Cara
Iwake up in a pile of alphas.
Not a sentence I ever thought I’d think, but here we are.
Nate is behind me, arm heavy across my waist, purring in his sleep like some kind of oversized space heater. The man never purred in his life before bonding me. Now he can’t stop. It’s like living with a very large, very stoic cat.
It should feel unfamiliar. New.
It doesn’t. It feels like coming home.
Lucas is in front of me, holding my hand even unconscious. Because of course he is. And Theo is sprawled across the foot of the nest like a starfish, drooling on one of the pillows and taking up approximately seventy percent of the available space.
Some things never change.
Morning light filters through the windows. The window seat Nate designed. The view of Theo’s garden—roses dormant now, bare branches and brown earth waiting for spring. Nine years ago, they built this room, scent-marked it, and waited.
For someone who might never come back.
And I was in LA writing books about them like some kind of emotionally stunted stalker.
Cool. Very normal. Not pathetic at all.
A cramp rolls through my belly, pulling me out of my spiral. Right. Pre-heat. That’s still happening.
Nate’s arm tightens around me, his purring kicking up a notch. Through the bond, I feel him surface into awareness. Contentment. Warmth. A fierce possessiveness that probably should bother me.
Shockingly, it doesn’t.
“Morning.” His voice is gravel and sleep, his lips brushing against his mark on my neck.
“Morning.”
He doesn’t say anything else. Just presses his nose to my shoulder and breathes me in like I’m oxygen and he’s been drowning.
Very communicative. Classic Nate.
In front of me, Lucas stirs. His eyes open—immediately alert, immediately checking my temperature with the back of his hand. The man can’t turn off doctor mode if his life depends on it.
“How are you feeling?”
“Crampy. Maybe a four out of ten.”
“Temperature’s elevated.” His thumb strokes my wrist. “It’ll get worse before it breaks.”
“Thanks, WebMD.”
His mouth twitches. “I went to medical school.”
“Show-off.”
At the foot of the nest, Theo makes a noise like a dying walrus and rolls over. “Why is everyone talking?”
“Because it’s nine AM,” Lucas says.
“Exactly. The middle of the night.”
“That’s not—” Lucas pinches the bridge of his nose. “Never mind.”
Theo sits up, hair sticking out in seventeen directions. He looks at the three of us—Nate wrapped around me, Lucas still holding my hand—and his expression goes soft in a way that makes my chest hurt.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hey yourself.”
“Sleep okay?”
“Best I have in years, actually.”
His smile breaks open like sunrise. God, that smile. Ten years and it still does things to me.
Another cramp hits, harder this time. I wince before I can stop myself.
“Okay.” Theo’s up instantly, the sleepiness gone. “Breakfast. I’ve got it.” He points at Lucas. “You can make coffee. That’s it. Last time you helped, you somehow burned water.”
“That was one time.”
“You burned. Water.”
“The pot was defective.”
“Nate, keep him out of my kitchen.”
Nate grunts in agreement. Lucas looks mildly offended.
I laugh. Can’t help it.
All three of them turn to look at me like I’ve done something amazing.
“What?”
“Nothing.” Theo’s grin softens. “Just missed that sound.”
Oh.
Okay.
I’m not going to cry about breakfast banter at nine in the morning. I’m a grown woman. I write spicy romance novels for a living. I have dignity.
The dignity lasts approximately four seconds before my eyes get suspiciously wet.
“Breakfast,” Nate says, and scoops me up like I weigh nothing.
The kitchen is chaos. Good chaos.
Theo commandeers the stove while Lucas hovers uselessly and Nate refuses to let me do anything except sit at the table and drink coffee.
“I can help—”
“Sit.”
“I’m not dying.”
“You’re pre-heat.” He presses a mug into my hands. Made exactly the way I like it, because of course he remembers. “Sit.”
I sit.
Through the bond, I feel his anticipation buzzing underneath the protectiveness. He wants this—not just me, but all of it. Me here, in this kitchen, with his pack. What’s coming.
I’ve written this moment a hundred times. The omega finally claiming her alphas. The pack bonds snapping into place one by one. I just never thought I’d actually live it.
