Chapter 11
11
LEVI
M y head spins at River’s rapid-fire questions about our new housemate.
If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was the one who’d spotted Emma first, not Atlas.
“Yes, she’s settling in. No, she hasn’t tried to escape yet. Yes, I gave her the nest room,” I answered, barely getting a word in edgewise.
“The job’s almost done,” River explained.
“We’ll be back around lunch. We’ll bring pizza. Sound good?” Before I can answer, he continued, “Atlas says hi. Well, he grunted, but in Atlas-speak, that’s practically a sonnet.”
I slide my phone into my pocket, calculating angles and load-bearing considerations for the bookshelf I’ve been designing for the living room.
Three days ago, my biggest concern was whether Baltic birch or walnut would better complement our existing furniture.
Then a blond Omega with haunted eyes and a smart mouth crash-landed into our lives, and suddenly, we’re all circling like planets that have found a new sun.
I’m crossing through the living room when a high-pitched scream splits the quiet.
Not any scream, but the kind that freezes your blood, the kind that triggers every protective instinct in Alpha biology.
My body reacts before my brain can process—heart rate spiking, muscles tensing, focus narrowing to a pinpoint.
I’m halfway down the hall before the scream cuts off, only to start again, louder this time.
“Emma?” I call out, already knowing she’s in the bathroom.
Spatial awareness has always been my strong suit; I can map a building in my head after walking through it once and can pinpoint sound origins with near-perfect accuracy.
“Are you all right?”
Another scream is my only answer.
Not pain, there’s no underlying growl of someone truly hurt, but pure, unadulterated terror.
The mathematics of the situation compute instantly—Emma + bathroom + terror - visible threat = something unexpected frightening her, not an intruder or injury.
“I’m coming in!” I shout, not bothering to knock as I throw open the bathroom door.
Steam billows out in a thick cloud, momentarily disorienting me.
Through the fog, I can make out Emma’s form behind the frosted shower glass, pressed into the corner.
The sight triggers an unexpected pulse of desire that I ruthlessly suppress.
Emergency first, inappropriate thoughts later.
“Get it out! GET IT OUT!” she shrieks, her voice pitching higher with each word.
I scan the bathroom for anything out of place.
No structural damage, no visible source of water leakage, and no electrical malfunctions that might cause shock.
“What’s happening?” I ask, moving closer to the shower.
“Emma, what’s wrong?”
“THERE!” She points frantically to the opposite corner of the shower.
“Oh my God, it’s coming closer! Please, please get it!”
I move toward the shower door, still trying to identify the threat.
“I’m coming in, okay?”
“HURRY! Before it jumps!” The genuine terror in her voice has me sliding open the door without further hesitation.
A rush of steam escapes, then?—
Oh.
Fuck.
My brain short-circuits for approximately 2.
7 seconds.
Emma stands before me, completely naked, water cascading down her body in rivulets that make my mouth go desert-dry.
Honey-blond hair darkened by water plasters against her shoulders, drawing my eye to the elegant curve of her spine.
Droplets cling to her skin like they’re afraid to let go, and who could blame them?
Her breasts are perfect, rose-tipped handfuls that would fit my palms exactly, heave with each panicked breath.
My gaze tracks lower, over the gentle swell of her stomach to the curve of her hips, then to the apex of her thighs, where there’s a thin strip of light hair.
Fuck!
Focus. Threat assessment.
Now.
With monumental effort, I force my gaze to follow where she’s pointing.
And there it is.
Its front legs arch high, poised in a threat display, jagged edges silhouetted against the haze.
A huge spider. Its body bloated and black, bulbous and slick, gleaming wet in the humidity.
Even I flinch slightly.
“Don’t move,” I tell her, keeping my voice calm despite the adrenaline.
“That’s a wolf spider. Their venom is quite ineffective against people, but they can grow big and look intimidating. I need you to very slowly move toward me.”
“A what?” Emma squeaks, momentarily distracted from her terror by my terminology.
“No, I’m not moving an inch. It’ll jump. Spiders always jump.”
“Actually, they rarely jump unless severely threatened,” I explain automatically, my brain reverting to facts as a defense against the overwhelming sensory input of naked, wet Emma.
“They prefer to retreat when confronted by something larger than?—”
“If you’re about to tell me spider facts while I’m naked and terrified, I swear to God, Levi—” She breaks off as the spider shifts position slightly.
