Chapter 6 #2
“It’s a little funny,” she counters. “You, the most level-headed person I know, waking up claimed by the Sterling Pack.” She pokes my arm. “You, who were my voice of reason when I panicked after the guys tried to claim me, got claimed after one night.”
“It was the champagne,” I protest weakly. “And they were just so... intense.”
A sly smile spreads across Leah’s face. “Oh, I bet they were.” She wiggles her brows. “Details, please. All of them. Leave nothing out.”
Heat rises to my cheeks. “Leah!”
“What? If I have to help you through this crisis, I deserve compensation in the form of vicarious thrills.” She settles back, tucking her legs under her. “Start with how it happened. One minute you’re at a charity gala, the next you’re being claimed by four alphas?”
I sigh, giving in. “They were... attentive. All night. Taking turns talking to me, bringing me drinks, making me laugh. And then they offered me a ride home because I’d had too much champagne...”
“And instead they took you to their place,” Leah finishes, nodding. “Classic alpha move.”
“I agreed to go,” I admit. “I wanted to. They were... God, Leah, they were magnetic. All of them, in different ways. Rett’s so…
intense. And then there was Tristan. He made me laugh so damn much.
And Diego. He looks so intimidating, but he’s really like this giant, handsome softie.
And Dane... he was…he was like having a devoted guard dog around. ”
“And then?” She prompts, leaning forward eagerly.
“And then... everything.” The memories flood back, sending a wave of heat through my body. “They were everywhere. Hands, mouths... It was overwhelming. But like…in the best way.”
“Did they knot you?” Leah asks bluntly.
“Leah!” I sputter, my face burning.
“What? It’s a legitimate question! If they claimed you, did they...” She gestures vaguely.
“No,” I admit. “They didn’t. I don’t think... I mean, I’m not an omega, so I don’t think I could...”
“Handle it?” Leah supplies helpfully. “Take a knot? Accommodate an alpha’s—”
“Yes, thank you,” I cut her off. “Not that.”
“Oh my God,” Leah’s eyes widen with sudden realization. “Imagine not one, but four alpha knots. That’s—”
“Please stop,” I beg, covering my face again. “This is mortifying enough without you calculating the logistics of... that.”
Leah sobers, giving me a sympathetic pout. “Do they hurt?” she asks, her eyes fixed on the marks.
“No,” I shake my head. “But they’re warm. And when I touch them, it feels... good?” I look to her for confirmation I’m not going crazy.
“That’s the bond,” Leah says, nodding. “It’s forming. Strengthening.”
“But it can’t be,” I protest.
“Well,” she gestures at my neck, “clearly something is happening.”
“Will they fade?” I ask, voicing my greatest hope and, strangely, my greatest fear. “They have to fade, right? It was just one night.”
Leah examines the marks more closely. “They look pretty in there to me. Have they gotten any lighter since this morning?”
I touch my neck again, feeling the slightly raised skin. “No,” I admit reluctantly. “If anything, they seem more... defined.”
Leah nods, her tone getting softer. “So what happened this morning? Why did you leave?”
I drop my hands to my lap. “I panicked. I woke up, saw the marks, realized what had happened, and just... ran.”
Leah’s forehead furrows with a concerned frown. “That doesn’t sound like you.”
I shake my head at the memory. “It was pure fight-or-flight. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”
“And they just let you go?”
“They were asleep,” I explain. “But they found me just as I was getting into a cab. The way they looked at me, Leah... it wasn’t possessive or angry. They looked...” I search for the right word. “Desperate.”
“Because you’re their mate now,” Leah says simply. “Whether any of you planned it or not.”
“It was one night.” I swallow hard. “A mistake. An accident.”
“Was it, though?” Leah challenges. “Did they force you? Trick you?”
I shake my head. “No. They asked for permission. Explicitly. And I... I said yes.” I close my eyes, remembering the moment. Rett’s mouth at my throat, his voice rough as he asked to claim me. My breathless, eager consent. “I wanted it. In that moment, I wanted it more than anything.”
