Chapter 36
THIRTY-SIX
Zia
I opened my eyes. The ceiling of the collab house loft was white, cracked plaster, bathed in the soft, grey light of a London morning. Usually, waking up meant a systems check, verify location, verify exits, verify coffee proximity.
Today, the system check returned a completely new set of data.
Input 1: Heavy. Warm. Smelling of espresso and dark, wet earth. Kit’s arm was draped over me, his hand huge and heavy on my sternum as if to keep my soul from floating out of my body.
Input 2: Sharp context. Toasted sesame and roasted tea. Euan was curled against my back, his forehead pressed between my shoulder blades, breathing in a precise, metronomic rhythm that vibrated against my spine.
Input 3: Chaos. Burnt sugar and blackberries. Alfie was tangled in the sheets at the foot of the bed, clinging to my calves like he was drowning, drooling slightly onto my shin.
I didn't move. I couldn't move, physically, but more importantly, I didn't want to.
I carefully lifted a hand to my neck. My fingers brushed the skin, sensitive and hot. Three distinct topographic features.
On the left, near the pulse point: jagged, frantic, slightly messy. Alfie.
On the right, surgical placement: precise, deep, perfectly aligned with the muscle. Euan.
On the nape, the anchor point: wide, bruising, impossibly heavy. Kit.
I touched them, tracing the indentations of teeth that had locked me into this circuit. The sensation sent a shiver of pure, synesthetic gold shivering down my back. It sounded like a major chord resolving after a three-day build-up.
Marked.
I wasn't just the producer anymore. I was the master track, and they had all laid down their vocals.
I carefully extricated my arm from under Kit, wincing slightly as soreness flared in my hips. Good soreness. The kind that felt like a job well done. I sat up against the headboard, the silk sheet pooling at my waist.
The room was a disaster. Clothes were strewn everywhere like confetti after a parade. There were empty water bottles, towels, and the lingering, heavy scent of the Pack, a biological fog so thick I could taste the sweetness of it on the back of my tongue.
I needed armor. Not the defensive kind, but the claiming kind.
I reached for the floor.
First layer was Alfie’s vintage The Clash t-shirt, soft as butter and smelling of spiced rum. I pulled it on. It hung off my shoulder, exposing the bite on the left.
Second layer was Kit’s wool socks. I fished them out from under the bed. They came up to my knees, thick and grey and smelling of safety.
Third layer was Euan’s noise-canceling headphones. They were on the nightstand. I didn't plug them in. I just draped them around my neck, the cool plastic resting against my collarbones, framing the marks.
I grabbed my tablet from the side table. The battery was at 12%. Enough.
I opened a new file.
POST-CLAIM ANALYSIS log_01.
I looked at the sleeping pile of Alphas. My Alphas. My pack.
Alfie shifted, muttering something unintelligible about a chorus hook. He blinked, his eyes struggling to open in the daylight. He spotted me sitting there, wearing his shirt, tapping on a screen.
A slow, lazy, devastatingly smug grin spread across his face.
"Morning, fox," he rasped. His voice was ruined, a jagged wreck of a thing. "You look... thoroughly edited."
"I look occupied," I corrected, not looking up from the screen. "How are the vocal cords?"
"Shredded," he whispered happily, dragging himself up the mattress until he could rest his chin on my knee. "Worth it. I’d ruin them again right now."
"Don't," I said, tapping the glass. "I need you vocal for the acoustics on Thursday."
Kit groaned, rolling onto his back and scrubbing a hand over his face. The ink on his chest seemed darker against the flush of his skin. "She’s doing QA," Kit rumbled, his voice a seismic event. "The woman has three bites on her neck and she’s doing Quality Assurance."
"Someone has to," I said. "Alfie."
"Yeah?" Alfie looked nervous now.
"At minute forty-seven," I said, referring to my internal timestamp. "During the second bite sequence. You rushed the tempo. You were rushing the beat. We need to implement a breath-reset protocol next time so you don't hyperventilate."
Alfie’s jaw dropped. "I was crying, Z! I was having a spiritual experience! I wasn't counting bars!"
"Spiritual experiences require breath support," I countered. "Otherwise you pass out, and then Kit has to carry you."
"I would have carried you," Kit promised, reaching out to squeeze Alfie’s ankle. "But she’s right. You were rushing."
