Chapter 10 #2
Zoe rolls her eyes. “Let’s start with claiming me without any discussion of what that might mean. For any of us.”
Sam returns with our beers, each one landing on the table with a wet thud. Foam sloshes over the rims, adding to the stickiness of the table. None of us moves to drink.
“That’s fair,” Rett says once Sam has left. “The claiming was... unplanned.”
“Unplanned,” Zoe repeats, her voice flat. “Four claiming marks, and you’re telling me it was ‘unplanned’?”
“It was instinctive,” I explain, leaning forward slightly. “For all of us. Something we’d never experienced before.”
“But you asked,” Tristan adds quickly. “And we asked. There was consent.”
“Drunk consent,” Zoe counters, “after a night of... whatever that was.”
“Amazing sex?” Tristan suggests with a hopeful smile.
Zoe doesn’t smile back. “Sex that was preceded by an absurd amount of champagne, which you all kept refilling.”
“We weren’t trying to get you drunk,” Rett says, a note of defensiveness creeping into his voice. “We were just—”
“Just what?” Zoe cuts in. “Just having a good time? Just going with the flow? Just indulging a passing fancy for a beta you met at a gala?”
There it is. The heart of her anger laid bare on a sticky table in a dive bar.
“No,” I say firmly, meeting her gaze. “It wasn’t like that. Not for any of us.”
She studies me, her expression softening almost imperceptibly. “Then what was it like, Diego? Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like four alphas decided to have some fun with a beta, then got carried away and now don’t know how to back out gracefully.”
The accusation stings, all the more because I can see why she might think that. From her perspective, we’re just four rich, powerful assholes who took what we wanted without consideration for the consequences.
“It wasn’t fun,” Dane says suddenly, his quiet voice somehow cutting through the din of the bar. “It was relief.”
Zoe’s attention shifts to him, her eyebrow raised in question.
“The static,” he explains, tapping his temple. “In our heads. For years. Constant. Like a radio stuck between stations. Loud. Painful.”
“Static,” Zoe repeats slowly. “What are you talking about?”
Rett sighs, running a hand through his hair. “It’s a condition. Rare. Affects unmated alpha packs. A sort of... biological alarm system that goes off when a pack has been together too long without a stabilizing influence.”
“A mate,” Tristan clarifies. “Usually an omega, but apparently...” He gestures to Zoe.
“You’re saying you have some kind of... noise in your heads?” Zoe looks skeptical. “And what, I make it stop?”
“Yes,” we all say in unison, with varying degrees of desperation.
She sits back, crossing her arms. “That’s convenient.”
“It’s the truth,” I insist. “When we’re near you, the static quiets. When we touch you, it stops completely. When Tristan was with you at the gallery today—”
“Complete silence,” Tristan finishes. “For the second time in five years. It was... incredible.”
Zoe’s eyes narrow. “So what you’re saying is, I’m your aspirin. Your beta-blocker. Your convenient biological mute button.”
“No,” Rett says firmly. “It’s not like that.”
“Isn’t it?” She leans forward, her voice dropping. “You claim me in a drunken haze, then discover I magically cure your alpha headaches. How convenient.”
“That’s not—” I begin, but she cuts me off.
“And let me guess,” she continues, “these claiming marks? They’re not supposed to take on a beta, right? Not so many, at least. Normally, they’d fade?”
I exchange a glance with my brothers. She’s not wrong.
“Usually,” I admit. “Beta-alpha bonds are rare enough. Beta-alpha pack bonds are almost unheard of. But these marks...” I gesture to her neck, where the four distinct bites are visible. “They’re not fading. They’re intensifying.”
“Again, how convenient for you,” she says, but there’s a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. “You accidentally claimed the one beta in Sweetwater who can both cure your headaches and actually bond with you.”
“Zoe,” I say gently. “We’re just as surprised as you are. None of this was planned. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t real.”
Her fingers go to her neck, absently tracing one of the marks—Tristan’s, I think, based on the placement. “Real or not, it doesn’t change the fact that you kept my planner hostage, invaded my workplace, and generally acted like possessive assholes.”
“The visit was Tristan’s idea,” Dane says immediately.
“Hey!” Tristan protests.
“It was a group effort,” Rett corrects. “And it was wrong. We’re sorry.”
Zoe looks surprised, like she wasn’t expecting an actual apology. “Well. That’s... something, I guess.”
“We’re new at this,” I offer with a small smile. “The whole... courting thing.”
“Courting?” Zoe repeats, an incredulous laugh escaping her. “Is that what you call it?”
“What would you call it?” Rett challenges, some of his usual directness returning.
