Chapter 9 #3
“Coward,” he mutters fondly. “On it.”
Rhys gives him a look. “She just almost got jumped by a geyser, Dek.”
“Fine,” Declan grumbles. “Trauma tea.”
He disappears into the kitchen.
I sit there for a second, shivering. The blanket helps, but my clothes are still plastered to my skin, cold and heavy. My socks are squelching.
Knox leans on the wall, watching me. His gaze drops to my knees, then back up to my face, his nostrils flaring.
“You’re still shaking,” he says, voice low.
“Adrenaline,” I say through chattering teeth.
“Cold,” he corrects. “You need dry clothes. Now.”
“I’m fine,” I say automatically, because admitting I need to strip in their house feels like crossing a line.
“Mia,” Rhys says from the arm of the couch. He’s not looking at me; he’s looking at his phone, thumb scrolling, but his tone is pure alpha command. “Change. Or I’ll carry you back to the bathroom myself and stand outside the door until you do.”
My omega purrs. Let him.
I glare at the side of his head. “Bossy.”
He glances up, locking eyes with me. His eyes look so dark behind the glasses. “Do you want pneumonia or do you want a hoodie?”
“Hoodie,” I mumble, defeated.
“Good choice.” Declan reappears with a steaming mug in one hand and a pile of gray fabric in the other. “Fresh from the dryer. Guaranteed to be eighty percent softer than whatever you’re wearing.”
He sets the mug down before me, then hands me the clothes.
“Bathroom’s down the hall, second on the left,” he says. “Towels are under the sink. Don’t be weird about using the good soap.”
I take the bundle. It’s warm. It smells like…heaven. Not just detergent, but them. That rich scent of pack that makes my legs turn to water.
“Thanks,” I say, clutching it to my chest.
I shuffle down the hall, feeling three sets of eyes on my back.
The bathroom is absurdly neat. Clean. Organized. It even has homey wallpaper. I lock the door and lean against it for a second, just looking around.
It’s…cozy.
After a few moments, I push off the door. There’s mud caked on my hands and arms, so I head to the sink first, reaching for the soap dispenser. It’s heavy glass, filled with amber liquid that smells like sandalwood and money. The good soap.
Once I clean off the mud caking my skin, and peel off my wet muddy socks, cleaning my feet too, I take a deep breath.
Okay. Clothes. Change.
I strip off my sodden blouse and shorts, peeling the cold fabric away from my skin with a shiver, then towel off quickly, desperate for warmth.
Next, I pick up the hoodie. It’s huge. Charcoal gray, thick, well-worn. When I pull it over my head, it swallows me whole. The hem hits me mid-thigh and the sleeves go past my fingertips. And the scent…
Oh god.
It’s Declan’s. It has to be. It smells like dark chocolate and warmth. Heavy, too, settling into my pores instantly. My omega pretty much swoons on the bathmat. Pack, she sighs. Safe.
I pull on the sweatpants Declan gave me. They are also huge, requiring me to cinch the drawstring so tight the waistband bunches. I roll the cuffs three times just so I don’t trip.
When I catch my reflection in the mirror, I look ridiculous. I look tiny.
I also look…claimed.
There’s no other word for it. I am wearing their clothes, smelling like their pack.
Reaching down, I check the cabinet beneath the sink for a towel.
Empty.
Just cleaning supplies and a lonely roll of toilet paper. Great.
I unlock the bathroom door and peek out. The hallway is quiet. Voices drift from the living room. Declan laughing. Eli’s low rumble that tells me he’s returned. They’re occupied.
Maybe the door across the hall is the linen closet.
I slip across the corridor, bare feet silent on the wood, and push the door open.
I’m wrong. It’s not a closet.
It’s a bedroom. The space is sparse. Dark wood furniture, a bed made with dark sheets, blackout curtains. It smells like Knox.
My heart gives a guilty thud. I should leave. Immediately. I should close the door and go ask Declan for a towel like a normal person. I start to back out, but then my eyes land on the corner.
There’s a hamper there.
The rational part of my brain screams Run. But the part of me that has been losing sleep for forty-eight hours, wondering if these men are panty thieves or just intense neighbors, freezes.
Just a peek, my paranoia whispers. If they have my panties, they’d be here.
I shouldn’t. I absolutely shouldn’t.
I step into the room anyway.
Creeping over, I’m like the world’s worst spy in my oversized clown pants. My fingers fumble as I lift the hamper’s lid. But inside there’s only t-shirts, gym shorts, and socks. No lace. No stolen trophies.
I let out a breath. Okay. Laundry basket: clear.
I glance at the dresser near the far wall and move over to it. There’s nothing on top but a watch and a charging dock. No shrine. I hesitate, my hand hovering over the top drawer. This is a line. This is a massive invasion of privacy.
But if I check, I’ll know.