“And now?”
“Now…to be honest, Leah…I’m terrified,” I admit.
Leah nods. It must be strange for her to see me like this. I’ve always lived life with my head on my shoulders. The one with all the answers.
“Of them?” she whispers carefully.
“Not of them.” I shake my head. The thought is surprising but true; in all my panic, I haven’t once been afraid of the men themselves.
“Of... this.” I gesture weakly at the marks on my neck, then around my apartment, encompassing the entire impossible situation.
“My life was mapped out, Leah. I had plans. Goals. None of which included being claimed by anyone before I’m thirty. ”
Leah huffs a laugh through her nose. “Trust me, I had my five-year plan all set when Liam, Caleb, Mason, and Jude crashed into my life. You remember. I was fucking scared of it all. Now look at me.” She gestures to herself and the sleeping babies.
I start pacing, the nervous energy too much to contain. “It’s biology 101, the stuff they teach you in high school health class.”
Leah sighs, adjusting one of the sleeping twins. “Look, I know you’re freaking out, but beta claims aren’t unheard of. Mason’s cousin is bonded to an alpha.”
“A whole pack?”
Leah grimaces, and I know her answer even before she says it out loud. “Just one.”
I stop pacing and throw my hands up in the air. “Okay, let’s just game this out for a second. Let’s pretend this isn’t some bizarre, champagne-fueled hallucination and these... these bite marks are legit.”
I turn to face her, my voice dropping. “Packs like that—alphas like that—are wired for an omega. For the whole nine yards. The heats, the biological compatibility, the... you know.” I make a vague, awkward gesture towards my lower half.
“The anatomical ‘Ta-Da!’” I pause, taking a deep breath.
“So what am I in this scenario? The appetizer? The fun little beta amuse-bouche before the main course arrives? What happens in a year? Or five?”
I start ticking points off on my fingers.
“One: their instincts are eventually going to start screaming for something I physically can’t provide.
Two: they’re the Sterling frickin’ pack.
That whole fucking name is built on producing the next generation of powerful alpha heirs, a biological feat for which I am, you know, probably unequipped. Three: what then?”
I drop my hands, my voice becoming a pitch-perfect imitation of a sad, apologetic alpha.
“Am I just supposed to wait around until one of them gives me the ‘It’s not you, it’s my primal need for a knot-receptive, heir-producing mate’ speech?
I’ll be a footnote in their pack’s history.
The weird beta they mated by mistake in ‘25.”
Leah is quiet for a long moment. Then, “Oh Zo… you’re forgetting one thing in all your scientific calculations,” she says softly.
I raise a questioning eyebrow.
Her voice drops. “Maybe it’s not about biology. Maybe it’s just… you.”
Her words land and echo in my brain, ricocheting over and over.
“Have they tried to contact you?” she asks after a moment.
I glance at the thermos and pastry box on my kitchen counter. “Diego sent coffee and a croissant…from your bakery.”
Leah’s eyebrows shoot up. “Really? My bakery? I like them already.” She grins.
I scowl, and she chuckles. Just like that, she manages to make me laugh. I collapse on the couch beside her once more.
“What? They support omega-owned businesses AND they could have stormed your apartment like typical knotheaded alphas, but they didn’t.”
“They kept my planner, though.” I frown.
Leah’s brows shoot up. “Huh? Your planner?”
“I know!” I exclaim before doing a poor imitation of Rett Sterling. “‘Talk to us or you’ll never see your appointments again.’”
Leah bursts out laughing. “Sounds like they genuinely like you.”
“Or they’re just really good at getting what they want,” I counter. “They’re alphas, Leah. I can’t even wrap my head around the idea of having one alpha, let alone four,” I say, running a hand through my hair. “How do you even handle three plus Mason?”
Leah smirks. “Very enthusiastically.”
“Leah!”
Leah’s expression is sympathetic but tinged with amusement. “Oh, Zo. I don’t think this is going away.”
Before I can answer, one of the babies stirs, making a small, discontented sound that quickly escalates into a full-blown cry. The other follows suit almost immediately, as if they’re synced for chaos.
