Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Rett
The moment the bathroom door closes behind Zoe, I’m on my feet. I give my brothers a single look—the one that means “move now, talk later”—and they’re already gathering their blankets and pillows.
“Go,” I whisper, jerking my head toward the door. “Before she comes out.”
The command feels wrong. Every step toward the door is like walking against a heavy, invisible current. A deep, instinctual part of me wants to stay, to stand guard, to remain in the room that is now saturated with her scent—and the scent of her pleasure. Ours.
We manage it, moving in near-perfect silence, each of us grabbing our makeshift bedding and sliding out of the room like thieves fleeing a crime scene.
It’s not dignified. It’s not alpha. It’s four grown men running away from a woman who had a sex dream about them.
About me, specifically, if Dane’s quiet revelation in the darkness is to be believed.
I’m the last one out, pulling the door closed with a soft click that feels thunderous in the tense silence. The moment it latches, the invisible current increases in strength. Fuck. Too far.
She’s just on the other side of that door, I reason with the snarling instinct in my gut. Still close. For now, it has to be enough.
We make it to the living room. I glance at my brothers. They’re all feeling it.
Tristan is pacing, hands clenching and unclenching as he rolls his shoulders.
Diego has his eyes closed, his hand pressed over his heart as if to physically quiet the ache of his alpha’s discontent.
Even Dane looks… unsettled. He’s standing by the window, but he’s not looking out at the city.
He’s looking at the reflection of Zoe’s hallway in the glass.
We’re a wreck. All of us.
Tristan dumps his blanket and pillow on the couch, raking his hands through his hair. “Well,” he says, his voice strained despite the forced lightness, “that was... something.”
Diego is pacing now, his usual calm completely shattered. “We can’t just pretend it didn’t happen. We burst into her room armed with kitchenware. She must be terrified.”
“Or mortified,” Dane says quietly from where he’s standing at the windows, arms crossed over his chest. “Probably both.”
“She had a sex dream about us,” Tristan says, as if we need the reminder. He spreads his arms wide, “About Rett, specifically.” He doesn’t quite meet my eyes. “Anyone else feel like we just walked in on our parents?”
A low sound of agreement escapes me. “I know what you mean,” I mutter, running a hand over my jaw.
Tristan’s forced smile drops. “She had a sex dream so intense it made her scream. A sex dream about us. About you. And we all heard it. We all smelled it.” He finally looks at me, and his eyes are a dark, confusing mix of raw arousal and something else.
.. something that looks a lot like jealousy.
“Frankly, I don’t know whether to be turned on or pissed off. ”
“Both,” Dane suggests, his voice a dry, flat rumble from the corner. “You can be both.”
Diego stops pacing to shoot Dane a disapproving look. “Don’t encourage him.” Dane shrugs.
I need to regain control of this situation. Of my brothers. Of myself. Especially myself, because the memory of Zoe’s scream is still echoing in my ears, and the knowledge that she was dreaming of me—calling my name—is doing dangerous things to my self-control.
“The point is,” I say, forcing my voice into the steady, authoritative tone that usually works on my pack, “the bond is reacting in ways we didn’t anticipate. We need a strategy.”
“A strategy,” Tristan repeats, his voice flat. “For what, exactly? How to survive breakfast after hearing our mate have a mind-blowing orgasm while dreaming about us?”
“For how to help her through this,” I correct, glaring at him. “She’s confused. Scared. Probably feeling violated and exposed. We need to make this easier for her, not harder.”
Diego stops pacing, his expression shifting to something more focused. “You’re right. She’s embarrassed. We need to show her there’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”
“How, exactly?” Tristan asks, throwing himself onto the couch. “I can barely look at her without remembering the sound she made. That little gasp right before—fuck.” I can literally see him getting hard, his cock growing under his boxers. “I’m just saying, this is weird for all of us.”
“Weirdest for her,” Dane says quietly.
We all fall silent at that, the truth of his words settling over us. Zoe didn’t ask for this. For her gallery to get robbed. For these dreams. Or for us to burst into her room in the middle of the night.
“So what do we do?” Diego asks, looking to me for answers. He always does. They all do. It’s my job as pack alpha to have the solutions, to know the right path forward. But right now, I’m as lost as they are.
“We act normal,” I decide, the words coming out with more confidence than I feel. “We don’t mention the dream. We don’t make this any more awkward than it already is.”
