“Come on,” Dylan mutters, gripping my hand tighter. “Let’s go before I turn this into a scene and we get security on us.”
He drags me toward the four-wheel drive, fast and sure, putting his body between me and that stare the whole way. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. I have you to protect me.”
“You bet.”
I glance back at the stranger, who is still standing there, shaking his head as if he has no idea what got into him. And that scares the hell out of me because I know what it is—my heat is coming. And it can send any Alpha into a frenzy to claim me.
I climb into the front passenger seat while Dylan gets in the back, my breathing shallow. Mason starts the engine and we’re off.
Then my Alphas start talking at once.
“What happened?”
“How did it go?”
“Did he say anything suspicious?”
“Are you okay?”
“Give me a second!” I laugh, immediately ripping off the itchy wig and peeling away the fake facial hair, thankful to be in the car and safe. “God, that feels so much better.”
“So?” Slater prompts.
I tell them everything while continuing to strip away my Ash disguise, including the scent patches. By the time I’m done explaining, we’re pulling into a drive-through.
“What are we doing?” I ask.
“Getting snacks,” Mason says like it’s obvious. “Stakeouts and meetings require snacks. It’s a rule, and I don’t make the rules. I just enforce them aggressively.”
“I’ll take a number three with a Coke,” Slater calls from the back like we’re at a drive-through he personally owns.
“Chicken sandwich and fries,” Jasper adds, already leaning forward.
“Double cheeseburger, large fries, chocolate shake,” Dylan says, not even pretending to hesitate. “For protein.”
Mason orders something so specific and full of substitutions that the poor girl on the speaker goes silent for a second like she needs to rethink her career choices. Then they all turn to me at once.
I blink. “I have no idea what this place even has. I feel ambushed.”
“They have those ice cream blizzard things,” Dylan says immediately. “Life-altering. You want one? It will help after that meetup.”
“Sure,” I say, caught up in their enthusiasm. “Oreo, if they have it.”
That apparently opens the floodgates.
“Add a pie!”
“Get the nuggets!”
“Two cookies!”
“No, three cookies!”
“We need onion rings. For balance.”
“For balance,” I repeat, and I lose it, giggling helplessly while Mason tries to restore order like a man herding wolves.