She opens her mouth to respond, but at that moment, the jukebox switches to something with a heavy bass that makes the entire floor vibrate. She grimaces, raising her voice to be heard. “I’d call it a mess!”
“What?” Tristan cups his ear dramatically.
“A MESS!” she shouts, just as the music hits a momentary lull, her voice carrying far louder than intended.
Several nearby patrons turn to look, including a group of rowdy-looking men at the bar. One of them, a burly alpha with a beard and a flannel shirt that’s seen better days, perks up visibly at the sight of Zoe.
“Great,” Rett mutters, noticing the attention. “Just what we need.”
Zoe follows his gaze and groans. “Ignore them. They’re harmless.”
“They’re drunk,” Dane observes, his posture straightening slightly.
“It’s a bar,” Zoe points out. “Most people are.”
“Can we get back to the point?” I suggest, trying to refocus the conversation. “Zoe, we know this is overwhelming. Believe me, we’re overwhelmed too. But there’s something happening here that none of us fully understand, and I think we owe it to ourselves to figure it out together.”
She studies me for a long moment, something softening in her expression.
“Diego, you seem...” She hesitates. “More reasonable than the others. So tell me honestly. If these marks weren’t taking hold, if they were fading like they’re supposed to with a beta, would you still be sitting here? Would any of you?”
It’s a fair question, and one I haven’t fully considered until this moment. Would we? If the marks were fading, if the static remained despite her presence, would we still be pursuing her with this intensity?
“Yes,” I say without hesitation, surprising even myself with the certainty in my voice. “At least, I would.”
Her eyebrows lift slightly. “Why?”
“Because you’re Zoe.” I gesture to the planner between us.
“Because you doodle grumpy cats in the margins of your life. Because you color-code your meetings and write things like ‘brING MUFFINS’ in all caps. Because you laugh at Tristan’s jokes but call him on his bullshit.
Because you make Dane speak in full sentences, which is a miracle in itself. ”
Dane grunts in what might be agreement.
“Because,” I continue, warming to my subject, “you chose this bar specifically to make us uncomfortable, and that’s both devious and brilliant.
Because you’re not intimidated by us, even though most people are.
Because you’re wearing those marks on your neck openly now, instead of hiding them, and I don’t know if that’s a ‘fuck you’ to us or to everyone else, but either way, it’s bold. ”
Zoe blinks, looking slightly stunned by my outburst.
“Wow,” Tristan murmurs. “Tell us how you really feel, Diego.”
I ignore him, keeping my eyes on Zoe. “So yes, I’d still be here. Marks or no marks. Static or no static. I’d want to know you.”
For a moment, she just stares at me, a flush creeping up her cheeks. Then she clears her throat, reaching for her beer. “That’s... a lot.”
“It’s the truth,” I say simply.
Before she can respond, a shadow falls across our table. I look up to find the burly alpha from the bar looming over us, swaying slightly on his feet.
“Hey there, beautiful,” he slurs, his attention fixed entirely on Zoe. “Couldn’t help but notice you with these... gentlemen.” He says the word like it’s an insult. “Thought you might like some real company.”
Rett’s spine stiffens, his hand tightening around his untouched beer. Tristan’s smile freezes in place, taking on a dangerous edge. Dane shifts almost imperceptibly, his weight balanced as if preparing to stand.
But Zoe just looks annoyed, not afraid. “Not interested, Dave.”
The alpha—Dave, apparently—pouts dramatically. “Aw, come on. Don’t be like that. We had fun last time.”
Last time? I feel an irrational surge of jealousy that I have no right to feel.
“Last time you spilled beer on my shoes and threw up across the bar,” Zoe replies dryly. “Not exactly the highlight of my social calendar.”
Dave laughs too loudly, then leans in closer, bracing one meaty hand on the table. “I’ll make it up to you. Ditch these suits and—”
“The lady said she’s not interested,” Rett interrupts, his voice carrying that edge of alpha command that makes most people instinctively back down.
Not Dave, though. He straightens, focusing on Rett for the first time. “And who the fuck are you? Her keeper?”
“No,” Dane answers before Rett can. “Her alphas.”
The plural hangs in the air between them. Dave’s bleary eyes widen as he finally notices the claiming marks on Zoe’s neck. All four of them, distinct and unmistakable.
“Well, shit,” he says, taking a step back. “Didn’t realize you were into that kind of thing, Zo.”
“There are a lot of things you don’t realize, Dave,” Zoe says coolly. “Now, if you don’t mind, we were having a conversation.”
Dave holds up his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, no problem. Just trying to be friendly.”
“Try somewhere else,” Tristan suggests with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.