31. Caroline #3
She’s quiet for a beat. “Explain it to me. Because from where I’m sitting, this looks like a heat-induced orgy that you’re now trying to romanticize, not a pack.”
The bluntness of it stings, but I don’t flinch. She’s not wrong to ask.
“It’s not the same with each of them,” I say.
“Griffin is… he’s my past. He’s the boy I loved before I knew what love really meant.
When I’m with him, I feel like I’m seventeen again, like the world is simple and everything is possible.
He looks at me like I hung the moon, and part of me wants to believe him. ”
“Damon?”
“Damon makes me feel safe. Which is stupid, because he’s the sheriff and he deals with dangerous shit every day. But when he’s near me, when he touches me, I feel like nothing can hurt me. Like I’ve got this shield around me that nothing can penetrate.”
“And Silas?”
This one is harder. I have to think about it, really think, because Silas doesn’t fit into a neat category like the others.
“Silas makes me feel seen. Not the version of me that everyone else sees—the quiet Omega at the apothecary, the one with the fake bond mark, the one who doesn’t cause trouble. He sees past all of that. He sees the parts I hide, and he doesn’t flinch.”
Amara is quiet for a long time. She pulls at a loose thread on her pajama pants, twisting it around her finger.
“Have you told them any of this?”
“Some of it. Not all of it.”
“Caroline.” Her tone shifts. Softer. “I’m not going to judge you. You know that. I’ve been telling you for years to stop hiding in that shop and actually live your life. So trust me when I say I’m not about to shame you for having sex with three men who obviously worship the ground you walk on.”
“They don’t worship—”
“Griffin hasn’t taken his eyes off you since I got here.
Damon stood outside in the cold for ten minutes making that phone call because he didn’t want to leave until he knew I was coming.
And the Council guy is in your kitchen making potions for you like some kind of Omega-care fairy. They worship you. Accept it.”
I open my mouth to argue, then close it. She’s not wrong.
“But here’s what I need you to hear,” Amara continues.
“A heat is not a relationship. The things you feel during a heat—the connection, the intimacy, the feeling that these people are yours—that’s biology.
It’s hormones and pheromones and your body doing what it’s designed to do.
It doesn’t mean those feelings are fake, but it does mean they’re amplified. Distorted.”
“I know that.”
“Do you? Because the way you’re talking right now sounds a lot like a woman who’s ready to build a life with three men she barely knows.”
“I do know them—”
“You know Griffin from when you were a teenager. You know Damon as the sheriff who comes into your shop. And you know Silas as the Council envoy who showed up after the Rift flare. That’s not the same as knowing someone, Caroline. That’s knowing a version of someone.”
The words land hard. Not because they’re cruel, but because they’re true.
“So what do I do?” I ask.
Amara unfolds from the armchair and comes to sit beside me on the couch. She takes my hand, her thumb rubbing across my knuckles in the same spot Griffin’s was earlier.
“Life is short,” she says. “You know that better than anyone. The Rift could flare tomorrow and swallow half this town. We don’t get guarantees.”
“I know.”
“So take your time. Date them. All of them, separately. Get to know who they are when you’re not in heat, when your body isn’t screaming at you to jump them. Have conversations that don’t involve orgasms. Figure out if what you’re feeling is real or just… residue.”
“Residue.”
“The aftermath. The glow. It’s like a spell hangover. Everything feels significant and meaningful, and sometimes it is. But sometimes it’s just your brain trying to make sense of something intense.”
I lean my head against her shoulder. She smells like lavender and the vanilla lotion she’s been using since high school. The familiarity of it makes my eyes sting.
“What if I pick one and the others hate me?”
“Then they’re not the right ones. Any man who genuinely cares about you will respect your choice. And if they don’t, that tells you everything you need to know.”
“And if I don’t want to pick?”
She’s quiet for a moment. “Then that’s a conversation you have with them. Not with me. I’m just your best friend. I don’t get a vote.”
“You always get a vote.”
“I vote that you stop overthinking and take a shower.” She nudges me with her shoulder. “You still smell like sex, and it’s distracting.”
I laugh. The sound surprises me—genuine, light, cutting through the heaviness that’s been sitting in my chest since I woke up.
“I love you, you know.”
“Yeah, yeah. I love you too. Now go shower. I’ll interrogate the men while you’re gone.”
“That’s not comforting.”
“It’s not supposed to be.”
She stands, pulls me up, and steers me toward the hallway. At the end of it, I glance back and see her turn to face the living room—three Alphas, all watching her with varying degrees of wariness.
“Alright, boys,” she says, her hands on her hips. “Let’s chat.”