Chapter 27
TWENTY-SEVEN
DOMINIC
Phoenix moves like a five-foot-four battering ram.
One second she’s kneeling on the bed, face white with shock.
The next she’s on her feet and crossing the room with the kind of focused velocity usually associated with natural disasters and angry mothers.
Her hands connect with my chest first—small palms, surprisingly strong—and I stumble backward into the hallway before my brain registers what’s happening.
“Out,” she snaps.
“Hey—”
Her attention has already pivoted to Judah, who outweighs her by at least eighty pounds and is currently secreting enough alpha pheromones to peel the wallpaper.
She plants both hands square on his sternum and pushes.
Not a suggestion. Not a nudge. A full-body shove that uses leverage and the element of surprise to drive him backward through the doorway.
“Out. Now.”
Judah goes. Not because she has the physical strength to move him—she doesn’t, not even close—but because somewhere in the animal recesses of his alpha brain, the command registers as coming from an omega who will absolutely disembowel him if he doesn’t comply.
The three of us end up in the hallway. Phoenix stands in the open doorway, barefoot, copper hair wild as a brushfire, Mabie’s cartoon lobster socks bunched at the ankles. Her amber eyes blaze gold at the centers, bright enough to burn.
She shouts back into the room without taking her gaze off us.
“Atticus, stay with him. Don’t let him leave that bed. Don’t let him spiral.”
Atticus, to his credit, just makes a very calming and agreeable sound as the door slams shut.
Phoenix rounds on us.
Her stance would make the most hardened drill sergeant reconsider his life choices. Shoulders squared. Chin up. Arms folded across her chest like she’s resisting the urge to punch us in the face.
The effect should be absurd. She barely clears my collarbone. Her hair looks like she lost a fight with a wind tunnel. There’s a faint imprint of a pillowcase crease running diagonally across her left cheek because she hasn’t been out of bed long enough for it to fade.
And yet.
My brain, that traitorous backfiring engine that has never once in my life done anything useful at the right moment, chooses this exact instant to deliver the following observation with the clarity of a church bell at dawn:
She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
Not Hollywood beautiful. Not red-carpet-calculated, camera-ready, manufactured-by-a-team-of-professionals beautiful.
Something rawer than that. Something that starts in the fire behind those gold-flecked eyes and radiates outward through every inch of her small, furious, sock-clad frame.
The way she holds herself—feet planted, spine straight, absolutely certain that the two alphas in front of her will do exactly what she says because the alternative hasn’t occurred to her—
Stop.
I slam the door on the thought so hard it rattles. Shove the whole thing into a shallow grave in the back of my skull, kick dirt over it, stamp it down.
This is categorically the worst possible moment to be this distracted.
Hopefully oblivious to the direction of my thoughts, Phoenix jerks her head toward the staircase. “Downstairs. Now.”
She doesn’t wait for agreement. Just turns and marches for the stairs, bare feet slapping hardwood with the authority of combat boots. Judah and I follow her like two soldiers called before a tribunal, which is essentially what this is.
The kitchen still smells like the omelets she made. Two plates sit on the table, half-eaten, forks abandoned mid-bite. Evidence of the before. The last normal moment this house will see for a while.
Phoenix positions herself in front of the kitchen island, planting her feet on the stone tile. Arms fold across her chest again. She looks up at us—has to, given the height differential—and the angle somehow makes her more intimidating rather than less.
A single word.
“Explain.”
Judah is pressed against the wall beside the refrigerator, as far from the direction of Mason’s scent as the cramped kitchen allows.
He’s breathing through his mouth and his hands are shaking so violently I can hear his knuckles scraping against the plaster behind him.
His jaw is clenched tight enough that I’d swear I can hear his teeth grinding from three feet away.
He looks like a man trying to hold back a tidal wave with his bare hands.
Phoenix’s gaze flicks from me to him, assessing. Whatever she sees makes her lips press into a thin line.
“You.” She points at Judah. “Are clearly useless right now.” The finger swings toward me. “So you. Talk. I want the whole story, from the beginning.”
I open my mouth.
Nothing comes out.
Because where the hell am I supposed to start?
With the summer we were fifteen, when I realized that my best friend was in love with his other best friend and neither of them had figured it out yet?
With the summer break after Mason’s senior year, when they came back from a camping trip looking like someone had died?
With the August morning that I showed up to Mason’s house only to be told by his mother that he left for college the night before?
