Chapter 16
SIXTEEN
Zia
The air in the lounge was thick enough to chew. My scent was flooding the space, a high-pressure system of neon citrus and ozone that made the atmosphere crackle, but beneath it, the room was saturated with them.
Blackberries and scorched sugar. Espresso and heavy molasses. Toasted tea and sesame brittle.
It should have been overwhelming. My brain, usually protected by layers of blockers and white noise, screamed that I was walking into a reactor core without a suit. But my body hummed in resonance. This wasn't noise. This was the mix I’d been trying to balance for weeks.
Movement caught my eye but I couldn't look away from the men around me though my brain registered Cal slipping out of the room.
I hadn't been sure whether he fit or not until this point and I was relieved that he made the decision for me.
There was nothing about him that stirred feelings in me, but if he'd been part of the pack…
What was I thinking?
Part of the pack?
I was just asking them to help me through this heat, I wasn't about to bond with them. Was I? Was that something I even wanted?
My brain was spinning and it was only when I felt Alfie lean his forehead against my knee that my mind stopped being a merry-go-round and became laser focused on the points of contact I had with the three of them.
"Copy that," Alfie breathed again, more to himself than anyone else. The vibration traveled straight up my shin, a low-frequency hum that made my toes curl.
I looked down at him. The man who had talked me off a ledge through a locked door. He was trembling, his hands fisted in the carpet to keep from grabbing me. The restraint was palpable, a physical weight in the room.
"Kit," I whispered, turning my head slightly. "Forty percent. Confirm."
Beside me, Kit let out a exhale that sounded like a compressor releasing pressure. His arm, heavy and thick with muscle, tightened around my ribs. He didn't squeeze. He grounded. He became a human gravity blanket, anchoring me to the sofa so I wouldn't float away.
"Confirmed," Kit rumbled, his Manchester accent thick as syrup. "Structure holding. I’ve got the low end, Z. I’m not moving."
"Euan." I looked at the standing figure. He was watching us with wide, blown pupils, his chest heaving. The Systems Brain. The man who built airlocks to keep me safe. "I need you to check the levels."
Euan blinked, his processing speed lagging behind the biological crash. "Define... levels."
"Pulse," I gasped as a wave of heat rolled through me, sharper this time. "Temp. Proximity. Don't let the signal clip."
He understood. The metaphor bridged the gap between his fear and his function. He took two strides, crossing the invisible barrier he’d maintained for weeks. He knelt on the other side of my legs, mirroring Alfie but not touching. Not yet.
"Requesting access to radial artery," Euan said, his voice rough.
"Granted."
His fingers, cool and calloused from guitar strings and coding, brushed the inside of my wrist. The contact was electric. A shock of cold against my fever-hot skin.
"Heart rate one-ten," Euan murmured, eyes glued to my wrist like a monitor. "You're running hot, Z. Red-lining."
"Then mix it down," I snapped, my head falling back against Kit’s shoulder. "Don't just watch the meters. Do something."
The invitation hung there.
Alfie moved first. He shifted, sliding his hands up my calves, over my jeans. He wasn't asking for sex; he was answering the distress signal. He squeezed, a rhythmic pressure that matched the beat Euan was counting.
"Here," Alfie whispered, his face pressing into my thigh. "I'm here, fox. Grounding you out."
"Talk," I demanded, eyes squeezing shut as the cramps twisted in my belly. "Kit. Talk."
Kit buried his nose in my hair, inhaling the ozone scent of my distress. "I've got you," he urged, his voice a low drone right against my ear. "You're safe. The door's locked. Cal's clear. The walls are solid. Just ride the wave, love. We're the harbour."
Euan’s thumb pressed into my pulse point. "Stabilizing," he said softly. "Syncing to external rhythm. Breathe with me. Four counts."
"Can't," I choked out.
"You can," Euan corrected, authoritative and calm. "Input follows output. Inhale. Two. Three. Four."
I dragged air into my lungs. It tasted of them. It tasted of safety.
The wave crested. It wasn't the devastating, lonely spike I’d felt in the venue. It was shared. Distributed across the network. Kit absorbed the shaking. Alfie took the restless energy. Euan managed the data.
Alfie nudged his head up, resting his chin on my knee, looking up at me with eyes that were pure devotion. "Good girl," he whispered, teasing out the thread he’d started at the green room. "Let us carry the weight. You don't have to mix this one solo."
"That's it," Kit encouraged, his hand flattening over my stomach, right over the center of the heat, providing the counter-pressure I was starving for. "We're right here. Furniture and walls and whatever else you need."
The heat broke. Not vanished, but shattered from a monolith into manageable pieces. The frantic edge dulled. My muscles unlocked, melting into the sofa, into Kit, into the space they’d carved out.
I slumped, exhausted, sweat cooling on my neck.
For a long time, the only sound was the hum of the bus on the tarmac and the syncopated breathing of four people trying to remember how lungs worked.
"You waited," I said finally. My voice was a wreck.
Alfie turned his face, pressing a kiss to the denim over my knee. Chaste. Reverent. "Always gonna wait for you. That’s baseline."