“OH MY GOD IT MOVED!”
“Emma,” I say firmly, using just enough Alpha tone to cut through her panic.
“I need you to trust me. Move toward me, slowly.”
“I can’t.” She shakes her head, pressing herself further into the corner.
“I literally can’t make my legs work. I’m completely paralyzed.” Her voice drops to a horrified whisper.
“I have severe arachnophobia. Like, diagnosed, went-to-therapy-for-it arachnophobia.”
That explains the intensity of her reaction.
I reassess the situation, calculating a new approach while trying desperately to keep my eyes on her face and not on the water droplets sliding between her breasts.
“Okay, new plan,” I say.
“I’m going to grab something to?—”
“Don’t you DARE leave me alone with that monster!” She looks on the verge of tears now, her hazel eyes wide with genuine fear.
“Please, Levi. Don’t go.”
The vulnerability in her voice hits me harder than I expect, awakening something fiercely protective that has nothing to do with Alpha biology and everything to do with.
.. her. Just her.
“I’ll be right back,” I promise, softening my tone.
“Five seconds. Count them out loud.”
Before she can protest further, I dart out of the bathroom and grab a towel from the linen closet.
Back in the bathroom, I push the door all the way open to create an escape route.
“One... two... thr— Oh, thank God, you came back,” she gasps, relief plain in her voice .
“I promised I would,” I say simply.
“Here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to throw this at the spider. The second I do, you run to me. Got it?”
Emma nods frantically, still pressed against the far tiled wall corner.
Water continues to stream down her body, and I can’t help but notice how her skin has pebbled with goosebumps despite the steam.
My gaze drops involuntarily to her breasts, where her nipples have hardened to tight peaks, and a fresh wave of heat crashes through me.
Not the time , I remind myself harshly.
“On three,” I say, forcing my attention back to the arachnid threat.
“One... two... THREE!”
I fling the towel at the spider, but instead of staying put, the little nightmare leaps.
Not toward Emma, thankfully, but directly at me.
Pure reflex has me ducking, and the spider lands on the bathroom floor with a barely audible pat.
Before it can scurry away, I bring my boot down hard.
There’s a sickening crunch as eight legs worth of menace meets its maker.
I’ve barely straightened when a wet, naked missile crashes into my chest. Emma throws herself against me, shaking violently, her arms locked around my waist like I’m the only solid thing in a collapsing world.
“Is it dead?” she gasps against my now-soaked shirt, face buried against my sternum.
“Tell me it’s gone, or we might need to burn this cabin and salt the earth afterward. ”
I can’t help but grin, even as my body responds all too eagerly to her nakedness pressed against me.
“It’s been permanently relocated to the underside of my boot.”
“Eek!” She flinches away from my boot, and in that moment of separation, her situation seems to dawn on her.
For one suspended moment, we just stare at each other.
Her eyes widen, darting down to her completely exposed body, then back up to my face, which, I’m sure, is doing a poor job of hiding exactly how affected I am by the view.
And what a view it is.
This close, I can see the freckles dusting across her shoulders, the small birthmark just below her left breast, and the gentle swell of her hips flaring out from a narrow waist. Her skin is flushed pink from the hot water or perhaps embarrassment and glistening with droplets I suddenly, desperately want to trace with my tongue.
My hands actually twitch with the need to touch, to explore, to claim.
My jeans are tightening around me to the point of pain.
She snatches another towel from the rack with lightning speed, wrapping it around herself with a squeak of mortification.
“Don’t look!”
“Oh, I saw nothing,” I lie, unable to keep the grin off my face.
“You are such a liar!” She swats my arm, leaving a wet handprint on my sleeve.
“Your eyes practically took measurements! ”
I can’t help it.
I laugh. “Force of habit. I’m an engineer.”
Her cheeks flame even redder.
Before I can say anything else, she’s darting past me into the hallway, leaving wet footprints on the hardwood as she practically sprints to her room.
The door slams behind her with enough force to rattle the frame.
“You’re welcome!” I call after her.
“I saved your life!”
Her muffled “Shut UP!” is just audible through the door, followed by what sounds suspiciously like laughter.
I glance down at my thoroughly soaked shirt and jeans, then at the spider corpse still under my boot.
For a moment, I consider collecting the specimen, it’s unusually large for the species and might be worth documenting, but decide Emma might actually commit homicide if she saw me preserving her nemesis.