“Normal,” Tristan repeats skeptically. “You want us to pretend we didn’t all hear her.”
“Yes,” I say firmly. “That’s exactly what we do. We give her the dignity of pretending it didn’t happen.”
Diego’s face brightens with sudden inspiration.
“I’ll make breakfast. Something special.
A welcome breakfast for her first morning with us.
” He’s already moving toward the kitchen, his anxious energy finding purpose.
“Huevos rancheros. Or maybe that apple cinnamon French toast she was looking at on her phone yesterday.”
Tristan and I exchange a glance. “How do you know what she was looking at on her phone?” I ask carefully.
Diego waves a dismissive hand as he pulls ingredients from the refrigerator. “I happened to glance over when she was scrolling. She lingered on it. I notice things.”
“That’s not creepy at all,” Tristan mutters, but there’s a fondness in his voice.
“It’s observant,” Diego corrects, pulling out a mixing bowl. “There’s a difference.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night, stalker,” Tristan says, but he’s already moving to help, grabbing eggs from the fridge.
I watch them for a moment, a strange feeling settling in my chest. Pride, maybe. Relief that we’re finding our footing again, even if it’s shaky. Or maybe it’s something else entirely, something I’m not ready to put into words.
Dane pushes away from the window, coming to stand beside me. “She’s going to be fine,” he says, his voice pitched low enough that only I can hear. “She won’t run from this.”
I nod, not trusting myself to speak. Dane has always seen more than he says. It’s what makes him such an effective security expert. Nothing escapes his notice.
“About what you said last night,” I finally manage, the words feeling like stones in my mouth. “About her calling my name...”
Dane’s pale eyes meet mine, unflinching. “She did.”
“Are you sure?” I hate the hope in my voice. The need for confirmation. “It could have been any of us.”
“It was you,” he says simply. “She said it clearly. Twice. Wasn’t speaking in tongues.”
Something hot and possessive unfurls in my chest, a sensation so intense I don’t know what to do with it.
I shove the feeling down, locking it away where it can’t do any damage. Where it can’t make me do something stupid, like corner Zoe and demand to know exactly what she was dreaming about. Like press her against a wall and show her how much better reality could be than any dream.
“It doesn’t matter,” I say, as much to myself as to Dane. “It was just a dream. It doesn’t mean anything.”
Dane’s expression doesn’t change, but something in his eyes tells me he doesn’t believe me any more than I believe myself.
“So we stick to the plan,” I continue, straightening my shoulders. “Act normal. Don’t mention the dream. Give her space.”
“And the bond? The fact that we couldn’t leave her?”
I don’t have a good answer for that. The bond is strengthening, not weakening.
Last night proved that beyond a doubt. Our alphas wouldn’t let us leave her, not when she was distressed.
Not even when she was asleep. The pull to stay close to her was so strong it was like fighting against gravity itself.
“We’ll figure it out,” I say, which is no answer at all.
Dane nods once, accepting my non-answer with his usual stoicism. “Breakfast first. Then the gallery.”
Right. The gallery. The break-in. The real reason Zoe is here in the first place. With everything that happened last night, I almost forgot about the actual threat. The thieves who targeted her office, stole her files, and left that ugly message.
My jaw tightens. “I’ve got a team working on that. We’ll know more soon.”
In the kitchen, Diego and Tristan have fallen into a familiar rhythm, working side by side to prepare breakfast. Diego is moving with a forced, jerky energy, pulling out pans and ingredients.
He’s clearly decided that cooking is the solution.
I can already tell this is a bad idea. He’s too distracted, his focus entirely on the closed door down the hallway.
Meanwhile, Tristan is whisking eggs with more gusto than necessary, but at least he’s focused on something other than making inappropriate jokes.
I check my watch. It’s been fifteen minutes since we fled Zoe’s room. The shower is running now; I can hear the faint sound of water through the walls. She’s probably trying to delay facing us for as long as possible. I don’t blame her.
“You’re doing it again,” Dane says.
I blink, turning to him. “Doing what?”
“Listening for her. Tracking her movements.” He raises an eyebrow. “It’s the bond.”
“I know what it is,” I snap, irritated at being so transparent. “I’m just... concerned.”
“Mmhmm,” Dane replies, utterly unconvinced.