Chapter 5 #3
Eli’s magic trick is that he makes it look like he’s focused on everyone else.
He’s topping off drinks, adjusting the grill, making sure Mrs. Pritchard’s samosas get circulated.
But he keeps finding excuses to drift near Mia.
Standing at her shoulder when Carol gets too animated.
Interrupting when Tom starts one of his more inappropriate war stories.
Always there, solid and quiet, like a wall she can lean on if she needs it.
We don’t talk about it, but we all track her. Peripheral vision, scent, the electric prickle at the back of the neck that says pack.
Even though she’s not pack.
Yet.
The trouble starts about two hours in.
I’m at the grill, flipping skewers, when I hear it. I look up.
She’s at one of the folding tables with a plastic cup in her hand, nodding as Carol talks at her. Not to her. At her. Carol’s leaning in, voice clipped and bright, one manicured finger tapping against the table as she makes some impassioned point about property values.
I can’t hear the words, but I can see Mia’s shoulders. The way they inch up. I see the way her weight shifts from foot to foot, a tiny rocking motion that screams get me out, get me out.
“Declan,” Eli says from my other side. “Don’t.”
I’ve already put the tongs down.
“I’m just—”
“Don’t,” he repeats. “If we swoop in every time she gets cornered, we’re not helping. We’re just…proving her right.”
“Right about what?” I snap.
“That we’re too much,” he says quietly. “Look at her, Declan. She flinches every time the noise level goes up. If we crowd her now, she’ll bolt.”
The words land hard in my chest.
I look back at Mia.
She laughs at something Carol says, but it’s thin. Her fingers tighten around the cup until the plastic bows.
My alpha does not give a single shit about Eli’s Very Reasonable Point.
Mine, it snarls. Ours. Protect.
Beside the table, Tom ambles over. He interjects something that makes Carol roll her eyes but pause. The pressure eases for a second.
Mia takes a breath.
Okay. Fine. Maybe we let her ride this one out.
Then Carol’s gaze slides over, lands on Knox, who’s heading toward the cooler behind Mia.
Her mouth curves.
Oh, no.
Knox is halfway to the ice chest when Carol calls out, “You boys are certainly making yourselves at home.”
Knox smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Isn’t that the idea?”
Carol’s eyes flick to Mia, to the barely-there space between them, then back to him. “I see you’re already very…territorial about the neighborhood’s single omegas.”
My hackles go up. Eli tenses with irritation. Rhys, across the yard, goes murder-still.
Mia makes a choking noise that might be a laugh.
Knox doesn’t miss a beat. He closes the last two steps between him and Mia with absolute, fucking, deliberate intent.
He stops at her back. Close enough that his body heat rolls over her. His arm lifts, reaching past her to rest casually on the edge of the table. It cages her without touching.
Mia’s breath stutters.
Her scent explodes. Omega-flash. Startled, flustered, a bright dizzy swirl of awareness and want and oh God.
I grip the grill handle so hard my knuckles ache.
“Need rescuing?” Knox murmurs, voice pitched low for her. I hear it anyway. So does Eli.
Mia’s shoulders drop a fraction. A subtle deflation of relief. “Possibly,” she says under her breath. “Is that a service you offer?”
“Full package,” he says. “We’re a startup. Excellent customer support.”
Carol’s eyes narrow. “Mmm. I see you boys are already territorial.”
Knox smiles at her again. “Just being good hosts, ma’am.”
As he speaks, his hand settles on the small of Mia’s back. Right where the thin cotton of her sundress meets the spill of warm, bare skin.
Mia jolts. Then melts.
I see it. The way her knees soften. The slight shimmy forward, like her body’s instinct is to lean back into the heat and she has to correct for it.
Her scent turns thick and syrupy, burning right through whatever blockers she’s wearing.
Every alpha in the yard turns, whether they mean to or not. It’s instinct. Omega scent does that.
I suck a breath in through my teeth.
Eli mutters, “Jesus fucking Christ,” under his breath and steps away from the grill, like he needs physical distance to keep from doing something spectacularly stupid.
Rhys is already moving, casually adjusting his path so he drifts into the periphery of the table. Knox’s backup.
Carol’s nostrils flare. Her gaze shifts. She’s not oblivious; say what you want about her obsession with garbage bins, the woman reads a social landscape like it’s her job.
Her eyes sharpen. “Well,” she says. “I suppose as long as you’re also this attentive to the HOA bylaws.”
“We love bylaws,” Knox lies smoothly. “Can’t get enough of them.”
Carol’s smile is thin and sharp. “See that you do. Sweetwater Pines has a reputation for being…quiet. We don’t tolerate disruption.” She glances pointedly at Mia. “Or anyone who attracts it.”
