Chapter 22
Stress Test
NATHAN
Iprefer to keep my cards close to my chest, investing time and thought before making a move, because one rarely gets a chance to take things back.
Words cannot be unsaid or unheard, nor deeds undone.
So many of my clients come seeking divorce or separation from a pack because a single word, phrase, or deed pushed them beyond the point of no return.
The raw truths Dan throws at Corin and me are appalling—yet oddly appealing somehow, especially given how often people lie to me.
Clients, especially, though over half the time they’re lying to themselves as well as me, and it takes time and a lot of delicate probing to extract salient information.
The sheer volume of honesty Dan shared, and his insight into what’s important to share under the circumstances, makes him most unusual.
He obviously has no idea how puzzling he comes across.
Sitting there, blinking at us, head swiveling back and forth as he glances at Corin then me, meeting our eyes with little sign of difficulty.
Oh, he played the game with us earlier, divvying up the room into thirds, but even then the air of indulgent dominance hanging about him ruffled my alpha. Unsettled him.
Intrigued him ... and me.
Still does, in face, as the three of us sit staring at each other in the wake of Dan’s admissions.
We’re strangers. Not as unknown to each other as before, but at best we knew each other in passing before we entered this room.
Even as three mature alphas, we must get through a certain amount of posturing to determine who ranks as primary in any given area.
Betas sometimes make the mistake of thinking it’s a static thing, a clear chain of command, unless someone decides to promote themselves or a dominant alpha gets sick or injured requiring adjustments.
That’s far from the truth. Negotiation is a constant, even when alphas know each other well and have already settled the general hierarchy in a satisfactory way.
Any savvy alpha lawyer—and many a knowledgeable beta or omega attorney—learns to use casual, fleeting hints of dominance as a tool of the trade.
I’m a good alpha lawyer. That’s not bragging, it’s truth.
The moment I walked into this room, my alpha and I assessed the others. Again and again, with ever more focused intent, as it became clear that if we want Johanna—and we do—we’ll have to be prepared to work and pack up with, anyone else she chooses.
In my opinion, Corin and I are too close in dominance to settle easily together. Maybe I’m wrong, but not likely. His assumption of control over the meeting chafes, as does his connection with Johanna and their proximity. They share a house. His daughter calls her ‘aunt.’
Just as bad, he’s the epitome of certain alpha stereotypes: tall, dark-haired, with silver touched temples, and clear-cut features.
He dresses and carries himself well, despite the belly curve hinting at a fondness for food or beer.
He smells good, too, though the constantly shifting balance between cedar and cider is yet another sign of his alpha’s strength—and an irritation for mine, as it makes my alpha work harder to figure out what Corin’s feeling at any given moment.
I’m not immune to his attraction, but the uneasy balance of dominance between us has my alpha more inclined to fight than fuck.
Dan, on the other hand, doesn’t trigger instincts to fight, in me or—as far as I can tell—Corin.
Another prime example of mature alpha manhood, my children would likely describe Dan as a classic ‘silver fox’ with hair gone full gray, broad shoulders, and narrow waist. I’m surprised he hasn’t been snapped up as a model, his image used to sell suits, watches, and expensive liquor.
And that moonlit-night forest scent of his?
My alpha’s more inclined to fuck him than anything.
I wouldn’t throw Dan out for eating cookies in bed.
Rather, I’d make him lick the sheets clean while Johanna and I distract him.
Run our hands along those lean arms and legs until his muscles tremble.
Rub our chins across his back and down his spine, leaving our scents in so many places he’ll smell us for days.
Lick over his body, finding every spot that makes him groan, twitch, and beg to come.
Corin might oversee, ensuring Dan stays on task and pointing out any crumbs he misses.
I shift in my seat, adjusting my pants as the zipper presses uncomfortably against my half-hard cock.
Dominance hangs about Dan, despite his admission of daily medication. He’s not doing much with it, but it’s there. At a guess, he’s the strongest of us, or the most ruled by hormones—or both—because it takes strength of will to acknowledge one needs help and to maintain a daily regimen.
And his honesty about his medication and his background, which partly explains the extent to which he doesn’t wield his dominance. I respect that, admire it, especially since I’m not ready to match it.
My alpha doesn’t care. I walked into the room wanting Johanna; now, he’s interested in Dan as well.
Given the compassion with which Corin receives Dan’s admissions, he might be, too.
Corin breaks the silence by thanking Dan for sharing, as though we’re in some support group like the ones I recommend to my clients. Or the ones I attended after losing my pack.
Maybe that’s not such a bad thing as a step toward forming a new pack.
But then, Corin catches the let-it-all-out disease.
“I grew up in a pack,” he begins, “with one alpha father, one omega father, and two beta mothers. I married a beta, though we divorced many years ago. If we make it as a pack, you can ask me why then.”
There are hints of bitterness and lingering anger in his voice that prick my alpha’s curiosity. Maybe even rouse a willingness to bump shoulders in classic ‘I’ve got your back’ fashion.
“Johanna, Max, and I never made anything official in anyway, but we’ve lived a pack-adjacent life,” Corin continues, fortunately unaware of my musings. “Still, my primary pack experience is as a child, not an adult.”
“Pack-adjacent?” Dan asks.
“Shared house, mostly integrated finances, regular meetings to work out any problems and make sure business issues don’t poison the atmosphere at home.
Johanna is not just my daughters’ aunt, but their mentor and all-but-mother.
We’ve kept mostly separate bedrooms,” he admits, a hint of fire in his eyes as he adds, “until recently.”
Dan nods, face showing no clear reaction.
They both turn to me.
I wait, steepling my fingers and angling my body so they don’t glimpse the tent in my pants. Think about what I want to say. Think twice, and a third time, before I speak.
