Chapter 8 #2
Elle makes a choking sound, and then she’s actually laughing—a bright, unexpected sound that catches me off guard. It’s not her polite, professional laugh that she uses in meetings. It’s real, unguarded, bubbling up from somewhere genuine.
“I’m sorry,” she gasps, trying to compose herself. “It’s just—the three of you—and the water—”
She dissolves into laughter again, and something in my chest tightens at the sight. I’ve never seen her like this, defenses down, eyes bright with genuine amusement. It transforms her face, softens the professional mask she always wears.
I should be irritated. I’m soaking wet, my dignity in tatters, my attempt to help her turned into a comedy of errors.
But instead, I find myself transfixed by the way her eyes crinkle when she laughs, the slight dimple that appears in her left cheek, the musical quality of her unrestrained amusement.
“You’re encouraging them,” I say, trying to sound stern but failing miserably.
She covers her mouth with her hand, eyes still dancing. “I’m sorry. Really. It’s just... not what I expected when I mentioned the leaky faucet.”
“What did you expect?” Caleb asks, leaning against the doorframe with casual grace despite being drenched.
“I don’t know. Maybe a quick call to maintenance?” She glances between us, humor still brightening her expression. “Not an Alpha showdown in my bathroom.”
“Alpha-Off: Plumbing Edition,” Caleb suggests, grinning. “Coming soon to reality TV.”
Even Miles’s mouth quirks slightly at that. The tension in the room shifts, transforming from competitive to something almost... companionable. All because Elle is laughing, the sound breaking through our Alpha posturing like sunlight through storm clouds.
“We should clean this up,” I say, trying to regain some semblance of control over the situation. Over myself.
“I’ll get towels,” Elle offers, moving toward a linen cabinet.
“I’ve got it,” I insist, stepping forward too quickly. My foot slides on the wet floor, and I nearly lose my balance. Elle reaches out instinctively, her hand catching my arm to steady me.
The contact is brief, innocent, but it sends electricity racing through my system. Her scent intensifies with the proximity, vanilla and coconut and something citrusy that makes my mouth water. Her blockers are failing more rapidly than I’d realized.
Our eyes meet, and for a moment, everything else falls away—Caleb, Miles, the flooded bathroom, the approaching storm of her heat. There’s just Elle, her dark eyes wide, her hand on my arm, her scent filling my senses.
I see the moment awareness hits her. She pulls back, cheeks flushing, professionalism reasserting itself like armor. “Sorry,” she murmurs, retreating a step. “Didn’t want you to fall.”
“Thank you,” I manage, voice rougher than intended.
An awkward silence descends, broken only by the sound of dripping water.
“Right,” Caleb says, clapping his hands together. “Clean-up time. Elle, why don’t you take a break in the living room while we fix the mess we made? Least we can do.”
For once, I find myself agreeing with him. “He’s right. We’ll handle this.”
Elle hesitates, clearly uncomfortable with the idea of three Alphas in her personal space, but equally uncomfortable with the alternative—remaining in close quarters with us while her biology is increasingly difficult to ignore.
“If you’re sure,” she says finally. “I could use some tea anyway.”
“Go,” Miles tells her, already collecting towels from the cabinet. “We’ll be done shortly.”
She nods and slips out, the door closing softly behind her. The moment she’s gone, the temperature in the room seems to drop ten degrees, the companionable atmosphere evaporating.
“She’s further along than she’s admitting,” Caleb says quietly, all humor gone from his voice. “Those blockers won’t last another day.”
“I’m aware,” I snap, grabbing a towel and attacking the puddle with more force than necessary.
“What’s the plan, Cole?” he asks, actually serious for once. “When her heat hits fully. What then?”
“That’s her decision,” I say firmly. “Not ours.”
“Noble,” Caleb observes, not sounding convinced. “But practical? Three Alphas, one Omega in heat, a tropical storm keeping us trapped together? That’s a powder keg with a very short fuse.”
“We’re not animals,” I hiss, keeping my voice low so Elle won’t overhear from the other room. “We can control ourselves.”
“Can we?” Caleb challenges, eyes serious despite his casual tone. “Can you? Because I’ve seen how you look at her, Cole. It’s not just about her heat.”
I straighten, towel clutched in my fist. “Watch yourself, Rios.”
“He’s right,” Miles interjects, his voice calm and measured as always. “We need a contingency plan. For her safety as much as anything.”
“I’ll handle it,” I insist. “I’ll make sure she’s safe.”
“From us?” Caleb asks, eyebrow raised. “Or from yourself?”
The question hits too close to home, piercing the armor of control I’ve built around myself. Because he’s right. I’m not worried about Miles or Caleb, not really.
I’m worried about myself.
About the way Elle’s laugh makes something warm unfurl in my chest. About how my first instinct upon learning of her fading blockers wasn’t professional concern but primal possession. About how desperately I want to be the one she turns to when her heat hits fully.
“All of us,” I say finally. “From all of us.”
Miles nods, accepting this. Caleb looks less convinced but doesn’t push further. We finish cleaning in silence, each lost in our own thoughts.
When we emerge from the bathroom, the bedroom is empty. Elle has retreated to the living room as suggested. The three of us exit her room together, an unspoken truce in effect.
In the hallway, Miles pauses. “She’s vulnerable,” he says quietly. “But not weak. Remember that.”
With that cryptic statement, he walks away, leaving Caleb and me standing awkwardly in the corridor.
“For what it’s worth,” Caleb says after a moment, “I think she’d choose you.”
I look at him sharply, searching for the joke, the angle, the manipulation. But for once, his amber eyes are serious, his usual smirk absent.
“This isn’t about choosing,” I say firmly.
“Everything’s about choosing, Cole,” he replies, running a hand through his still-damp hair. “Life’s one big series of choices. And if she has to make one...” He shrugs. “Just saying, my money’s on you.”
He walks away before I can respond, leaving me alone with water dripping from my clothes and a strange, unsettled feeling in my chest.
I told Caleb this isn’t about choosing. But as I head to my room to change into dry clothes, I can’t help wondering—if it was about choosing, if Elle did have to choose one of us to help her through her heat, would she choose me?
And more disturbingly, would I want her to?
The answer to both questions terrifies me more than I care to admit.