"You overrode the protocol," Euan noted, though he didn't let go of my wrist. He seemed to be recalibrating his entire worldview based on the BPM under his thumb. "The risk assessment was... flawed. You required proximity."
"I required the pack," I corrected.
The word hit the room like a dropped mic.
Kit went still against my back. Alfie stopped breathing. Euan’s fingers tightened on my wrist.
I opened my eyes. I pushed myself up, just a little, testing my limits. The fever was a low burn now, not a forest fire.
I shifted my leg, nudging Alfie. "Up. Get off the floor."
"I'm good here," he murmured, looking like he was ready to worship at the altar of my boots for the next century.
"Alfie. Up."
It was the producer voice. The one that cut through feedback.
He scrambled up, moving to sit on the coffee table in front of me, needing to be close but afraid to crowd.
I looked at them. Really looked at them. The three men who had rewritten their own biology because a piece of paper said I needed space. Who had let me scream in a green room rather than break a lock.
"I want to try something," I said.
Kit’s hand was still on my stomach. "Name it."
I looked at Alfie. His lips were parted, breath coming fast.
"Alfie. Permission to kiss you?"
He made a sound like a dying engine. "Copy that."
I leaned forward. I didn't rush. I let him see me coming, let him track the movement. I placed my hands on his shoulders, he felt vibrating tight, like a coiled spring.
I pressed my mouth to his.
He tasted of burnt sugar and shock. He froze for a split second, terrified of doing it wrong, before I sighed against his mouth.
"You can kiss back," I whispered.
He broke. With a low groan, his hands came up to cup my face, thumb brushing my cheekbone, and he kissed me like he was trying to breathe me in. It was messy and desperate and tasted like rain. He poured everything into it, the apology, the want, the agony of watching from ten feet away.
When I pulled back, he chased me for an inch before catching himself. His eyes were wet.
"Okay," I breathed.
I turned to Euan. He was watching with a look of clinical fascination masking absolute terror.
I reached out, tangling my fingers in the collar of his shirt as I pulled him gently forward.
"Permission?"
"Affirmative."
I didn't kiss his mouth. I pressed my lips to the center of his forehead, right between his eyebrows where the frown lines usually lived.
I felt the tension snap out of him instantly.
He slumped, his forehead resting against my shoulder, a hand coming up to brace himself against the wall behind the sofa.
"Grounding," he whispered into the fabric of the hoodie. "Efficient."
I turned back to Kit. My wall. My furniture.
He was watching me with a wolfish, satisfied grin, though his eyes were soft.
"Do I get a permission slip too?" he teased, though his voice wavered.
I leaned back into him, tilting my head up until my temple rested against his jaw. I brushed my mouth over the rough stubble of his cheek.
"You get to hold the structure together," I murmured against his skin.
He made a low, helpless sound in his chest, vibrating through my back. Immediately, he clamped his free hand behind his back, locking it away so he wouldn't grab me harder than the approved forty percent.
"Sorted," he rasped.
I looked at the three of them. The triangle. The mix.
"No choosing," I said. The clarity was sharper than the heat ever was. "I'm not picking a favorite frequency. I need the full spectrum."
Alfie wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning wild and shaky. "You’re center, yeah? We orbit you."
A quiet clearing of a throat came from the corner.
Cal had seemingly materialized from thin air. "Right. Heart rates are down from critical. Adrenaline is crashing. And I've put fresh sheets on the big bunk in the back."
He looked at me, mild and unshakeable.
"Tea's on the nightstand. Sleep is the priority. Unless anyone plans on fainting?"
"No fainting," Alfie said, hopping off the table. "We're operational."
"Then move," Cal gently ordered. "Pack sleep. Tonight."
I hesitated. The back bunk was the soundproofed one. The safe one. But it was one bed.
"No sex," I stated. "I'm too... raw. Just sleep. Just weight."
"Hoodies stay on," Kit promised, standing up and lifting me with him like I weighed nothing, before setting me on my feet. "Warm pile. We’ve got the perimeter."
We moved to the back. It was a tight squeeze. The bunk was designed for luxury touring, but four adults was a Tetris game of limbs.
I crawled into the middle. It wasn’t a choice; it was gravity.
Kit took the back wall, a solid line of heat. Alfie curled around my front, tucking his head under my chin. Euan took the foot of the bed, weighing down my legs, a heavy, grounding pressure that stopped the phantom tremors.
The lights went out.
In the darkness, the scents mingled. Blackberry. Molasses. Tea. Citrus.
It wasn't noise anymore. It was a chord. A perfect, major chord resolving after months of dissonance.
I felt Alfie trace the letters on his thumb against my hip bone. Ask.
"Good night, fox," he whispered.
"Night," I murmured.
Four in. Six out.
Only this time, I wasn't counting alone. I could feel Kit's chest rising and falling against my back, matching the rhythm perfectly. As exhaustion claimed me there was only question that I couldn't stop from running through my mind. What would change when we all woke up tomorrow?