“I had a pack. Two mates. A car crash took them from me.” Bare bones though the story is, telling it still hurts.
I live, I love, I’m looking at possible future packmates, but the words won’t come.
Not in this brightly lit room with the hissing air purifiers abstracting our mixed scents.
Not with two men I barely know, am only beginning to consider trusting, and find myself unexpectedly considering as potential pack.
When I shared my story with Johanna, we’d already spent hours together.
We sat, side by side, in the dim nest, our scents mingled with sweat and slick and cum, both weary from hours of joint labor sating the desperate omega who’d brought us together.
Telling hurt less with a warm body pressed against me, fingers twining with and squeezing mine in wordless comfort.
For all the secrets we’re baring—the others, at least—we’re still roughly where we started: evenly spaced around the room with Corin at the head.
“I’m sorry for your loss.” Corin drums his fingers against the table.
Dan echoes the condolences.
Pretty words I’ve heard a thousand times before, but repetition doesn’t dim their sincerity.
Another long silence. Again, Corin breaks it—the privilege of the most dominant? Or, perhaps, because he’s the one who called us here, and we’re on his territory.
“That’s more recent pack experience than either of us,” he says. “What’s your advice?”
“This is what my mates and I told our eldest when she joined a pack: talk often. Listen. Ask questions to make sure you understand what your mates meant, not what you think you heard. Keep talking. Keep listening,” I say, repeating the litany the three of us had collectively come up with after deliberating over our daughter’s request for advice.
Then, with my first love, my wonderful dominant alpha Renee’s voice ringing in my head, I finish with the spontaneous addition she’d snuck in at the end.
“Remember that a pack is only as strong as the links between any two of you.”
Dan smiles. “I like that.”
For a moment, I see flashes of similarity to my packmates, Renee and Lawrence. As quick as they come, though, they’re gone. Dan isn’t either of them, of course, but he’s here showing that he listened and maybe even understood.
“Only as strong as the links between us as individuals. Four of us, three one-on-one relationships each, and one all together.” Corin claps his hands together and swings a challenging gaze from me to Dan and back. “Clear time on your calendars, alphas. If you want in, it’s time to put in the work.”
My alpha snarls at the challenge, at Corin’s presumption that he can levy it, but I wave a hand for him to go on. Share his plans, then I can poke holes in them.
Except they turn out to be fairly well-thought out: a series of one-on-one dates, lunch or dinner, ensuring all combinations have time together to see how well we get along.
The carrot: we each get alone time with Johanna.
The stick: the other two alone times are with each other, alpha to alpha.
Three days, six combinations—no wonder he said to check our calendars. I’ll have to do some serious juggling and ask my assistant to make a number of “so sorry, need to reschedule” calls, but it’s do-able on my end. The only thing ...
“That’s moving pretty fast.”
“It’s a stress test,” Dan answers, though he’s facing Corin.
His midnight-forest scent has a crisp edge to it, providing a low constant beneath the sideways cedar-cider swings of Corin’s.
“Moving fast leaves little time for second thoughts, and we’ll have to rely on instinct enough to see if our alphas really can get along. ”
“I’m not proposing we bond at the end. This is a starting point. A baseline.” Corin stands and crosses his arms over his chest.
His scent shifts to a tangy cider so strong I can almost taste it, raising a tinge of curiosity in my alpha. People generally taste the way they smell, at least to alphas and omegas. I’ve never met anyone, regardless of designation, whose scent fluctuated quite as much.
I don’t want to be attracted to him. If I have to pack up with him—and, if I want to get Johanna, that looks likely—friendship would be best. We haven’t tested each other, as I’m too used to concealing the full extent of my dominant side.
My alpha’s ready to try it, but my saner side suspects, even dreads, that Corin’s stronger. That they both are.
That’s fine when it comes to daily life. There are plenty of work-arounds. Sex, however, is another matter. Only one person has ever dominated me in bed, and she’s dead. Every man I’ve slept with—various before meeting her and only Lawrence after—I ruled, both in and out of bed.
I push these thoughts aside as Corin continues outlining his plans.
Once we’ve had time on our own, we’re to get together, all four of us, for dinner at his and Johanna’s house on Saturday to see where we are, how we deal as a group.
My eyebrows raise, and my alpha sneaks out to ask, “Shall we bring overnight bags?”
Corin grins, teeth bared and eyes narrowed. He’s not as ready to have us in his house as he pretends. But he doesn’t say no—that comes from Dan, who shakes his head.
“No sense jinxing things.” He waves at Corin. “Make sure you have extra toothbrushes and razors, though, just in case.”
Suppressors or not, his alpha shows. That’s a borderline order. The two of them stare at each other for a long moment until, finally, Corin shrugs.
All jokes aside, three alphas in a room breeds trouble.
There are packs in which the alphas don’t fuck or fight each other, but all studies I’m familiar with suggest these are statistical outliers, usually involving some other strong bond in place of sexual involvement, such as those between siblings or cousins.
To become a pack, we must find ways to balance our competing need to rule.
In retrospect, it seemed so easy the first time.
Renee made the decisions that mattered to her, while I decided what I valued highest, and when we came into conflict, we fucked it out rather than fighting.
The first to climax lost, so we both got very good at eliciting pleasure from the other while, simultaneously, resisting.
Lawrence, lacking the need to command, had slipped easily into our dynamic.
Even so, he’d employed other, more devious, tactics that ensured he got his way when it counted.
Obviously, this won’t be that easy—not least because there will be four of us from the start, rather than an established pair adding in a third. Three dominant alphas and one desirable beta.
Blood pounds in my veins, throbbing at temples and crotch in a way I haven’t felt in ages.
Johanna’s worth the shot—but I’m not sure I or my alpha is up to the fight. And if I’m already wondering that, I’m screwed.
Figuratively and likely literally.