Chapter 20
Piper
I wake up cocooned in my nest. The king-sized bed at Kellen’s manor has become some kind of pack sprawl in the night.
Kellen’s hand is up my shirt and Nolan’s palm cradles my hip.
If there was ever a more embarrassing way to wake up after a heat, it would be if I drooled on the pillow too.
And, okay, that’s not outside the realm of possibility, either.
My heat is over. My body has stopped vibrating with the urge to grind myself on every surface, and the world’s finally faded out of that funhouse blur.
My mind, however, is still full of all the ways I flung myself at my partners—begged, sobbed, and, at one point, tried to bite a chunk out of Kellen’s very royal shoulder.
God. I’m a menace.
But I am a very happy menace. Because I have a pack now. Officially.
I twist carefully so I don’t wake Nolan, only to meet Kellen’s eyes across the sheets. He’s awake, and even after what has to be less than four hours of sleep, somehow manages to look like he’s spent the morning at a spa. His pupils dilate when he sees I’m up.
“Good morning, angel,” he whispers.
“I have never once looked less like an angel.”
“You have, actually,” says Elliot, who’s materialized from nowhere and is propping himself up on his elbows at the edge of the bed. “Somewhere between three and four p.m. yesterday afternoon.”
My cheeks burn bright.
Nolan stirs then, rising to plant a soft kiss on one of those burning cheeks. “Don’t listen to him, angel.”
Kellen extricates his hand from my shirt and rakes it through his sleep-tousled hair. “I vote we call for pastries and then collapse for the rest of the day so we can all recover from Piper’s heat. Does anyone have urgent or popstarly obligations?”
“Your parents might have some feedback about your vanishing act,” Elliot says, but his tone is more amused than reprimanding.
“Let them stew. They’ll survive without my company.” Kellen makes a show of stretching, arms over his head and shirt riding up. I catch Elliot looking, too. There’s something deeply satisfying about knowing I’m not the only one in this room afflicted with terminal Kellen Brain.
“Anyone else think we should talk about it?” Nolan’s voice is a surprise, low and rumbling into my shoulder. “This. Us.”
I stiffen, ready for something heavy, but he just says, “It was good.”
I look at him over my shoulder. His beard is even more of a disaster than usual, and he’s wearing a contented daze I’ve only seen after he’s successfully terrorized the entire security detail for an arena show. He meets my gaze, expression soft.
My lips curl upward, the warmth spreading from my chest outward until I can feel it in my cheeks. “It was everything.”
No one argues. Not even Elliot, who seems to have made it his life’s mission to banter with me until I’m dead in the ground.
We’re all staring sappily at each other when Kellen clears his throat. “So, are we telling people?”
Elliot meets Kellen’s gaze. “You mean your parents.”
Kellen’s face goes stony for a moment. “I meant, in general.”
I’m about to say, “Why not?” when Nolan mutters, “Because the media will eat her alive.”
It takes me a second to realize he means me.
I don’t even flinch. “They already do. That’s their job.” I put my hand on top of Nolan’s and brush my thumb along the scar on his wrist. “I’m fine. As long as I have my pack, I can handle a few thousand haters with too much time on their hands.”
Kellen’s lips quirk. “Not sure I’d call the national press ‘a few thousand haters.’”
“Well, they’re not very imaginative,” I shoot back. “Recycled headlines. Low effort memes. I expect better from the fourth estate.”
“You’re insane,” says Elliot, but he says it like it’s an endearment.
Nolan, to my immense satisfaction, just pulls me closer, tucking my body under his until my nose is in the clean line of his throat. I inhale his scent and feel very, very safe.
And for the next twenty minutes, it’s nothing but lazy kisses and easy conversation. Eventually, though, Kellen’s phone starts vibrating across the nightstand and does not stop.
“Don’t answer,” Elliot says, threatening violence with only his tone. “Whoever it is can wait.”
Kellen reaches for it anyway. “It’s my mother,” he announces, reading the screen.
Okay, maybe the one person who can’t wait.
Kellen apologizes and then hops out of bed to take what turns out to be a rather mundane call.
I extract myself from the nest and grab the only clean tee in reach: Kellen’s, which is oversized and smells like sugar and ocean pine.
Only then do I brave the onslaught that are my own phone notifications.
There are missed calls and texts. A “where the fuck are you” from Raelynn at 2:31 a.m., and several emails flagged “URGENT” in all caps.
I stall for only a minute before hitting the call button.
“Piper Sumner, you are absolutely feral,” Raelynn barks before the line even connects. I hold the phone away from my ear. “Where have you been?”
“Good morning to you, too.” There’s a chorus of alpha snickers behind me. “I’ve been working. Like you asked.”
“You have not. If you had, you’d have sent something.
” There’s a sound like furious typing in the background.
“The new love song is tanking. You’ve been meme’d to death.
TMZ is running a story about you blowing off the prince for an afterparty in Ibiza which did not happen.
” Raelynn makes a sound like a dying cat.
“You’re so fucking lucky you’re a musical genius, you know that? ”
I bite my cheek to keep from smiling. “I take it the ‘pairing’ isn’t going over as planned?”
She sighs, and for the first time I hear actual exhaustion in it. “It’s going. But there’s a lot of people—important people—who think this PR thing is more trouble than it’s worth.”
Ouch.
“They want you to keep a lower profile for a bit. Maybe let the Kellen rumors simmer down, focus on the album—”
“It’s not a rumor.” There’s no stopping the edge in my voice. “Kellen and I—”
“Are a good story,” Raelynn cuts in, and then softer, “I know, Piper. But the press is looking for blood and you’re giving them a feast. For the love of God, can you just behave until the Grammys?”
“Behave how?”
“Don’t get caught in bed with three men at once, for starters.”
I choke, because I do not remember posting any evidence of that particular detail. “It was a couch, and it was platonic.”
Raelynn scoffs loudly. “Look, I don’t care what you do as long as it sells records and stops pissing off the queen. But for now, we need something positive, something vulnerable and sweet. Can you do that?”
I look over at my pack, the absolute disaster of a bed, and the way all three of them are holding their breath to see if I’m okay. “Yeah, I can do that.”
Raelynn clicks her tongue. “Good, send me your new stuff. Early. No more missing for forty-eight hours at a stretch. Or I’m getting in my car.”
I’m about to hang up, but something makes me ask, “Do you actually believe any of the stuff people write about me online?”
Raelynn is quiet for a second. “Of course not. But you know how it works. Their version of you is what matters, until we can sell them the real thing.”
I don’t have an answer for that. “Thanks, Rae.”
She hangs up without saying goodbye, which is very on-brand.
I drop the phone onto the bed and flop down next to Nolan, who wordlessly folds me under his arm.
“Well?” asks Kellen.
“She wants the album finished. Like, now.”
“Can you do it?” Elliot asks.
I nod. “With some help. Maybe some inspiration?”
Three alphas exchange a look that can only be described as indecent. Then they’re all over me. It feels like air after too long underwater.
I close my eyes and let myself float in it.