Chapter 48 – FELIX
Chapter
Forty-Eight
FELIX
T he department store smells like apricots trying to cover up scent maskers, which is exactly what I'd expect from a place that charges fifty bucks for a throw pillow.
But here I am anyway, watching four grown alphas argue over thread count like it's a matter of national security while Juniper bounces between displays with the energy of someone who's mainlined espresso and chaos.
"Six hundred thread count minimum," Elias insists, holding up sheets in gold packaging that might well be actual gold leafing. "Anything less is basically sandpaper."
"Six hundred?" Carlisle scoffs, examining a silk pillowcase. "That's not sandpaper, that's gravel."
"Then you find something better," Elias counters, but his irritation is all for show. Just the comfortable bickering that's become background noise to our lives.
Three weeks. It's been three weeks since we burned the Serpents' Den to ash, three weeks since Evan's blood painted those walls, three weeks of trying to figure out what normal looks like when you're a pack of killers playing house.
Turns out normal involves a lot of arguments about bedding.
"Felix!" Juniper calls from three aisles over, because apparently she's developed the ability to teleport when shopping is involved. "Come feel this blanket! It's like a cloud made out of cotton candy!"
I make my way over, navigating around Bane who's got his arms full of what looks like every pillow in the store.
The suppressants Elias gave me are working perfectly.
Six months of freedom from heat cycles, from the vulnerability that comes with being an omega, from having to hide behind chemical masks.
I'm just... me. Not quite beta, not quite omega, something in between that the pack has accepted without question.
Juniper's got her face buried in a blanket that's admittedly softer than anything has a right to be, and when she looks up at me, there's something in her eyes that makes my heart thump.
Her heat's coming. I can smell it starting to build under her skin, that sweetness that'll have us all climbing the walls in another day or two.
"Getting ready for tomorrow?" I ask, though we both know what tomorrow means. The marking. The thing we've been dancing around for weeks, the final step in making this pack official.
She's going to let them mark her. All four of them.
The thought should make me jealous, but it doesn't. It just makes me.
.. grateful. For this weird little family we've somehow forged in a hail of blood and bullets.
For my place in it, and the fact that they can give her something I can't doesn't temper that. Not anymore.
Most of all, I'm grateful for the fact that she hasn't woken up in a cold sweat once since it all happened.
I know there will still be hard days, for both of us, and I know she still sees the shadows.
Hell, I've got my own to contend with, even if they're not as visible as hers.
But they're quieter now. Wrestled into submission.
Or maybe all the love around us has just drowned them out.
"The nest has to be perfect," she says, but there's something in her voice, something she's not saying. "Absolutely perfect."
"You're being weird," I tell her, because she is. Even for Juniper, she's being weird.
"I'm always weird," she counters, but she won't meet my eyes.
"Weirder than usual."
Archer appears with what looks like an entire rainbow of throw blankets. "I couldn't decide which color, so I got all of them."
"That's the spirit!" Juniper chirps, but again, there's that edge. That something.
Carlisle glides over with a basket full of items that definitely aren't nesting supplies. "Juniper, darling, I found these lovely silk restraints in the?—"
"Not now," she says quickly, shooting him a look that could melt steel. "Later. After."
After what?
The alphas exchange glances over my head, the kind of meaningful looks that used to make my hackles rise.
Used to make me reach for weapons, plan escape routes, prepare for betrayal.
But now it just makes me... curious. These idiots couldn't plan a surprise party without someone spoiling it within five minutes, so whatever they're up to can't be that serious.
"We should get going," Bane says, checking his phone with forced and suspicious casualness. He’s a bad actor. "Got everything we need here?"
"Yep!" Juniper says, dumping an armful of her latest haul from the nesting bins into his arms. Because apparently, one of the many uses alphas have is as living shopping carts.
"We've got one more stop," Elias interrupts, already herding us toward the checkout. "Important stop. Can't miss it."
They're all being weird. Every single one of them.
We pile into the SUV after a small fortune in nesting supplies gets loaded in the back. Juniper's practically shaking with adrenaline in her seat next to me, and the alphas keep shooting each other these obvious looks that are clearly meant to be subtle.
