Chapter 20
Talia
Sunday dinners at Cassian’s house had become my favorite part of the week. Something about all four of us gathering in his spacious kitchen, cooking together and talking while food simmered, felt more like home than anywhere I’d lived in years.
This was our third Sunday dinner, and the routine had already established itself.
Cassian provided the space and wine. Jace brought whatever he’d foraged that week.
Hollis showed up with fresh bread from Micah’s bakery.
And I brought my knife skills and the kind of casual authority that came from years in professional kitchens.
“Okay, Jace, what culinary treasure did you find this week?” I asked, washing my hands at Cassian’s deep farmhouse sink.
“Hen of the woods. Massive patch near Whisper Creek.” He unpacked a basket of beautiful gray-brown mushrooms. “I was thinking we could do that pasta thing you taught me.”
“With the brown butter and sage? Perfect.” I started sorting through Cassian’s impressively organized spice cabinet. “Hollis, can you handle the salad?”
“I can adequately manage lettuce,” he said, already pulling vegetables from the refrigerator.
Cassian poured wine for everyone, then leaned against his counter watching us work. “I feel like I should be helping.”
“You’re providing the space and the wine. That’s helping,” I said, accepting a glass from him. “Plus, your kitchen is beautiful. These counters alone are making me jealous.”
“I may have gone slightly overboard when I renovated.” He looked around the space with something like pride. “But I wanted one room in this house that felt completely mine. Not influenced by my family’s taste or expectations.”
“You succeeded,” Hollis said. “This kitchen has personality.”
We fell into a comfortable rhythm. I showed Jace how to clean the mushrooms properly while Hollis chopped vegetables and Cassian set the table in the adjoining dining room. Conversation flowed easily between cooking instructions and casual updates.
“Bistro remediation is done,” I mentioned while demonstrating knife technique. “Final health department inspection is Friday.”
“That’s excellent,” Cassian said, returning from the dining room. “Nervous?”
“Terrified. But also excited?” I handed Jace the cleaned mushrooms. “Okay, now you’re going to sauté these in the brown butter. Remember what I taught you about not crowding the pan?”
“Don’t crowd the pan or they’ll steam instead of getting crispy,” he recited dutifully.
“Good student.” I turned to Cassian. “How’s the consulting work going?”
“Interesting. The new client wants to develop property sustainably. Actual conservation-minded development, not greenwashing.” He took a sip of wine. “It’s refreshing working with people who care about more than profit margins.”
“That must feel validating,” Hollis said. “After everything with your family.”
“It does.” Cassian’s expression softened slightly. “Makes me think maybe I can build something meaningful with this consulting work. Not just survive, but actually contribute.”
The pasta came together beautifully. Jace’s mushrooms were perfectly golden, the brown butter had reached that nutty stage that made everything taste better, and fresh sage from Cassian’s small herb garden added the perfect aromatic note.
We settled at the dining table with our food and more wine, the October evening darkening outside while Cassian’s house stayed warm and bright.
“This is really good,” Hollis said after his first bite. “Jace, you’ve learned actual cooking skills.”
“Talia’s a good teacher. Also I’m motivated by not wanting to eat instant ramen forever.”
“Noble motivation,” Cassian agreed.
We ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the kind of quiet that came from people who didn’t need to fill every moment with conversation.
“Can I bring up something potentially awkward?” Jace asked eventually.
I set down my fork, recognizing his serious tone. “That sounds ominous.”
“Not ominous. Just important.” He looked around the table. “We need to talk about heat cycles.”
My stomach flipped. Not because I didn’t want to discuss it, but because I’d been avoiding thinking about it too hard. Heats with Vincent had been awful, marked by his controlling behavior and my feeling trapped by biology.
“Okay,” I said carefully. “What about them?”
“We need to know what you want,” Hollis said gently. “What your expectations are. How you want to handle it when it comes.”
“If you want to handle it with us at all,” Cassian added. “That’s completely your choice.”
I took a sip of wine, buying time to organize my thoughts. They were all watching me with careful attention, not pushing but clearly invested in my answer.
“I don’t know exactly what I want,” I admitted. “My heats with Vincent were bad. Really bad. He used them to assert control, to make me feel like I needed him. I hated being that vulnerable around him.”
“That must have been terrible,” Hollis said quietly.
“It was. And I’m terrified of repeating that pattern.” I wrapped my hands around my wine glass. “But I also know that heats with the right people are supposed to be different. Good, even. I’m just not sure I believe that yet.”
“What would make you feel safe?” Jace asked. “Not what you think you should want, but what would actually make you feel secure and comfortable?”
I thought about that while pushing pasta around my plate. What did I actually want?
“I want control,” I said finally. “I want to know that if I say stop or I need space, you’ll listen. That my biology doesn’t override my consent or your respect for my boundaries.”
“Of course,” all three said in variations.
“And I want to know you three can actually coordinate without it turning into territorial chaos. That you won’t fight over me or make me feel like I’m causing problems by needing all of you.”
“We can coordinate,” Cassian said with certainty. “We’ve been practicing. The bowling, these dinners, all the casual time together. We’re building trust so when heat comes, we already know how to work together.”
“Have any of you been through a heat with someone before?” I asked.
Jace nodded. “Once, in college. A friend who needed help and I was the alpha she trusted. We weren’t bonded, just got her through it safely. But I learned how to support someone through heat without letting instinct override everything else.”
“I haven’t,” Hollis admitted. “I’ve read extensively, talked to friends about their experiences. But no direct experience.”
“Same,” Cassian said. “Which honestly concerns me. I don’t know if I can trust my instincts during something that biologically intense.”
