He’s more at ease now, yet the underlying pain has returned. Still, it makes my spine itch as it presses against my heart before blowing away.
I put in my two cents. “The idea that the smell of omegas in heat sends all unbonded alphas into rut is a myth. That’s the usual trigger, yes, but some element of interest must already exist, and even then ruts aren’t chance events—they’re the result of the intersection of external triggers and internal susceptibility, which vary from alpha to alpha.” I look pointedly at Corin, whose earlier ignorance is telling. No doubt Nathan gets a taste of the jealousy that briefly stabs through me. “I’m guessing you’ve never had one.”
“No.” Corin tilts his head in a show of vulnerability, which helps shift my jealousy to mere envy.
“Nor me, before today.” Nathan also exposes his throat to me, displaying the faded scars of his bond marks.
“What did your alpha want most of all?” Corin turns to Nathan, head and chin high, in challenge or order. “To fuck Johanna or bond her?”
“Bond.” More pain seeps from Nathan, this time separate threads. How many isn’t clear, just that there’s more than one ache involved and they’re unequal. The larger seems old and heavy, the others fresh and still bleeding.
He rubs the marks on his neck. “We needed to find our mates. It’s strange, I’d have sworn I’ve adjusted—it’s been years since the accident took Renee and Lawrence—but suddenly I was missing them, hurting, needing to find the bonds.”
As he speaks his lost mates’ names, the heavier strand of pain jerks and stabilizes into two, entwined strands of loss and grief. The newer remains separate.
“Did you have two bonds or three?” I ask.
“Two mates, two bonds.” He traces the upper mark, then pulls the collar of his shirt down to reveal the full extent of theother. The bites overlap, forming a misshapen infinity symbol of teeth marks along his throat and the top of his shoulder.
“I can feel three strands of grief coming from you.” I frown. “I don’t know how best to describe it: they’re like sore spots leaking through our bond. Two heavy and old, one still raw.”
“There was no third.” Nathan shakes his head, although the three twined pains continue to stream from him. “I courted Max to let me join him and Johanna. She would have been the third mark if she’d agreed. Maybe Max a fourth—though he seemed doubtful about bonding—if only we’d had the time. He was leaning toward letting me court Johanna, but got sick before he agreed.”
“Maybe that’s it—not me, but Max.” Johanna rises and flits from the room, fast enough that Fluffy gives an irritated meow as the sofa cushions shift. Her footsteps echo down the hall, followed by a muted bang; then, she returns with a piece of paper in hand. Her scent turns sour, with a salty edge, as though composed of cranberries doused in seawater.
Corin and I both leave our chairs to join her next to Nathan, who rises as well, so we can all see what she’s holding. The cats aren’t happy but settle after a few disgruntled grumbles.
Peering over Nathan’s shoulder, I see a letter resembling the one Max wrote me, sent after his death. The words differ markedly from mine:
I’m sorry I waited too long to say yes.
“You said you smelled the residue of Max in the room.” Johanna eases an arm around Nathan’s waist; he starts, and a flicker of hope runs through the grief still pouring over the bond between us. “Before his death, you were courting him, convincing him the three of us could be a pack, withoutdemanding of him anything he couldn’t give, or taking me from him. He would’ve said yes—you know that, as does your alpha, because of his letter. Could your alpha have already considered him your mate?”
Nathan arches, his head falling back, shoulders tight as agony lances through him, spilling over into me. I grab hold, bracing him, as my alpha rouses, shrieking at me not to let go.
“You lost him, too.” Tears trickle down Johanna’s cheeks. “No wonder your alpha wanted a bond, a mate to hold on to.”
The paper falls from Johanna’s hands. Corin scoops it up as Nathan collapses forward into Johanna’s and my arms, heaving as he sobs. His torment registers with me, though not as direct; my face is wet as I hold him close, arms intertwining with Johanna’s.
Corin puts the letter safely away, then joins us. His arms spread wide to embrace all three of us. Even the cats get in on the action, slipping from the sofa to rub against Nathan’s legs, purring loudly. Corin’s rumble starts up, too, inspiring mine to match until we’re all a big ball of tears and purrs. They all smellrightto me now, individually and together.
We’re holding Nathan, rooting him, providing a safe space for him to grieve. All this trickles from him to me, sharing overwhelming relief above and beyond the shadow of sorrow.
If this is what it means to be in a pack, I never want to leave.
Chapter 40
Hunger for Connection
JOHANNA
There’s nothing like waking in the middle of a puppy pile on a chilly autumn morning. Heat fills every part of me, from my nose, tucked against Corin’s neck because for the first time in ages I’m big spoon to his little, down to my toes, pressed against Nathan’s calves; he’s curved behind me with Dan on his far side. One cat curls at the foot of the bed, and the other weighs down the covers near my knees.
We’re in the bed in Max’s room—my old room—making the most of the last, lingering remnants of his scent. Unfortunately, we don’t fit when lying on our backs, so we’re all on our sides.
I desperately want to roll over, but can’t.
Any remaining hint of Max’s orange and rum has faded now, as far as I can tell. Maybe their alpha noses catch more, but all I get is the mix of cedar and cider, snuffed candle, and midnight forest, which blend together better than I would’ve expected. Dan snores softly, and an occasional whistled breath escapes Nathan; otherwise all’s quiet and easy.
