Chapter 30 – ARCHER #2
I groan. Of fucking course. Here I thought... I don't know what I thought. That she wanted to do something that didn't involve manual labor and playing interior designer to her chaos.
"The bed needs to face the window," she declares, already directing traffic. "But not directly. Like, at an angle. A specific angle that I'll know when I see it."
"This weighs eight hundred pounds," I point out, already moving to one end of the massive bed frame.
"That's why I need big, strong alphas," she says sweetly. "Chop chop."
We spend the next hour rearranging everything, usually with Juniper perched on it and directing. Multiple times. Because nothing feels "right" to her extremely specific and constantly changing standards.
"No, no, no," she says for the fifteenth time as Carlisle and I position the dresser. "It needs to be three inches to the left. No, that's too far. Back to the right. Actually, let's try it against the other wall."
Carlisle sets down his end with the kind of controlled movement that suggests he's reached the end of his rope. "Juniper. Darling. Light of my life. Are you nesting?"
She freezes. "What? No. That's... no. I'm just... organizing."
"Organizing," he repeats, using the same tone he used on me earlier. "By having us move the same piece of furniture countless times to marginally different positions while you collect soft things in increasingly specific arrangements."
"I'm not collecting soft things," she protests, clutching the armful of pillows she just retrieved from the closet.
"You're literally holding six pillows right now."
"These are for... structural purposes."
"Structural purposes," Carlisle deadpans.
"Shut up."
I watch the exchange with growing concern. "Juniper, are the suppressants not working? You shouldn't be nesting if?—"
"I'm not nesting!" The protest comes out too loud, too defensive. "I'm just... maybe I am. I don't fucking know, okay? Everything feels wrong and right at the same time and I can't get comfortable and?—"
She stops, taking a shaky breath. Carlisle and I exchange another look, this one less amused and more worried.
"Your scent," Carlisle says carefully, "does seem different. Stronger. Sweeter."
"Maybe it's breakthrough," I suggest, trying to keep my voice clinical despite the way my alpha instincts are starting to wake up and pay attention. "Being near scent matches can trigger?—"
"Can we not have a medical conference about my reproductive system?" Juniper interrupts. "I'm fine. Probably. Maybe. We'll find out, won't we? Now help me move this fucking bed again."
"Did a bomb go off in here?"
Elias stands in the doorway, taking in the chaos with the expression of someone who's questioning all their life choices.
"We're being ordered around by a merciless tyrant," Carlisle informs him cheerfully. "It's delightful."
Juniper cackles, actually cackles, rubbing her hands together like a villain in a bad movie. "Perfect! Another victim. I mean volunteer. Now get in here and help move that bookshelf."
Elias glances around the chaos, raising an eyebrow. "I'm a doctor, not… whatever this is."
"You're an alpha with functioning arms," she counters. "Close enough. That bookshelf needs to be exactly parallel to the bed but also at a fifteen-degree angle from the window for optimal shadow patterns."
"Shadow patterns," Elias repeats flatly.
"The shadows have opinions," she says, deadly serious. "Very strong opinions about furniture placement."
Elias looks at me as if I have any input, and I shrug.
We spend another hour following increasingly bizarre instructions. The room gets rearranged so many times I lose track of where anything started. At one point, we have the bed in the bathroom before Juniper decides that's "too experimental, even for her."
"You know," Carlisle says as we position the dresser for what must be the thirtieth time, "the Psychos have killed warlords. Taken down entire trafficking rings. Saved hundreds of omegas."
"Your point?" I grunt, struggling with my end of the furniture.
"My point is that we're currently being commanded by a five-foot-four omega who can't decide if she wants her bed facing north or north-northwest."
"North-northeast, actually," Juniper corrects from where she's arranging pillows in what I'm pretty sure is some kind of ritualistic pattern. "And I'm five-four and a half."
"My apologies, Commander," Carlisle says with mock solemnity.
She grins. "I like that. Commander Juniper. Has a nice ring to it."
"Don't tell Bane," I chuckle, imagining his face if he knew we were taking orders from the omega assassin we're supposed to be keeping contained. "His ego couldn't handle being demoted."
"Our secret," Juniper agrees, finally flopping onto the bed we've positioned for the final time. It faces north-northeast, exactly seven inches from the wall, at a precise angle to catch the morning light but avoid the afternoon glare.
Or something. I stopped trying to follow her logic about five rearrangements ago.
She looks around the transformed room with satisfaction, surrounded by her strategically placed pillows and the furniture we've moved enough times to wear grooves in the floor.
"Perfect," she declares, then immediately frowns. "Actually, maybe the dresser should go?—"
"NO," we all say in unison.
She laughs, bright and genuine, and for a moment, everything feels almost normal. Almost like we're pack.
Almost.