“That’s why we’re talking about it now,” Jace said. “Establish what Talia needs while we’re all thinking clearly. Then during heat, we follow her lead instead of just reacting.”
“What would that look like?” I asked. “Practically, I mean.”
“However you need it to look,” Hollis said. “You tell us what would make you feel safe, and we commit to that.”
I thought about Vincent again. About how he’d ignored my needs during heat, had used my vulnerability against me. About how I’d felt trapped and so angry at my own biology.
“I want to be able to choose,” I said slowly. “Even during heat, I want to maintain some autonomy. If I say I only want one of you, or two of you, or I need space, I want that respected.”
“Absolutely,” Cassian said immediately.
“And I don’t want it to be some big production with planning and schedules. I want it to feel natural, like you’re responding to what I need in the moment rather than following some script.”
“We can do that,” Jace agreed. “Stay flexible, follow your lead.”
“But we should have basic logistics sorted,” Cassian added. “Where you want to be, what supplies you might need, how we contact each other. Framework without rigidity.”
That made sense. “Okay. Structure but flexibility within it.”
“What else?” Hollis asked gently. “What else do you need from us?”
“Patience. Understanding if I freak out or get scared. This is all new for me, doing heat with people I actually trust.” My voice cracked slightly. “I’m probably going to be a mess.”
“We can handle mess,” Jace said warmly. “That’s what pack is for.”
Cassian refilled everyone’s wine glasses, and the conversation shifted to lighter territory.
We talked about Cassian’s terrible bowling form and his determination to improve.
About Hollis’s latest bookstore drama involving a customer who’d insisted a book she’d clearly read was defective. About Jace’s next cooking attempt.
“I’m not accustomed to socializing without agenda,” Cassian admitted. “My family’s dinners were always strategic. Who was invited, what business was discussed, what alliances were being formed. This is the first time I’ve had people over just because I enjoy their company.”
“That’s kind of sad,” Jace said.
“It is. But I’m learning there are better ways to live.”
After dinner, we moved to Cassian’s living room with the rest of the wine. The space was comfortable in an understated way. Leather furniture that had been chosen for actual use, bookshelves that held books he’d actually read, art that reflected his taste rather than investment value.
I ended up on the couch between Hollis and Jace, while Cassian settled in the armchair across from us. It felt natural now, this casual physical proximity. Jace’s arm along the back of the couch, Hollis’s knee touching mine, Cassian close enough to be part of the group.
“Can I say something?” I asked, slightly wine-warm and emotional. “Something important?”
“Always,” Hollis said.
“A few months ago, I was alone and broken and convinced I’d never trust anyone again.
Vincent had destroyed my career and my confidence, and I came here just trying to survive.
” I looked at each of them. “But you three changed that. You reminded me what it feels like to be valued and supported and cared for without conditions.”
“Talia,” Hollis said softly.
When we finally separated, Jace said, “So if we’re doing this, really doing this, we need to talk logistics. Where are we all going to live?”
“That’s very practical,” Hollis said, but he was smiling.
“Pack bonds work better when you’re actually in the same space,” Jace continued. “Not necessarily immediately, but we should have a plan.”
I looked around Cassian’s house, at the space he’d made his own. “This place is beautiful, but it’s not really big enough for four people long-term.”
“My apartment above the bookstore definitely isn’t,” Hollis said quietly. “It’s barely big enough for me and my books.” He paused, and something shifted in his expression. “But I have my grandmother’s house. The one with the garden.”
We all turned to look at him.
“I’ve been keeping it empty since she died. Couldn’t bring myself to sell it or rent it out, but couldn’t move in either. Too many memories.” He met each of our eyes. “But it’s a proper house. Four bedrooms, big kitchen, that garden. Enough space for all of us.”
“Hollis,” I said softly, remembering the day he’d taken me there. How sacred that space was to him.
“I think I’ve been saving it,” he continued. “Not consciously, but somewhere I knew I was waiting for the right reason to make it a home again. For the right people.” He smiled, slightly watery. “I think this is it. I think you three are it.”
“Are you sure?” Cassian asked. “That’s a significant emotional step. Your grandmother’s house.”
“I’m sure. She would have loved this. All of you.” Hollis looked around at us. “She always said that house was meant for family. For people who would fill it with life and laughter. I couldn’t do that alone. But with pack? With all of us? That’s exactly what it’s for.”
“Then yes,” Jace said. “If you’re offering, yes.”
“The garden alone is worth it,” I added, trying to lighten the emotional weight. “Though we’re definitely going to need to work on my gardening skills.”
“We’ll figure it out together,” Hollis said. “All of it.”
We talked for another hour, the conversation drifting between serious planning and easy banter. At some point, Cassian put on music. Hollis fell asleep on the couch, his head tipping onto my shoulder. Jace took a picture of us and sent it to the group chat with the caption “Pack nap time.”
Around eleven, we reluctantly started gathering our things to leave.
“Thank you for hosting,” I said to Cassian at the door.
“Thank you for coming. For all of this.” He pulled me into a hug, and I caught cedar and leather and something uniquely him. “I meant what I said. Yes to all of it.”
“Me too.”
I drove home through quiet streets, my mind full of the evening. The heat conversation that had been scary but necessary. The declaration about wanting permanent bonds. The casual intimacy. The beginning of a perfect future together.
This was pack. Not perfect or simple, but real and growing stronger every day.
And somewhere deep in my body, I felt the first stirrings of heat approaching. Not yet, but soon. The biological reality that would either cement our bonds or test them beyond breaking.
But looking back at Cassian’s house, at the warm light in the windows where three men had proven themselves trustworthy in every way that mattered, I wasn’t afraid anymore.
We were ready.
Whatever came next, we’d face it together.