Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Zoe
The night air feels like a slap to the face after the stuffy heat of The Anchor. I inhale deeply, letting the coolness clear my head as I stride ahead of my...alphas? Stalkers? Claimants? God, I don’t even know what to call them.
Behind me, I hear the door swing open again, followed by the sound of four sets of expensive shoes hitting the pavement. I don’t turn around, just keep walking until I reach the corner, where I finally stop and face them.
They look ridiculous, the four Sterling brothers, standing in a neat row outside a dive bar like they’re posing for a particularly awkward family portrait.
Rett’s coffee-colored blazer has a damp patch where someone spilled beer on him.
Tristan’s silk shirt is wrinkled, the collar askew.
Diego’s white shirt has somehow acquired a smear of what I hope is wing sauce across one sleeve.
Only Dane looks relatively unscathed, though his jaw is clenched so tight I can practically hear his teeth grinding.
“Well,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest. “That was fun.”
“Your definition of fun needs work,” Tristan mutters, running a hand through his curls.
“Please. You walked into a fisherman’s bar looking like the cast of a reality show about billionaire bachelors,” I point out. “One part CEO on a casual Friday, one part musician on his day off, and one part... well, Dane actually looks fine. But the point stands. What did you expect?”
“Not to be challenged by a drunk alpha with boundary issues,” Rett says, his voice still carrying an edge of that growl from inside.
Tristan holds up a single, corrective finger. “Technicality, but we’re actually just multi-millionaires. The ‘billionaire’ status is Rett’s father’s territory. Let’s not give the old man credit where it’s not due.”
I give him a flat, unimpressed look. “Oh, my apologies. Just multi-millionaires. How careless of me. I’ll be sure to use the correct tax bracket for my insults next time.”
I close my eyes and take a deep breath before opening them again. “Dave is harmless. All bark, no bite.” I pause, then gesture to the four of them, a dry, pointed look on my face. “Unlike some people I could mention.”
Tristan actually snorts a laugh before catching Rett’s glare and smothering it.
“He was disrespectful,” Dane says, completely ignoring my joke, his tone flat and final. As if that explains and justifies everything.
“So your solution was to nearly start a bar fight?” I shake my head. “Very mature.”
“We didn’t start anything,” Diego protests, stepping forward. “We were defending you.”
“I don’t need defending,” I say, softer this time. “Especially not from Dave, who I’ve known for two years and who has all the aggressive capability of a golden retriever on sedatives.”
The four of them exchange glances, a silent communication passing between them that makes me feel like an outsider. It’s strange, that easy intimacy they share, the way they can read each other without words.
“Look,” I say, softening my tone slightly. “I appreciate the... sentiment. But I can handle myself. I’ve been doing it for twenty-six years without an alpha, let alone four of them.”
“We know,” Rett says, surprising me with the quick concession. “That’s part of what makes you... you.”
I blink, thrown off balance by the unexpected compliment. “Well...good.”
A beat of awkward silence follows, broken only by the distant sounds of traffic and the muted thump of music still emanating from The Anchor.
“So,” Tristan says, rocking back on his heels. “That went well.”
Diego elbows him sharply. “It was a disaster,” he corrects, his warm brown eyes finding mine. “But maybe, if you’re willing, we could try again? Somewhere quieter? Where we can actually talk?”
I hesitate, studying them. The sidewalk suddenly feels too narrow with all four of them surrounding me. I cross my arms, my back pressing against the brick wall behind me as if it might offer escape.
Rett steps forward first, his shadow falling across me in the streetlight. His usual polished composure has cracks tonight; I see it in the way his shoulders are rigid, and there’s a muscle jumping in his clenched jaw.
Tristan leans against a lamppost like we’re just having a casual chat, but the usual playful glint in his eyes has sharpened into something more intense. His fingers drum an uneven rhythm against the metal pole.
Dane stands slightly apart, his massive frame blocking the sidewalk’s flow of pedestrians. He doesn’t fidget, but his gaze never wavers from my face, like he’s memorizing every microexpression.
Diego breaks first. “Zoe...” His voice comes out rough, and he reaches for me before stopping himself mid-motion.
A lump rises in my throat.
And then there’s what Diego said inside, about the grumpy cat doodles and the muffins and all the little things that somehow made me feel... seen. Not just claimed or desired, but actually seen.
“Okay,” I say finally. “That was a disaster. But Diego, what you said in there... maybe you’re right. We need to figure this out.”
