ragon reminds Drake he's on call.
I sit at the bar with my plate and fork and cup of tea and pretend I'm not watching the way Marie's shoulder rests lightly against Drake's arm. The way his scent folds around hers, bright and content.
"Vee, you want more toast?" Drake calls over.
"I'm good."
"You barely ate."
"Trying to keep my figure. Summer's coming."
Eli's eyes flick to me, sharp, but he doesn't say anything. The rule slams between us like glass.
No alpha comforts you.
Ragon's decree lives under my skin, a pressure I can't scratch.