With a sigh that’s equal parts amusement and frustration, I clean up the bathroom, dispose of the arachnid remains in the outside trash, and head to my room to change.
As I peel off my wet clothes, the image of Emma, wide-eyed, water-slicked, and gloriously bare, replays in my mind like a torturous highlight reel.
This living arrangement just got a whole lot more complicated.
And exponentially more interesting.
By the time Emma emerges from her room, I’ve changed into dry clothes and am lounging on the couch.
I glance up casually, as if I haven’t been listening for her door for the past forty-two minutes.
She hovers at the edge of the living room, wearing a pair of gray sweatpants and an oversized Whispering Grove Fire Department hoodie—both items from the clothes we’d purchased for her, tags recently removed judging by the tiny plastic thread clinging to the sleeve.
Her hair is damp but combed, falling in waves around her shoulders, and her cheeks are still flushed with either embarrassment or the lingering heat from her shower.
For several seconds, she seems to debate whether to acknowledge me or retreat back to her room.
I decide to make it easy for her.
“The enemy has been vanquished,” I say, setting my book aside.
“The cabin is now a certified arachnid-free zone.”
She takes a few tentative steps into the room, and I notice she’s carefully scanning the floor and corners as she moves.
Her spider trauma runs deeper than just momentary fear.
“Arachnophobia, huh?”
“Clinically diagnosed,” she confirms, sinking into the opposite end of the couch.
“Since I was eight. A babysitter thought it would be funny to put a tarantula on my pillow while I was sleeping.”
I wince.
“That’s... sadistic.”
“She didn’t work for our family again,” Emma says darkly.
“But the damage was done. One glimpse of those eight legs and I’m instantly eight years old again, waking up to fuzzy legs on my face. ”
“That explains the extreme reaction,” I say.
“The adrenaline spike from a phobia trigger can be comparable to actual life-threatening situations.”
She eyes me curiously.
“You sound like my therapist.”
“I did a research project on fear responses during my engineering master’s,” I explain.
“Panic reactions to fire alarms versus actual fires. I had to study phobic responses as a comparison point.”
“Of course you did,” she says.
We sit in silence for a moment, the earlier awkwardness gradually dissolving into something more comfortable.
Then, she clears her throat.
“So,” she begins, not quite meeting my eyes.
“About... what happened...”
“The spider assassination has been classified as a top-secret operation,” I say solemnly.
“All details are strictly need-to-know.”
Relief floods her expression.
“Thank you. I’d rather not have the whole naked, screaming Omega story become pack dinner conversation.”
“Your dignity is safe with me,” I assure her.
Then, because I can’t quite help myself, I add, “Though the image itself... that might be permanently etched into my memory.”
Her blush returns full force.
“Levi!”
I raise my hands in mock surrender.
“I’m just being honest! I’m a visual person with an eidetic memory. It’s both a blessing and a curse. ”
“Right now, it sounds like a curse for me,” she mutters.
I can’t help myself.
Standing, I move closer to her, watching as her eyes widen slightly, pupils dilating as I approach.
When I’m standing directly in front of her, close enough that she has to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact, I lean down slightly.
“I can make it up to you, you know,” I say, my voice dropping lower.
“Make... what up to me?” she asks, her own voice barely above a whisper.
“The embarrassment,” I clarify.
“I can even the playing field.”
Her eyebrows furrow in confusion.
“How?”
I lean even closer, close enough to catch the subtle vanilla-and-old-books scent that clings to her skin even after her shower.
“I’ll strip for you,” I murmur.
“Let you see me naked. Only fair, right? Because now I won’t ever be able to sleep without seeing you so beautifully displayed in front of me.”
For a moment, she just gapes at me, shock written across her features.
Then, something shifts in her expression.
“Are you seriously offering to get naked as some kind of... consolation prize?” she asks, her voice caught between incredulity and something darker, hungrier.
“I’m offering to restore cosmic balance,” I say with exaggerated seriousness.
“It’s simple mathematics. One naked Omega plus one naked Alpha equals equilibrium.”
A startled laugh escapes her.
“I never thought I’d hear someone use math as a seduction technique.”
“Is it working?” I ask, genuinely curious.
She studies me for a long moment, her hazel eyes unreadable.
“You’re different when we’re alone,” she finally says.
“Less...”