"Someone want to tell me what's going on?" I ask, but Juniper just grabs my hand and squeezes.
"Trust me," she says, and those hazel eyes are so earnest that I just heave a sigh and nod.
The drive takes us into the artsy part of town, with all the exposed brick and indie coffee shops that charge ten dollars for an espresso with a cat printed in the foam.
We pull up outside a tattoo parlor called Marked Up, according to the neon sign with the trilogy of designation symbols turned into a logo at the side.
Alpha, beta and omega, all interlocking like they belong together.
And I guess I'm somewhere in the jumble.
"Are we shaking someone down?" I ask, because that would at least make sense. "Did someone not pay protection? Are we running a new kind of racket now that most of the omega traffickers in the region are dead?"
Juniper laughs, bright and genuine. "Come inside and see for yourself, grumpy."
The bell above the door chimes as we enter, and the first thing I notice is that the place is empty except for us. The second thing I notice is the omega behind the counter, and she's... not what I expected.
She's about Juniper's height but with a softer build, electric blue hair and enough piercings to set off a metal detector at fifty paces.
Her arms are covered in intricate tattoos that tell stories I can't quite read, and when she smiles, I catch a glimpse of what look like fucking fangs.
On second glance, I realize they're pointed piercings on either side of her upper lip.
"Well, well, well, if it isn't the Psychos," she says with a thousand-watt grin, clearly not the least bit intimidated by the four alphas looming behind us even if she knows who they are. Then again, alphas are the ones who have to worry about them.
"Nice to see you again, kid," Bane says with a nod, looking around. "You really turned this place around."
"Took eight months and a small fortune, but I think the renos came out nice," she agrees proudly, hands on her hips as she looks around the colorful parlor with its comfortable, surprisingly luxurious furnishings, and the art on the walls that maintain an edgier feel.
"You must be Felix and Juniper," she says, blue eyes lighting up as she turns to us. "I'm Roxy."
"Nice to meet you," I say automatically, then look at Juniper. "Who's getting tattooed?"
"Me!" Juniper bounces on her toes, already heading for the chair. "I'm getting your mark!"
The words don't compute. I stare at her, then at the alphas who are all suddenly very interested in the artwork on the walls. At least until Archer's gaze lands on a nude omega and then quickly darts to his feet, his cheeks turning red.
Such a country boy.
"My what now?" I echo, thinking I've heard wrong.
Juniper settles into the chair, pulling her shirt off her shoulder to expose the smooth skin where a mating mark would traditionally go.
The skin I've bitten a hundred times over, even if the mark always fades eventually.
The last one is barely visible. "Your mark, Felix.
I'm getting marked by the pack tomorrow night, and I want to wear yours first."
"Juniper, I can't—" The words stick in my throat.
Can't mark her. Can't bite her. Can't give her that thing that alphas are supposed to give, that biological claim that says mine in a way nothing else can.
I used to think I wanted to be an alpha, but these past couple of months have made me realize I just wanted to know she belonged to me.
I wanted to protect her, to be everything she needed. "You know I can't?—"
"Sure you can." She grins up at me, and it's soft and wicked and perfect all at once. "You're going to bite me hard enough to leave an impression, and Roxy's going to tattoo it. Make it permanent."
I can't speak. Can't breathe. Can't process what she's saying.
"We've always done things differently," she continues, reaching for my hand. "Outside the box, unconventional, completely fucking insane by most people's standards. Why should this be any different?"
"It's perfect," I manage, because it is. It's so perfectly Juniper, so perfectly us, that it feels like I'm actually going to break from pure happiness.
That's new.
Roxy's already prepping her equipment, moving with the confidence of someone who knows exactly what they're doing. "I'll need you to bite through this," she says, holding up a piece of plastic wrap. "It'll leave a perfect impression without breaking skin. Then I'll trace it, make it permanent."
My hands are shaking as I move closer. The alphas are watching but not crowding, giving us space for this moment that's ours even as they witness it.
"You sure?" I ask Juniper one more time, because I need to hear it again.
"I've never been more sure of anything," she says, tilting her head to expose her neck. "Mark me, Felix. Make me yours first."