I push these thoughts aside as Corin continues outlining his plans.
Once we’ve had time on our own, we’re to get together, all four of us, for dinner at his and Johanna’s house on Saturday to see where we are, how we deal as a group.
My eyebrows raise, and my alpha sneaks out to ask, “Shall we bring overnight bags?”
Corin grins, teeth bared and eyes narrowed. He’s not as ready to have us in his house as he pretends. But he doesn’t say no—thatcomes from Dan, who shakes his head.
“No sense jinxing things.” He waves at Corin. “Make sure you have extra toothbrushes and razors, though, just in case.”
Suppressors or not, his alpha shows. That’s a borderline order. The two of them stare at each other for a long moment until, finally, Corin shrugs.
All jokes aside, three alphas in a room breeds trouble. There are packs in which the alphas don’t fuck or fight each other, but all studies I’m familiar with suggest these are statistical outliers, usually involving some other strong bond in place of sexual involvement, such as those between siblings or cousins.
To become a pack, we must find ways to balance our competing need to rule.
In retrospect, it seemed so easy the first time. Renee made the decisions that mattered to her, while I decided what I valued highest, and when we came into conflict, we fucked it out rather than fighting. The first to climax lost, so we both gotverygood at eliciting pleasure from the other while, simultaneously, resisting. Lawrence, lacking the need to command, had slipped easily into our dynamic. Even so, he’d employed other, more devious, tactics that ensured he got his way when it counted.
Obviously,thiswon’t be that easy—not least because there will be four of us from the start, rather than an established pair adding in a third. Three dominant alphas and one desirable beta.
Blood pounds in my veins, throbbing at temples and crotch in a way I haven’t felt in ages.
Johanna’s worth the shot—but I’m not sure I or my alpha is up to the fight. And if I’m already wondering that, I’m screwed.
Figuratively and likely literally.
Chapter 23
New Possibilities
JOHANNA
Riding in a three-person zipzap makes my teeth ache. I’d expected Anamaria to order a car service, which would’ve meant a nice, comfy solar car with well-cushioned seats and solid shocks, or maybe lead me to one of the county-run upholstered trams that whisk around city and suburbs in twisty routes to ensure everyone can get just about anywhere without waiting forever.
Instead, we’re crammed into a tiny, jittery plug-n-power thing not rated for more than forty miles an hour, if that. It rattles and bumps over every single crack in the road and barely holds three people.
Anamaria is scrunched up in the sideways back seat. She keeps moving, trying to find a more comfortable perch, which jolts the back of the thinly padded seat I’m clinging to for dear life as the vehicle whips around corners and down narrow roads.
Bebe’s driving, having cheerily informed us she’d borrowed the zipzap from a friend when she picked us up. She has her license, unlike most of us city dwellers, but I’m not sure how much driving she does on a regular basis—all the more reasonto hold on tight, even with the safety harness pinning my back against the seat rest.
There’s no talking over the rattle and purr of the motor, only yelling, which I’m not up for. Bebe and Anamaria make up for my silence, Anamaria shouting directions and Bebe brushing them off, bellowing back that she knows what she’s doing and where we’re going and this is a ‘short-cut.’
Despite decades of taking trams, buses, and hire cars around the city, within moments we’ve taken too many unfamiliar turns for me to have any idea where we are, apart from still not knowing where we’re headed.
At length, we finally disgorge from the zipzap like a troupe of circus clowns crowded into a tiny car.
I shiver as a gust of wind whips down the street. My thigh-length coat keeps my torso warm, but the silk of my dress skirt flutters, and goosebumps pebble my legs. There must be an Indian restaurant somewhere nearby, for the particular blend of spices in the air makes my stomach rumble.
Whatever neighborhood this is, it’s seen both better days and worse. The zipzap fits into a narrow lane with signs limiting parking to two hours without the proper zone sticker. Tram rails run down the other side of the one-way street. A mix of three- and four-story buildings stand across the way, with storefronts on the first floors. One is empty, and two have papered-over windows withComing Soon!signs advertising a new coffee shop and games store, respectively.
The side we’re on is taken up by a single U-shaped building filling a whole block. Made of brick, it’s mostly in good order, but a few places need repointing. An ornate wrought iron fence at least eight-feet tall blocks access to the gardens and paved walkways inside the U. The plant beds are covered in fallen leaves from two old oak trees growing to either side. When abreeze whips through, the leaves skitter and rustle as they skip across the paths.
At the center of the fence sits a tall, arched entry point with double gates that seem welded shut, and a smaller gate set in one that’s open. A call box hangs on the smaller gate right next to the opening. A small placard above warns entrants that the grounds are monitored twenty-four seven.
Faded banners droop over the iron archway and, further in, over the main door of the building. I squint to make out the letters on the one farther away, but it reads the same as the closer:Sage Street Community.
“What is this?” The name is vaguely familiar, but I can’t figure out why—and there’s no need, when I have two beaming nieces, seemingly delighted to have brought me here.
“It’s sort of a cross between an apartment complex, commune, and independent living facility for people without packs or families to age in place.” Bebe tells me as she leads the way up the path to the big doors to the actual building. “I wouldloveto live here—not now, of course, but someday, when I’m old, especially if Anamaria and Caity don’t provide me with niblings.”