“Reserved?” I suggest.
“I was going to say ‘buttoned-up’,” she admits.
“When Atlas and River are around, you’re so careful. Precise. Now, you’re all...” She gestures vaguely at my current position, looming over her with clear intent.
“They know who I am,” I explain simply.
“I don’t have to prove anything to them. But you...” I trail off, considering how to articulate the strange effect she has on me.
“You make me want to show you more.”
Something vulnerable flashes across her face.
“Yeah, right,” she scoffs, but there’s a breathless quality to her voice that betrays her affected nonchalance.
“Consider yourself lucky for a one-time look. It’s not happening again.”
I cock an eyebrow.
“Are you sure about that?”
The front door opens before she can answer, and the scent of pizza fills the cabin.
River enters first, balancing three large boxes, followed by Atlas with a paper bag that smells like garlic bread.
“Honeys, we’re home!” River sings out, kicking the door shut behind him.
“And we bring offerings of cheesy goodness for our—” He stops mid-sentence, eyes darting between Emma and me, taking in our proximity and the charged atmosphere.
“Are we interrupting something?”
Atlas’s gaze zeros in on us with laser focus as he sets the food on the coffee table.
“Everything okay here?”
Emma jumps up from the couch, putting distance between us with almost comical haste.
“I almost died this morning,” she announces dramatically, clearly desperate to change the subject.
“When you invited me to move in, you conveniently failed to mention this place is infested with mutant spider monsters from the ninth circle of hell!”
The three of us exchange glances, River’s lips already twitching with poorly suppressed amusement.
“There was one in the shower with me,” Emma continues, gesturing wildly.
“With fangs like steak knives! And those creepy front legs that were all…” She mimics the spider’s threatening posture, raising her hands and wiggling her fingers.
“It could have bitten me! Or I could have slipped and cracked my head open trying to escape it! There would have been blood everywhere!”
River turns to me, eyes dancing with mischief.
“So you saved her? While she was in the shower?”
Emma’s cheeks flame.
“He’s under strict instructions to never speak of it again.”
I draw an X over my heart with one finger, expression solemn.
“A burden I alone must bear.”
River clutches his chest in mock despair.
“The injustice! The cruelty!”
“It wasn’t a show,” Emma protests.
Atlas, who’s been silently observing our banter, approaches us, setting the garlic bread alongside the pizza boxes.
“So, our resident hero saved you from certain death?”
“Yep,” Emma confirms resignedly.
“Sounds like our Levi,” River says, flopping onto the couch and patting the space beside him invitingly.
“He’s always had a flair for dramatic rescues.”
Emma hesitates, then sits beside River, tucking one leg beneath her.
Atlas settles on her other side, leaving me to either take the armchair or join them on the sofa.
I opt for the latter, claiming the space on River’s other side.
“I’m starving,” Emma declares, clearly trying to steer the conversation away from her shower adventure.
Atlas chuckles, opening the top pizza box.
“Wasn’t sure what you liked, so we got a variety. Pepperoni, supreme, and veggie.”
Emma’s eyes light up at the sight of the pepperoni.
“You beautiful, beautiful men,” she says fervently, grabbing a slice and folding it in half before taking a massive bite.
The small moan of pleasure she makes has all three of us staring.
“We miss all the fun when we’re gone.” River sighs, reaching for a slice of supreme.
“Speaking of comfort,” Atlas interjects, his gaze landing on Emma.
“How’s the room working out for you? Levi put a lot of thought into it.”
The way he looks at her, like he’s imagining exactly how she’d look sprawled across that nest bed, sends a flare of possessive heat through me.
We don’t compete, we complement.
It’s what makes us work.
“It’s perfect,” she answers.
“I really can’t thank you all enough. The nest, the clothes… it’s incredibly generous.” Her gaze flickers to me, and the blush returns full force.
“Want to try the supreme?” I ask her, selecting a slice and holding it out to her, just close enough that she’ll need to lean in if she wants it.
She eyes me suspiciously, but her stomach apparently overrules her caution.
She leans forward, reaching for the slice, but I pull it back slightly, just out of reach.
“Ah-ah,” I tease. “Open up.” I’m curious to see how she’ll respond to this small assertion of dominance.
River snorts into his soda, and Atlas watches with undisguised interest as Emma debates her options.
After a moment’s hesitation, she narrows her eyes at me, challenging, not submissive, then opens her mouth, allowing me to feed her the slice.
