Chapter 39 – IVY
Chapter
Thirty-Nine
IVY
Iadjust the last of the blankets in my half-finished nest, trying not to pay attention to the sounds of the action movie playing on the TV. It helps mask any sounds we make up here, but the explosions are a bit distracting.
A metallic scraping against the fire escape jerks me out of my nest-building trance. Something's scratching at the side of the building. Something big. My muscles tense automatically, fight-or-flight response already kicking in.
"Did you hear that?" I whisper, though Wraith is already moving toward the window, his massive frame coiled with alert energy.
Wraith nods, his blue eyes narrowed as he peers out. The tension in his shoulders eases a fraction, and he turns to sign to me.
W-H-I-S-K-E-Y… P-L-A-G-U-E… S-U-P-P-L-I-E-S.
"They're here already?" I check my phone. It hasn't even been an hour since I placed the order. "Wow. That was fast."
Wraith shrugs and moves to unlock the window. The sound of shuffling and muffled cursing grows louder as he slides it open. I grab Wraith's sweatshirt and pull it on over the t-shirt I'm already wearing, suddenly self-conscious about my scent. Nesting has only intensified it.
"Holy shit, why is this window so small?" Whiskey's booming voice carries through the open window. "Who designed this? Fuckin' hobbits?"
"Andersen Windows," comes Plague's measured response. "Keep your voice down."
"Shit. Sorry."
I hover at the edge of the room, as wary as I am curious. I've met these alphas, sure, but only briefly. Now they're coming into what's somehow become my space. My nest. My instincts are a jumbled mess of contradictions.
Wraith steps back as Whiskey attempts to squeeze through the window.
It's like watching someone try to fit a refrigerator through a doggy door.
His brown leather jacket catches on the frame as he stubbornly tries to wriggle through, a muscular arm stretched awkwardly above his head and the other clutching a huge cardboard box with a purple omega symbol pattern all over it.
"You realize you don't have to fit through with the box, right?" Plague asks, irritation bleeding into his already frigid tone.
"Realize my ass!" Whiskey grits out through his teeth, the box caving in between the window frame and his beefy torso.
Wraith stares at him for a long, judgmental moment before grabbing Whiskey by the arm and yanking him through with enough force that Whiskey topples headfirst onto the floor. The box miraculously stays intact, though Whiskey lets out a string of colorful curses.
I wince, listening, but thankfully don't hear any reaction from downstairs. The action movie Wraith put on is still blaring, which is hopefully drowning out Whiskey's perpetually bellowing voice. Pretty sure he only has one volume setting, and it's "grizzly bear with a stubbed toe."
"What the fuck, dude!" Whiskey mutters, pushing himself up to his knees. "You could've broken my fucking—" He stops mid-sentence as he looks up and catches sight of me standing near the nest. His pupils dilate instantly. "Holy shit."
I shift uncomfortably under his gaze, all too aware of how my scent must be hitting him. The sweatshirt isn't doing much to mask it.
"Hi," I manage, crossing my arms over my chest.
Behind Whiskey, Plague appears in the window opening.
Unlike his packmate, he slips through with effortless grace.
He's carrying two large bags, which he sets down carefully next to the door.
His pale blue eyes meet mine for only a fraction of a second before sliding away, but that brief contact is enough to send a strange flutter through my stomach.
"We brought what you requested," Plague says, his voice perfectly neutral despite his stiff posture. "There are additional items the store recommended for your... situation."
"Thanks," I say, suddenly finding it hard to form coherent thoughts.
Three alphas in one small space is a lot to process, especially with my heat simmering just below the surface.
The air feels charged, thick with competing scents.
Whiskey's scent is cinnamon-tinged while Plague's is crisp is wintery. They couldn't be more different.
"So this is the lair of the beast!" Whiskey says once he's managed to tear his gaze away from me, climbing to his feet and spinning in a slow circle to take in the loft.
"Gotta say, it's nicer than I expected. You’re so casually goth, I was thinking, you know, chains on the walls, maybe some human bones scattered around.
" He gestures to my carefully arranged nest on the bed. "But this is downright cozy."
Wraith's low growl rumbles through the room, a clear warning that Whiskey ignores completely.
"Oh man, you have a TV? We've been trying to get you to watch movies with us for years, and you've had your own setup the whole time?" Whiskey continues, poking at Wraith's bookshelf. "Sweet, dude, vintage comic books. Who knew you were a nerd under all that—"
Wraith's hand shoots out, grabbing Whiskey's wrist before he can touch another book. Wraith lifts a finger to his mouth behind his mask in the universal sign for "shut up."
"What?" Whiskey looks bewildered. "Am I being too loud?"
"Yes," Plague says from where he's methodically unpacking one of the bags. It looks like they even ordered more clothes for me. "And touching things that aren't yours."
"We're trying not to alert Valek," I explain pointedly, coming a bit closer but still keeping my distance. "Hence the loud movie."