"Et tu, Brute?" Alfie gasped, falling back onto the pillows dramatically.
"Euan," I continued, looking at the sleeping form of the technician.
Euan didn't move, but his eyes opened. Slate grey. Alert instantly.
"Listening," he murmured into the pillow.
"Your structural integrity was optimal," I said. "However, the angle of entry on the second latch... you were three degrees off center. It caused unnecessary friction on the approach."
Euan sat up slowly. The sheet fell away. He looked at me, his expression shifting from sleepiness to a terrifying, heated intensity.
"Noted," he rasped. "I will recalibrate for the next session. I will require... extensive testing to ensure the new angle is correct."
"Approved," I said, fighting a smile. "We can schedule trials for Wednesday."
Kit laughed, a low, rich sound that made the mattress shake. He sat up, leaning against the headboard, pulling me back until I was resting against his massive chest.
"And me?" he asked, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. "How was the furniture?"
"Sturdy," I said, leaning into him. "Reliable. Though you gripped the anchor points a little hard. I’m going to have bruises on my hips shaped like your thumbs for a week."
"Property tags," Kit growled possessively, his hand sliding down to cover the exact spot he was talking about. "Just verifying the inventory."
I let out a slow breath. The banter, the technical jargon... it was the only way my brain could process the overwhelming reality of what had happened. If I treated it like a mix, I could handle the intensity. If I looked at it as just love, I might shatter.
The door to the bedroom creaked open.
We all froze. Pack instinct. Three heads snapped toward the intrusion.
Cal stood in the doorway.
He was wearing crisp jeans and a sweater, looking annoyingly fresh and rested. He held a massive tray laden with tea, toast, and what looked like four different types of analgesics.
He stepped into the room, ignoring the heavy biological static that hit him like a wall.
"Right," Cal said, setting the tray on the dresser. "Kettle's boiled. Eat. Hydrate. Nobody is allowed to pass out today, we have a schedule."
He looked at me. His gaze lingered on the bite marks on my neck, stark and purple against my pale skin. He didn't flinch. He didn't look away.
He just nodded.
"Decent grouping," Cal critiqued mildly. "Bit messy on the left, Alfie, but points for enthusiasm."
Alfie groaned into the pillow. "Everyone's a critic."
"Drink this," Cal said, handing me a mug. Earl Grey. Two sugars. Perfect temperature. "Rowan's downstairs. She's fielding calls from the label. Gareth is threatening to sue us for breach of contract regarding 'public decency,' which is rich coming from him."
"Let him sue," Kit said, taking a piece of toast. "Zia signed the partnership papers. We're an LLC. We can sue him back for harassment."
"Rowan is currently explaining that to his lawyers in very short, very expensive sentences," Cal said. "But you need to be ready. We have a press line at the venue tonight. London show. It’s going to be a zoo."
I took a sip of the tea. The warmth spread through my chest, grounding me.
"I'm ready," I said.
I picked up my phone. It had been blowing up for twelve hours, but I had it on Do Not Disturb.
I unlocked it.
Callie (147 Unread Messages)
I scrolled to the bottom.
ZIA.
ZIA VALE.
The manifesto track. The lyrics. The Reddit threads.
Are you alive? Are you claimed? If you don't text me back in ten minutes I am invoking the best friend clause and flying to London to punch all three of them.
I grinned. I shifted the collar of Alfie’s t-shirt, exposing the landscape of my neck. I angled the camera.
Click.
The photo was blurry, intimate, and undeniable. Three marks. My mouth was visible in the corner of the frame, curved in a smirk that said I won.
I hit send.
Don't punch them.
[Image_Attachment.jpg]
The three dots appeared instantly. They bubbled for a long time.
Babe.
BABE.
BABE!
REVERSE. HAREM.
You actually did it. You collected the whole set. Now we both have packs!!
Tell me everything. Leave nothing out. I want schematics.
I laughed. "Euan, Callie wants schematics."
Euan reached for a piece of toast, looking thoughtful. "I have CAD files on my laptop. I can send her a PDF."
"Don't you dare," I said, affectionately kicking him. I had no idea what kind of CAD files he had, but I had no doubt he’d find either the most boring ones or the dirtiest ones he could just to get some kind of reaction out of my best friend.