Her lips brush my fingertips, the contact sending a jolt of electricity up my arm.
I don’t break eye contact, don’t care that the others are watching.
Let them see. Let her know exactly what she’s doing to me.
“Good?” I ask, my voice deliberately lower.
She swallows, then nods.
“Not bad.” Her attempt at nonchalance might be more convincing if her pupils weren’t blown wide, her scent shifting subtly to something sweeter, headier.
“So,” River interjects, clearly enjoying the show.
“Any other creatures we should warn you about in these woods? Bears? Mountain lions? Overly amorous squirrels with boundary issues?”
“Just us three,” Atlas answers with a wicked grin before Emma can respond.
She nearly chokes on her pizza again.
“Good to know,” she manages after recovering.
“Any of you happen to be venomous? Should I keep my distance? Sleep with one eye open?”
“Only if you’re afraid of getting bitten,” I say, earning a swift kick from River.
“Don’t mind him,” River stage-whispers to Emma.
“He’s all equations and precision until he sees something he wants. Then he’s like a different person.”
Emma raises an eyebrow, glancing between River and me.
“And you know this from experience?”
“We’ve been packmates for many years,” River says with a wink.
“I know all his secrets.”
We enjoy the pizza while I turn on the television, flicking through channels until he stops on Midnight Valley.
“Stop here,” I say, a bit too excited.
“I love this show.”
“You watch it, too? I try to watch it at the station as it only airs at midday!” I state .
“It’s his obsession,” Atlas confirms. “He makes us sit through it every week.”
“You said you liked it last episode!” I protest.
Atlas shrugs.
“I said the werewolf was decent. Not the same thing.”
River nods solemnly, biting into his slice of supreme.
Emma laughs, the sound bright and unguarded, and something in my chest tightens.
It’s the first time I’ve heard her really laugh, not nervous or sarcastic, but really amused.
I pull up the latest episode, settling back on the couch, and we all settle in to watch.
A short moment later, I notice Emma surreptitiously pull out her phone.
At first, I think she’s checking messages, but then I catch a glimpse of the screen—she’s angling it to capture a photo of River, who’s absorbed in the show.
I watch her for a moment, fascinated by this small, secretive action.
Is she documenting her stay?
Gathering images of us for her enjoyment later?
When the commercial break comes, I lean over River, bringing my face close to hers.
“Are you collecting images of us for future research?” I murmur, nodding toward her phone.
She startles, nearly dropping the device.
“What? No!”
River looks up, immediately interested.
“You took a photo of me? Sweet, tell and I’ll pose.” Without waiting for a response, he unbuttons the top of his shirt with a theatrical flourish, then throws himself into a ridiculous pin-up pose on the couch, complete with duck lips and bedroom eyes.
Emma bursts out laughing but lifts her phone to snap the picture, anyway.
“It’s for my friend Jess,” she admits, the blush returning to her cheeks.
“She insisted on knowing who I’m staying with, so if I go missing, she knows whose photos to give the cops.”
“Oh, so we’re potential criminals now?” I raise an eyebrow.
She shrugs. “An Omega’s got to be safe. For all I know, you’re all serial killers.”
“I posed for mine back at the fire station,” Atlas points out, a hint of smugness in his tone.
“Full disclosure for the authorities.”
“So, want me with or without my shirt?” I ask, already pulling the fabric over my head before she can answer.
“Gotta make sure your friend has accurate identification materials.”
The words die in Emma’s throat as she takes in my bare chest. Her lips part slightly, eyes widening.
It’s gratifying, that look—a validation of the hours I spend training.
“You’re drooling,” River points out helpfully, nudging her with his elbow.
Atlas chuckles. “If you want to sit next to him, I’ll take a photo of both of you. Then we could do all of us. ”
“Nope!” Emma squeaks, frantically snapping a picture of me, anyway.
“Got all I need, thanks!”
We all laugh, and as the show resumes, I make no move to put my shirt back on.
Every few minutes, I catch her stealing glances at me, her eyes tracing the lines of my torso before darting away when caught.
I stretch deliberately, showcasing the muscles of my abdomen and am rewarded with a sharp intake of breath from her direction.
Two can play at this game.
If I’m never going to sleep again without a hard-on while she’s in this house, then she deserves a little torture, too.
Let the games begin, indeed.