The dig is subtle, but it lands. Mia flinches.
I open my mouth to say something that will absolutely get me fined, but Mia beats me to it. She straightens her spine against Knox’s hand, lifting her chin.
“I couldn’t agree more, Carol,” she says, her voice polite but laced with absolute steel. “I moved here for peace. I intend to keep it that way. I’m sure we won’t have any issues unless someone creates them.”
Carol blinks. Her lips purse. She looks ready to double down, her eyes narrowing as she opens her mouth to escalate.
That’s it. She had her chance.
Eli steps in, moving so smoothly it looks like a dance step. He puts himself between Carol and Mia, blocking the older woman’s view with his broad shoulders. He smiles, but his eyes are flat and cold.
“We’re very protective of our peace, Carol,” he says, his voice dropping into a register that vibrates in his chest. “And we’re very protective of our omega…neighbor. Disturb either, and we’ll have a problem.”
The air freezes.
It’s said pleasantly. It’s said with a smile. But the threat underneath is unmistakable. My alpha flips in my chest.
Oursoursours.
Mia sucks in a breath.
Carol blinks, looking suddenly unsure. She makes a nervous, tittering sound that’s supposed to be a laugh. “Well. I’m sure we’ll all get along just fine.”
She turns and walks away with a swish of floral print, faster than she arrived.
Mia stares at Eli’s back. When he turns to her his face is calm, but his jaw is tight. “You okay?”
Mia nods, looking a little dazed. “I…yes.”
Knox leans in, his hand still on the small of her back. “Told you,” he murmurs. “Excellent customer support.”
Mia chokes on a laugh. Her back arches, just barely, into his hand.
Mine, my alpha growls again. Ours.
I clamp my teeth together until my jaw aches.
Eli appears at my side again, silently. His shoulder bumps mine. Enough to say: Breathe.
I do. In, out. Her scent threads into me on every inhale, winding me tighter.
Mia’s shoulders drop. She exhales like she’s been holding her breath for a week.
“Thanks,” she mutters to Knox without looking at him. “I owe you.”
“You owe me nothing,” he says, voice low. His thumb moves in a slow, almost imperceptible stroke against her spine.
Her scent flares again. Knox’s fingers twitch.
Okay. Enough.
If I stand here one more second watching Knox pet her, I’m going to flip this grill just to get everyone’s attention off them.
“Hey,” I call out loudly. “Who wants to help me do a burger taste-off? Mia says my seasoning is ‘acceptable,’ but I think she’s just being polite.”
Heads swivel. Attention reorients. Eli gives me a look that’s half exasperation, half gratitude.
Mia glances over her shoulder, eyes meeting mine. There’s color high in her cheeks, but there’s laughter there too. The worst of the tightness is gone.
Good. That’s something. That’s me, being helpful and not feral. Gold star.
The rest of the barbecue is a blur of food and conversation and constant low-level hypervigilance. I’m charming when I need to be. I crack jokes, I flip burgers, I compliment Mrs. Pritchard’s samosas like they saved my life.
Every time I look up, I find her.
Talking to Tom under the maple tree, Mala sprawled at her feet.
Sitting on the edge of a lawn chair, knees together, dress smoothed over them, listening to Knox explain in surprisingly gentle terms why crypto is not, in fact, the future of civilization.
Laughing at something Rhys whispers in her ear that makes her swat his chest.
Every time, one of us is there.
We move like we do in the office under launch pressure. Everyone covering everyone else’s blind spots.
Except this time, she’s the center of the map.
By the time the sun dips low and the sky goes soft pink, most of the guests have filtered out.
Tom leaves with a wave and a promise to bring pie “next time.” Mrs. Pritchard gives Mia a hug that makes something in my chest loosen.
Then the gate clicks shut behind the last straggler, and the noise of the party fades into the hum of cicadas.
The yard empties.
It’s just us.
Me at the grill, scrubbing down the grates. Eli helping stack chairs. Knox and Rhys in the kitchen with Mia, washing up.
It should feel…normal.
It doesn’t.
It feels like the air before a thunderstorm. Completely charged.
I finish the grill just as Eli finishes with the chairs and we head toward the back door. The moment we step in, we see the three of them at the sink and the sight is so offensively hot, I want to sue someone.
Rhys is at the faucet, sleeves pushed up, forearms slick with water as he rinses plates. Knox is beside him, loading the dishwasher with a level of care he would deny having in any other context. Mia stands at the island with a dish towel, drying the good glasses.
We could have done this with paper plates. Cheap cups. Eli insisted on “real” dishes because he’s trying to make us look like functioning adults.
I’m grateful for once.