“Food’s ready,” Theo announces, sliding a plate in front of me. Fluffy scrambled eggs, perfectly golden toast, crispy bacon arranged in a little smiley face.
“Did you make my breakfast smile at me?”
“I’m a nurturer.”
“You’re ridiculous,” Lucas says, sliding into the seat beside me. “Eat. You need protein.”
“Medical opinion?”
“Common sense.”
A thump from the doorway announces Mr. Darcy’s arrival. My orange tabby surveys the kitchen with the disdain of a small furry dictator, ignores Lucas and Theo completely, and makes a beeline for Nate.
Because of course he does.
Mr. Darcy hates everyone. He hated my neighbor. He hated the UPS guy so much the man refused to deliver to my building anymore. He once stared at a houseguest for six hours straight without blinking, which I’m pretty sure violates the Geneva Convention.
But Nate? Nate he loves. Instant, inexplicable devotion from a cat who’s never shown devotion to anyone, including me, the person who feeds him.
Theo’s face falls. “Oh, come on. That cat’s been here twelve hours and he still acts like I don’t exist.”
“Cats can smell desperation.” Nate scratches behind Mr. Darcy’s ears. The cat’s purring rivals his own. Two big predators just rumbling at each other in the kitchen.
“I’m not desperate, I’m friendly.”
“Same thing to a cat.”
“I’m a delight. I’m a ray of sunshine. Ask anyone.” Theo crouches down, extending a hand toward Mr. Darcy. “Hey, buddy. We can be friends. I’m very likeable.”
Mr. Darcy looks at Theo’s hand, looks at Theo’s face, and turns away with visible contempt.
“That cat is broken,” Theo announces.
“That cat has standards,” Nate says. Mr. Darcy settles into his lap like a smug orange loaf and closes his eyes. Traitor.
I try to eat, but the cramps are coming faster now. Every few minutes, another wave, and I have to grip the edge of the table until it passes.
Lucas’s hand covers mine. “Back to the nest.”
Nate scoops me up before I can argue.
The nest room is better.
Their scents are concentrated here, layered into every blanket and pillow, and I sink into the softness gratefully. Nate settles behind me, pulling me against his chest.
“Let us help,” he murmurs against my neck.
Another cramp rolls through me and I whimper. Slick pulses between my thighs—I’m soaked through my underwear already, have been since breakfast.
“Please,” I manage. “I need—”
Theo’s hand slides down my stomach. “We know what you need.”
His fingers slip under the waistband of my pants, and I gasp when he finds how wet I am. He groans, low and hungry.
“Fuck, Cara. You’re dripping.”
“Pre-heat,” Lucas says, but his voice is strained. He’s pressed against my front now, his cool hand sliding up under my shirt. “Her body’s preparing.”
“I know what it is.” Theo’s fingers slide through my folds, slow and teasing. “I’m just appreciating it.”
I make a sound that’s somewhere between a laugh and a moan. Then his thumb finds my clit and the laugh dies in my throat.
“There you go,” he murmurs. “Let us take care of you.”
Behind me, Nate’s purr kicks up. Through the bond, I feel his satisfaction—watching his pack take care of me, feeling my pleasure echo through our connection. His hand slides up to cup my breast, thumb brushing my nipple through my bra.
“More,” I gasp. “Theo, please—”
He pushes two fingers inside me and I cry out. The stretch is exactly what I needed, the cramp easing as my body finally gets something to clench around. He fucks me slow with his fingers, curling them to hit that spot that makes my vision blur.
Lucas captures my mouth, swallowing my moans. His kiss is controlled, deliberate—so different from Theo’s playful energy or Nate’s intensity. He kisses like he’s cataloging every response, learning exactly what makes me gasp.
“That’s it,” Theo murmurs. His thumb circles my clit while his fingers work inside me. “Come for us, sweetheart. Take the edge off.”
I’m close already—pre-heat makes everything more intense, every touch magnified. Nate’s hand on my breast, Lucas’s mouth on mine, Theo’s fingers buried inside me. Their scents surrounding me, earth and honeysuckle and pine and something clean going dark with arousal.
