Chapter 35 Jessica
JESSICA
Day three of heat, and I've officially lost track of which way is up.
The guest room has been transformed. Blankets piled everywhere, a fortress of soft fabric that smells like sex and sweat and four distinct alpha scents so thoroughly mingled I can't tell where one ends and another begins.
Morning light filters through curtains someone partially opened, painting golden stripes across rumpled sheets and discarded pillows.
I'm sprawled across Carlos's chest, my cheek pressed against the steady thump of his heart. His hand traces lazy patterns on my bare back, fingertips brushing along my spine in a rhythm that's half soothing, half arousing.
The line between those two sensations stopped existing about thirty-six hours ago.
"You're thinking too loud." Carlos's voice rumbles beneath my ear. "I can hear your brain from here."
"My brain is mush." I lift my head to look at him.
His curly hair is a disaster, sticking up in seventeen different directions.
Stubble shadows his jaw, darker than I expected, turning his boyish face rougher.
Handsomer. "There's nothing in there except elevator music and the faint memory of my own name. "
"Your name is Jessica." He grins, and even exhausted, even wrecked, that smile makes my stomach flip. "In case you forgot."
"Jessica." I test the word on my tongue. "Right. Jessica Delacroix. Twenty-eight years old. Omega. Former runaway bride. Current... whatever this is."
"This is pack." Nacho's voice cuts through the room, low and certain.
I turn my head toward the armchair by the window, where he's been keeping watch for the past hour. He's wearing jeans and nothing else, bare feet propped on the ottoman, dark eyes fixed on me that makes heat pool between my thighs.
Which is inconvenient, because I desperately need a break.
My body has other ideas.
"Pack." I roll the word around, tasting it. "Is that what we're calling this? Four alphas and one very overwhelmed omega sharing a nest?"
"That's exactly what we're calling it." Sergio appears in the doorway, carrying a tray loaded with food.
He's in a white t-shirt and grey sweatpants, feet bare, looking more relaxed than I've ever seen him.
The permanent furrow between his brows has smoothed out.
He almost looks young. "You need to eat. "
"I ate two hours ago."
"You ate half a granola bar." He sets the tray on the nightstand, and my stomach growls at the smell of bacon and eggs and fresh toast. "That doesn't count."
"Fine." I push myself up to sitting, wincing at the ache in muscles I didn't know I had. "But only because that bacon smells like heaven and I'm too tired to argue."
Carlos shifts beneath me, propping himself against the headboard so I can lean against his chest while I eat. His arms wrap around my waist, chin resting on my shoulder, watching as Sergio hands me a plate.
"Where's Pedro?"
"Shower." Sergio settles onto the edge of the bed, his thigh presses against my leg. "He'll be back."
I bite into a strip of bacon and groan out loud, like a person who's never tasted food before.
"Good?" Carlos's laugh vibrates against my back.
"So good." I shovel eggs into my mouth, abandoning all pretense of table manners. "I think my taste buds are heightened or something. Everything is more... more."
"Heat does that." Nacho rises from the armchair and crosses to the bed, folding himself onto the mattress near my feet. "All your senses are amplified. Touch, taste, smell. It's your omega's way of bonding with your pack."
"My omega has been very busy bonding." I polish off the eggs and reach for the toast. "My omega needs a vacation."
"Almost over." Sergio's hand finds my knee, thumb rubbing circles through the blanket. "Another twelve hours, maybe less. Your cycles are spacing out."
"Thank God." I slump against Carlos's chest. "Don't get me wrong, the orgasms have been spectacular, but I'm pretty sure I've lost several pounds."
"Yeah?" Carlos nips at my earlobe, rough fingers tracing lazy circles on my hip. “You told me where you wanted my—"
"Stop. I'm eating."
"Just giving credit where credit's due." His laugh rumbles through his chest into my back. "You got a mouth on you when you're desperate."
My face catches fire. "There are four of you. I'm one person. That’s not fair.”
Nacho's mouth does this tiny twitch thing. Which is basically him dying laughing on the inside.
The bathroom door opens in a cloud of steam that smells like pine and mint. Pedro walks out wearing clean scrubs, hair still damp, looking stupidly put together for someone who was doing very unprofessional things to me four hours ago.
I want to climb him like a tree. Again. Even though everything below my waist has filed a formal complaint.
"Hey." I wave my bagel at him. "I'm fine. You can stop hovering."