Relief washes over their faces, so palpable I can almost smell it mixing with their distinct alpha scents.
“Thank you,” Rett says, with a sincerity that catches me off guard.
I shrug, suddenly self-conscious. “Don’t thank me yet. I’m not agreeing to anything. I’m just saying we should talk. Like rational adults.”
“Rational adults sounds good,” Diego says with a warm smile. “Better than growling alpha idiots.”
“Speak for yourself,” Tristan mutters, but there’s a small smile on his lips.
I check my watch. It’s not even nine yet, but the day feels like it’s been a week long. “It’s getting late. I should head home.”
“We’ll take you,” Rett says immediately.
“We drove,” Dane adds, already turning toward the parking lot.
I hold up a hand. “That’s not necessary. I can walk. It’s only a few blocks.”
“It’s dark,” Rett counters.
“It’s Sweetwater,” I reply, trying not to sound panicked at the thought of being cooped up in a vehicle with them. “The most dangerous thing I’m likely to encounter is a passive-aggressive note from someone who doesn’t like my recycling habits.”
“Still,” Diego says, his expression concerned. “We’d feel better if we knew you got home safely.”
I should say no. I should insist on my independence, on my ability to walk home alone like I’ve done countless times before. But something in their collective gaze makes me hesitate.
“Fine,” I relent. “But I’m walking, not taking your tank. I need the fresh air.”
“We’ll walk with you,” Rett decides, as if it’s settled.
“All of you?” I raise an eyebrow. “That’s not necessary.”
“Pack,” Dane says simply, like that one word explains everything.
And weirdly, it kind of does.
“Alright, fine,” I sigh, turning to head in the direction of my apartment. “Just…try not to look like a security detail or something.”
My brain immediately screams in protest at the words coming out of my mouth.
Three blocks. Three blocks of being surrounded by this.
.. this walking pheromone cloud. I’m already overwhelmed by everything tonight.
The static confession, Diego’s speech, the bar fight, and my own confusing feelings.
Being in such proximity to them is like standing next to four space heaters while wearing a wool sweater.
But the alternative is sitting in a car with them. At least walking gives me fresh air.
I start walking, hyperaware of their presence behind me.
Of course, within half a block, they’ve fallen into a loose formation around me.
Rett walks slightly ahead, Tristan and Diego flank me on either side, and Dane brings up the rear.
It’s so absurd I almost laugh. What do I even do with this?
How does a normal person navigate having four human shields who smell like a high-end cologne ad?
We walk in a strange, charged silence for a block. It’s not entirely uncomfortable. I pull out my phone, mostly just to have something to do with my hands, and start scrolling aimlessly through a food blog I like. A distraction from the four walking pheromone clouds surrounding me.
“I can feel you doing this, you know,” I say, not looking at any of them in particular.
“Doing what?” Tristan asks innocently.
“The alpha diamond of protection or whatever this is,” I gesture vaguely around us. “It’s like I’m suddenly the president with my overdressed secret service team. People are staring.”
It’s true. The few pedestrians we pass do double-takes at the sight of four impeccably dressed men in a diamond formation around one woman. I catch some of them trying to see which omega is getting the royal treatment.
“Let them stare,” Tristan says with a grin. “Maybe they’ll think you’re a celebrity.”
“Or a witness in a mob trial,” Diego suggests.
“Or that you have four bodyguards because you’re incredibly important,” Tristan adds.
“Or four alphas because you’re incredibly desirable,” Dane murmurs from behind, so quietly I almost don’t hear it.
My cheeks heat at that, a reaction I blame entirely on the claiming marks and whatever weird beta-alpha voodoo is happening to my biology.
“This static thing you mentioned back at the bar,” I ask, changing the subject. “You said I make it... quiet. What exactly did you mean by that?”
Rett glances back at me, his pace slowing to match mine.
“It’s... complicated. The static isn’t new. It’s been getting worse for months. Years, really. We’d tried everything. Medical intervention, therapy, even a specialist in Switzerland who deals with rare alpha conditions.”
“Nothing worked,” Diego adds. “It was just getting louder, more disruptive.”
“Then we met you,” Tristan continues. “And it was like... I don’t know, like someone turned down the volume. Not off, but quieter. More manageable.”
“But after the claiming,” Dane says, “silence.”
“Complete silence,” Rett confirms. “For the first time in five years.”