I open the top drawer. Just an inch. Inside there’s boxer-briefs, all neatly folded. I close it immediately, face flaming.
“What are you doing?” I hiss at myself. “Stop being a creep.”
I sag as guilt crashes into me. I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t be snooping. Maybe they really didn’t take them.
I turn to leave…and walk straight into a wall of muscle.
Knox is leaning in the doorway.
I didn’t hear him. How did I not hear him?
His arms are crossed, bicep flexing under the fresh t-shirt he must have pulled on, and he’s blocking the exit completely. He’s also not smiling.
“Find what you were looking for?” he asks, voice a low rumble.
My heart stops.
“I—” I take a step back, hitting the dresser. “I was just…looking for a towel.”
“Towels are in the bathroom,” he points out, taking a slow step into the room. “Panties are usually in the top drawer. Is that where you checked?”
Heat floods my face so fast I get dizzy. He knows. He absolutely knows.
“I wasn’t checking for—”
“Liar.”
He takes another step. Then another. He doesn’t stop until he’s crowding me, his thighs brushing the fabric of my oversized sweatpants. His molasses and burnt sugar swims in the air between us, heavy and thick in the small room.
Knox leans in, placing one hand on the wall beside my head, effectively caging me in.
“If you wanted to see my underwear, Mia,” he murmurs, dropping his voice to a dark purr, “you could have just asked.”
I open my mouth to deny it, but no sound comes out. Instead, my heart is hammering against my ribs. He’s too close. Too big. And looking at me like he wants to eat me alive.
I shiver, my breath hitching. I need an exit. I need to look anywhere but his eyes. My gaze darts desperately to the side, landing on the digital clock on the nightstand.
10:46.
The numbers don’t register for a second. And then they hit me like a bucket of ice water.
“Oh my god,” I gasp. “My meeting.”
Knox blinks, pulling back slightly at the sudden shift in my scent. “What?”
“I’m late!”
I duck under his arm, scrambling away from the heat of him. He doesn’t try to stop me this time; he just straightens, a slow, amused smirk spreading across his face as I sprint for the hallway.
I rush back into the living room, tripping over the hem of my pants, catching myself on the wall.
When I stumble in, conversation stops. Dead stops.
Declan chokes on air. Eli turns from the window. He goes very, very still. His gaze starts at my bare feet, travels up the rolled cuffs of the sweatpants, and lands on the hoodie.
Rhys is the only one who moves. He stands up slowly from the arm of the couch, takes off his glasses, and sets them on the coffee table. His scent hits me from across the room.
It’s not polite anymore. It’s heavy. Thick. A wall of alpha that rolls over me like a wave.
“You’re wearing Dek’s hoodie,” he says, his voice a low, rough rumble.
I swallow, suddenly finding it hard to breathe. “He…gave it to me.”
“Yeah,” he says. He takes a step toward me. Then another.
He stops three feet away. Close enough that I have to tilt my head back to look at him.
“It looks better on you,” he says quietly.
My knees turn to water.
“Guys,” I squeak, throat bobbing as I swallow hard. “I, uh, I have a call at ten,” I say, voice pitching higher with each word. “With my editor. I was— I completely—”
“You’re only forty-six minutes late,” Declan offers from next to Eli.
My stomach plummets. “She’s going to murder me. This is the check-in. The one where she decides if she’s renewing my contract. I cannot—I can’t just not show up.”
Rhys’s brows pull together. “So call her.”
“From where?” I gesture helplessly around. “I can’t walk her through burst pipes on FaceTime.”
“You have your laptop,” Eli points out, calm amidst my storm.
“And Wi-Fi,” Knox adds from where he’s leaning in the hallway entrance behind me. “You can use our office network. It’s stable.”
“And a background that is way more respectable than the inside of your crime-scene laundry room,” Declan says.
I sag into the couch, clutching the oversized hoodie to my chest. “I can’t just… bring her into your house. On video. She’ll see you.”
“And?” Rhys says. “We’re just guys in a living room.”
“Exactly,” I say. “She’s going to see ‘guys in a living room’ and decide that’s why I’m late.”
“So she’ll be right,” Eli says.
I glare. “Not helping.”
“Do you want to keep stalling or do you want to not get fired?” he counters.
“Fired isn’t the right word—”
“Laptop,” he says, crossing the room and sliding my bag toward me with one finger. “Zoom. Now.”
My heart is ricocheting off my ribs, half residual adrenaline from Knox in the bedroom, half pure work panic.
“I look like a raccoon,” I point out weakly.
“A raccoon who survived a natural disaster,” Declan says. “That shows commitment. It’s a power move. Go.”
I groan, square my shoulders into something approximating “not deranged,” and haul my laptop onto my knees. My fingers shake as I open it, type in the password Eli narrates for me, and click into the calendar.