But he's already at the bedside, fingers wrapping around my wrist. Taking my pulse like I'm one of his patients instead of the woman who had her ankles by her ears while he—
"Heart rate's elevated." His thumb strokes the inside of my wrist. Definitely not a medical technique. "You feeling okay? Any dizziness? Nausea?"
"Just hunger. And a strong desire to sleep for three days." I squeeze his hand. "I'm good, Pedro. Really. Better than good. I'm just very thoroughly ruined in the best possible way."
His whole face does this thing. Softens. Gets all tender and possessive at once.
When he leans down to kiss my forehead, slow and sweet, my chest does a stupid flutter thing that has nothing to do with elevated heart rates and everything to do with being completely, utterly gone for these men.
"Good," he murmurs against my skin. "That's exactly what we were going for."
"Exhausted. Hungry. Slightly delirious." I polish off the last bite of toast. "But also weirdly happy? Like, underneath all the physical chaos, there's this warm fuzzy feeling that won't go away."
"That's the bond settling." Pedro releases my wrist, apparently satisfied with whatever he found. "Pack bonds create neurochemical changes. Elevated oxytocin and serotonin. Your brain is literally rewiring itself to be happy with us."
I set my empty plate on the nightstand and look at them. All four of them. Sergio standing by the door, watching. Carlos sprawled beside me, fingers tracing patterns on my thigh. Pedro checking my pulse even though he promised not to. Nacho at the foot of the bed, solid and immovable.
"I can feel all of you," I whisper. "In my head. Through the bond. It's like... I'm never alone anymore."
"You're not," Nacho confirms. "That's what pack means."
"Do you regret it?" Sergio's voice is quiet. Careful.
Grey eyes steady on mine. Strong jaw shadowed with stubble. Broad shoulders carrying the weight of leadership he never asked for but accepted anyway.
"No." The word comes out fierce. Certain. "I don't regret a single second."
Something shifts in his expression. The careful neutrality cracks, and underneath I see relief. Hope. Longing.
"Good." He clears his throat. "Because I want to discuss something important."
The room goes still. Carlos's arms tighten around my waist. Nacho leans forward, dark eyes intent. Pedro moves to stand beside his brother.
My heart starts pounding for reasons that have nothing to do with heat.
"That sounds ominous." I try for levity, but my voice wobbles. "Are you about to tell me this was a limited-time offer? Because if so, I'm going to need more bacon first."
"Not a limited-time offer." Sergio reaches out and takes my hand. His palm is warm, calloused from years of hockey and home repairs. "The opposite."
“Unlimited-time?"
"Forever." His thumb traces across my knuckles. "I'm asking for forever."
The air rushes out of my lungs.
"Sergio..."
"Let me finish." He shifts closer, both hands now cradling mine. "When this heat is over, I want you to bond with us. Officially. Permanently. I want you to be our omega. Our pack. Ours."
Silence stretches through the room. I can hear my own pulse thundering in my ears, the tick of the clock on the nightstand, the distant creak of the old house settling around us.
Four men. Watching me. Waiting.
"You're proposing." My voice comes out strangled. "While I'm naked and covered in bite marks and sitting in a nest that smells like a frat house orgy."
"The setting could be better." Carlos's breath is warm against my ear. "But the sentiment stands."
"I want this too." Nacho's voice is rough. "All of us do. We talked about it last night while you were sleeping."
"You had a secret pack meeting about my future while I was unconscious?"
"We had a conversation about our future." Pedro moves to sit on my other side. "You're part of that future. The most important part."
I look at each of them in turn.
Sergio, steady and certain, holding my hands like they're precious.
Carlos, warm against my back, his heart beating rapid and hopeful beneath my shoulder blade.
Nacho, intense and focused, waiting for my answer with barely concealed tension.
Pedro, gruff exterior cracked open, vulnerability showing through the clinical mask.
Four men who've given me everything over the past three days. Who've worshipped my body, held me through the desperate waves, whispered promises against my skin.
Four men who want me forever.
"Yes."
The word falls out before I finish breathing.
"Yes?" Sergio's eyes go wide. "You're sure?"
"I'm sure." Tears prick at my eyes, hot and unexpected. "I've never been more sure of anything. Yes, I'll bond with you. Yes, I'll be your omega. Yes, yes, yes."
Sergio pulls me forward and kisses me.
Sergio moves first.
His hand cups my face with such tenderness I could cry. The kiss is different from the frantic claiming of heat. Softer. Deeper. His tongue sweeps against mine in slow, languid strokes that make my core clench with need I didn't know I still had in me.
This isn't desperation. This is devotion.