“And that’s my cue,” Leah says, standing and gathering the car seats. “Crisis management is on hold until these little monsters are fed and changed.”
I help her collect their diaper bag.
“Aren’t you going to call Caleb?”
She shrugs. “I can carry them down myself. Poor thing had been up with the twins all night last night. He takes turns with Jude, Mason, and Liam, but he deserves a few more minutes of alone time.”
At the door, she turns to me, her expression serious despite the wailing infants.
“For what it’s worth,” she says, “Don’t be like how I was, Zo. I think you should talk to them. Not necessarily to accept the claim, but to understand it at least. This is uncharted territory, Zoe. For all of you.”
I nod, not trusting myself to speak.
“And maybe,” she adds with a wink, “wear a turtleneck to work tomorrow. Those marks are...impressive.”
With that parting shot, she’s gone, leaving me alone in my apartment once more.
I touch my neck again, tracing the outlines of each mark.
Tomorrow, I have to go back to work. Face the world. Pretend everything is normal when I’m walking around with the equivalent of four alpha billboards plastered across my throat.
I glance at the thermos. The coffee is probably cold by now, but I pick it up anyway, taking a sip. Luckily, it’s still warm. Still delicious.
But the annoyance about my planner simmers. I need it. I need to know what meetings I have this week and what deadlines are looming. Being disorganized triggers my anxiety worse than waking up with these damn claiming bites.
I’m still fuming when my phone buzzes with a new message. I glance down.
Unknown
Can we talk?
I frown, a little shiver going down my spine.
Me
Who is this?
Unknown
It’s Rett.
So simple. So direct. So utterly Rett Sterling.
I stare at the message for a long moment, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. What do I say?
I’ve just added his number to my contacts when another text appears below the first:
Rett
We’re sorry if we overwhelmed you. That wasn’t our intention. We’d like to apologize.
My chest tightens. I take a deep breath and start typing:
Me
You can start by returning my planner. I need it for work tomorrow.
His response is immediate:
Rett
We have no intention of keeping your planner... not forever, at least.
I stare at the screen, momentarily speechless.
Me
Excuse me? That’s MY planner. With MY schedule. I need it.
Rett
We’re aware. Don’t worry. We won’t let you miss anything.
I make an indignant noise that startles even me.
Me
You can’t be serious. Just give me back my planner!
Rett
We’d be happy to return it. In person.
Oh, that sneaky, manipulative... I tap furiously at my screen.
Me
So it IS a hostage situation. What’s next? Sending me pictures of my planner tied to a chair with today’s newspaper?
There’s a pause, and I can almost picture him smirking at his phone.
Rett
That’s not a bad idea, actually. Though Diego and I thought we should just return it. We were outvoted.
Me
There are FOUR of you. How were you outvoted?
Rett
Dane counts for two votes when he actually speaks.
Despite my frustration, I find myself biting back a laugh. Then I quickly sober. Three dots appear before disappearing again. I bite my lips, watching as they appear again before he finally sends the message.
Rett
Talk to us?
A sigh makes my shoulders deflate.
Me
Okay. We need to talk. But not like this. Give me a few days to get my head on straight. What about dinner? All of you. We’ll figure this out.
There. I did it.
His response is immediate:
Rett
Just name the time and place. We’ll be there.
I set the phone down, feeling surprisingly calm, despite that this is still the most absurd situation I’ve ever found myself in.
My phone buzzes again.
Rett
By the way, you have an appointment tomorrow titled “Davelle Tour for Sparne exhibit,” 2 PM.
I groan, dropping my head into my hands. They’re really going through my planner. This is a nightmare.
But then again...at least I know about the Davelle tour. I’d completely forgotten.
I take a deep breath. In a few days, I’ll meet with them. We’ll talk like adults. We’ll figure out what the hell is going on with these marks and this strange pull I feel toward them despite everything.
For now, I just have to hide these damn marks and figure out how to get through tomorrow without my planner.
Tomorrow is going to be a long day.