Phoenix’s eyes narrow. The gold flecks in her irises seem to pulse with impatience.
“I’m waiting.”
Right.
Then I start talking, because someone has to, and Judah is currently incapable of stringing two words together.
“The three of us grew up together,” I say. “Me, Judah, and Mason. Inseparable since elementary school. I was the foster kid the Daniels family took in when I was fifteen. Mason was our next-door neighbor…”
I trail off. My throat tightens around the words.
Phoenix’s eyes narrow. “Mason’s parents live in Florida.”
“They retired there a couple years ago.”
Her head tilts to the side as she studies me. “So what happened?”
“The summer after Mason’s senior year.” The words come out rougher than I intended. “They took a camping trip to celebrate Mason’s graduation. Last adventure before he left for NYU on a full scholarship.”
Her expression has softened, just a touch, as if she already has some idea what’s coming. “And then?”
“His heat came early…and I guess the rest is history.”
I glance at Judah. He’s not looking at me. His eyes are fixed on some middle distance, focused on nothing, seeing everything. The tendons in his neck stand out like cables.
“Mason left for NYU two weeks later.” The old anger surfaces despite my best efforts to keep it clinical. I can feel it crawling up my throat, bitter and hot. “No goodbye to me. No real goodbye to Judah. Just gone.”
The kitchen goes quiet. Even the old house seems to hold its breath, settling around us with the particular stillness of a structure that has witnessed too many secrets.
“Judah spiraled,” I continue, and my voice has gone rough at the edges now. Can’t help it. “I held him together while barely holding myself together, because Mason wasn’t just Judah’s omega. He was my family too. The first real family I ever had.”
Something hot pricks at the corners of my eyes. I blink it back, hard.
“So yeah.” I shove my hands into my pockets to hide the way they’ve started shaking. “I’m still angry. At Mason. For leaving without a word. For not trusting us enough to explain.”
I force myself to meet Phoenix’s gaze, knowing what I’m about to say might be the nail in the coffin of her opinion of me.
“Even knowing there might be more to the story than I understand—even knowing that I don’t have all the pieces—I’m still angry. And that’s probably not fair. But it’s true.”
The silence that follows stretches long enough to become uncomfortable.
Phoenix doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Her expression cycles through too many different emotions to pick out any single one.
Then she straightens her spine.
“Okay, here’s how this is going to work.” Her voice has dropped into a deeper register, commanding obedience. “My primary concern right now is Mason. Everything else can wait until his heat is over. Understood?”
I nod. Judah makes a sound that is close enough to agreement.
Phoenix’s gaze locks onto Judah with laser focus.
“You do not go near Mason unless and until he explicitly, verbally, while of sound mind, asks for you.” Each word lands like a hammer strike. “No ambiguity. No it seemed like he wanted it. No alpha-knows-best bullshit. His consent is non-negotiable. Are we clear?”
Judah’s jaw works. His hands clench and unclench at his sides. For a moment I think he’s going to argue.
“Yes,” he rasps.
Phoenix nods once, sharp. Then her attention swings to me.
“You’re on Judah duty. If he can’t handle being in this house without losing control, you get him out.
Take him on his boat. To your bar. The moon, even.
I don’t care. Anywhere that isn’t here. Whatever it takes to keep him away from that room until Mason is ready to see him.
If he’s ever ready. And if Mason does ask for you, Atticus and I will be there to make sure Mason doesn’t get hurt. ”
I start to nod, then stop and consider.
“That’s not exactly fair to Judah.”
Phoenix’s eyebrows rise, expression incredulous. “I beg your very last pardon?”
“I’m just saying.” I spread my hands, trying to keep my voice reasonable. “If Mason does invite Judah into the nest…you and Atticus will be there. You’ve got each other. But Judah won’t have anyone in his corner.”
She studies me for a long moment, clearly searching for an ulterior motive.
“Fine,” she says finally. “If Mason allows it, you can be there too.”
The concession surprises me more than it should. I nod, not trusting my voice.
From his position against the wall, Judah speaks for the first time since we came downstairs.
“You’re not angry at him.”
Phoenix turns to face him. “What?”
“Mason.” Judah’s voice is hoarse, strained from the effort of not breathing through his nose. “He lied to you for three years. Hid this entire part of his life. You’re not mad at him?”
Phoenix goes still.
The silence stretches.
“I’m furious,” she says finally. “But Mason needs me right now. My feelings can wait.”
She turns on her heel and is gone before I can think of an appropriate response.