“Please,” I whimper against Lucas’s lips. “Please, I need—”
Theo crooks his fingers and presses hard on my clit, and I shatter.
The orgasm rolls through me, pleasure crashing in waves. Theo works me through it, his fingers never stopping, drawing it out until I’m shaking and oversensitive and making sounds I’d be embarrassed about if I could think straight.
“Good girl,” Nate rumbles against my neck. Through the bond, his satisfaction pulses into me, warm and possessive. “That’s our omega.”
I come down slowly, Theo’s fingers still moving in gentle circles. The cramp that had been building is gone—for now.
“Better?” Lucas asks.
“Yeah.” My voice is wrecked. “But it won’t last.”
“We know.” Theo withdraws his fingers and I whimper at the loss. He brings them to his mouth and sucks them clean, his eyes locked on mine. “We’ll do it again. As many times as you need.”
“Until the heat breaks,” Lucas adds. His hand is still under my shirt, stroking my skin. “Then you choose who you want first.”
Another cramp is already building, slower this time but inevitable. I press back into Nate, feeling his hard length against my ass—he’s been hard this whole time, I realize, but he hasn’t asked for anything. Just held me. Let the others take care of me.
“Your turn,” I say, reaching back for him.
“Not yet.” He catches my hand, brings it to his lips. “This is about you.”
“Nate—”
“When you’re in heat. When you’re ready.” He presses a kiss to my palm. “Right now, we take care of you.”
God. These men.
The next few hours blur together. They take turns—Theo with his clever fingers, Lucas with his mouth (and god, the sounds he makes when he’s between my thighs, like I’m the best thing he’s ever tasted), Nate holding me through every orgasm, his purr vibrating against my back.
They talk too, between rounds. About the garden Theo’s been tending. About the paint colors they argued over when they built this room. About how Nate once threatened to throw a can of “dusty rose” through a window.
“It was mauve,” he mutters.
“Same thing.”
“They’re completely different colors.”
I laugh, even with Lucas’s head between my legs and another orgasm building. This is what pack is supposed to be. Taking care of each other. Pleasure and comfort and bickering about paint.
Then a cramp hits that’s different.
Sharper. Deeper. Like something inside me finally snapping.
I cry out. My scent explodes—honey and citrus going sharp and desperate and unmistakably omega-in-heat. Slick gushes between my thighs, so much of it, soaking through everything.
“Full heat,” Lucas breathes. “It’s starting.”
All three of them go rigid.
Their scents flood the air—pine and woodsmoke, earth and honeysuckle, something sharp and clinical—all going dark and thick with want. I can taste their arousal on my tongue. Feel Nate’s control straining through the bond. See the way Theo’s hands shake where they’re still tangled in my hair.
But they’re waiting.
Even now. Even with my scent screaming at them. Even with every instinct in their bodies telling them to take.
They’re waiting for me to choose.
I look at Nate first. My bonded alpha. Through our connection, I feel his complete lack of jealousy—just anticipation, eagerness, a fierce joy at watching his pack finally become whole.
I look at Theo. Golden and gorgeous, eyes dark with want.
Then I turn my head. My eyes find Lucas.
Steady, controlled Lucas. Who’s loved me quietly for a decade. Who left pressed flowers in my locker and memorized my coffee order and never asked for anything in return. Who’s spent the last hour pressing cool hands to my fevered skin and kissing my forehead like I’m something precious.
Who’s looking at me now like I’m the answer to every question he’s ever asked.
He’s the one who’s waited longest in some ways. Theo kissed me first, all those years ago. Nate claimed me first, just days ago. But Lucas has been patient through all of it, always holding back, always letting others take the lead.
Not anymore.
“Lucas.” My voice cracks on his name. “Please. I need you.”
His control shatters.
I watch it happen. The careful mask cracking. Something primal and hungry rising up underneath. His scent goes dark—darker than I’ve ever smelled it, clinical burning away to something raw and demanding.
“Cara.” Just my name. But it sounds like a vow.
Through the bond, Nate’s satisfaction crashes into me. No jealousy. No hesitation.
Just yes.
Him.
Yours.
Ours.
Pack.
Lucas moves over me, and everything else falls away.