"Right. Shit. Sorry." Whiskey lowers his voice to what he probably thinks is a whisper but is really just his normal speaking volume. "Secret omega hiding operation. I'm on it."
Plague rolls his eyes. "Perhaps you could assist by opening the box you brought rather than cataloging Wraith's possessions?"
"Fine, fine." Whiskey crouches down to tear open the box. "But just so we're clear, I'm helping because Ivy needs this stuff, not because you told me to."
I watch the three alphas move around each other with the careful awareness of predators sharing territory. There's an undercurrent of aggression, but not hostility. More like an established pecking order being renegotiated in my presence.
Wraith positions himself between me and the others, not overtly blocking them but making it clear that I'm under his protection.
Plague keeps his distance, his movements careful and controlled, though I catch his eyes drifting toward me whenever he thinks I'm not looking.
Whiskey is the wildcard, radiating an energy that fills the entire loft.
"So," Whiskey says, laying out nesting supplies. They're mostly soft blankets in varying textures and specialized pillows designed to support an omega's body during heat. "How's the whole hiding-in-the-loft thing going? Must be better than the tunnels, right?"
"Whiskey," Plague warns, but I wave him off.
"It's okay." I edge closer to inspect the supplies, curiosity overcoming my instinctive wariness. Although truthfully, my instincts aren't all that wary around any of these alphas. "It's definitely an upgrade. Running water, actual bed, no rats..."
"Rats?" Whiskey looks horrified. "You had to deal with rats in the tunnels?"
I shrug, trying to make light of it though the memory still makes my skin crawl.
"Just one or two. They stayed away from my nest. Mostly.
" I pause, realizing how bizarre this conversation must sound to these alphas who probably never had to worry about basics like safety and shelter. "You learn to adapt."
Something dark passes over Whiskey's face, a flash of anger quickly masked. "No one should have to 'adapt' to that."
"No," I agree softly. "They shouldn't."
An awkward silence falls. I focus on the supplies instead of their reactions, picking up one of the softer blankets and running it between my fingers. It's heavenly, plush and gentle against my skin.
"This is perfect," I say, feeling a bit lighter despite the strange situation. "Thank you for getting all this so quickly."
"Of course." Plague's voice softens slightly.
Wraith touches my shoulder lightly, drawing my attention. His hands move in the air between us.
W-A-N-T... T-H-E-M… G-O-N-E?
Despite his obvious discomfort with their presence, he's leaving it up to me whether they stay or go.
I consider it for a moment. Part of me wants to retreat back into the safety of isolation with just Wraith.
It's simpler, safer. But another part—perhaps the part influenced by my approaching heat, but I don't think that's it—wants them to stay. Just for a little while.
"They can stay," I say, then add quickly, "If that's okay with you."
Wraith's blue eyes search mine before he gives a small nod. He doesn't look thrilled, but he accepts my decision.
"Really?" Whiskey perks up like a giant excited golden retriever. "I mean, cool. Totally cool. We'll just hang out. No big deal." He glances around the loft, clearly wondering where to put himself in the small space.
"There's a chair by the desk," I offer, gesturing to the corner. "And the couch has room."
Plague claims the desk chair immediately, crossing one long leg over the other. Whiskey hesitates before dropping himself onto one end of the couch, leaving plenty of space as if he's trying not to take up too much room. An impossible task, given his size.
Wraith and I return to the nest, me sitting cross-legged in the center while he stands there, his arms hanging at his sides as he glances around the room with clear wariness. The four of us look at each other, none quite sure how to proceed with this impromptu gathering.
"So..." Whiskey breaks the silence, of course. "Anyone else feeling really fucking weird about this?"
Despite everything, I manage to laugh. "Yes. Definitely weird."
"I mean, a week ago none of us knew you existed," Whiskey continues, warming to his topic. "Now you're in Wraith's cave—which, by the way, none of us have ever been invited to before—and we're all just sitting around like it's normal."
"This is far from normal," Plague agrees, his eyes flicking toward the nest where I sit. I don't miss the way his gaze lingers on me. "Though I suppose normal was never on the table once we started sharing dreams."
"Yeah, about that," I say, seizing the opening. "How exactly does that work? The dream sharing?"
Plague and Whiskey exchange a glance that suggests they don't know how it works, either.
"We're not entirely sure," Plague admits, looking back to me. "But I'm sure there's an explanation beyond magic, no matter what this one thinks." He jerks his head toward Whiskey.
“Are you mates?” I ask, pulling one of the softer blankets into my lap, fingers working the plush fabric like a cat without conscious thought. That would explain their shared intuition, maybe.
"No," they both say firmly at the exact same time. Although I don't miss the way Whiskey glances at Plague, who sharply averts his gaze in obvious discomfort.
Interesting. But I decide to change the subject before another alpha argument kicks off. "What did you see? In the dreams?" I ask.
Whiskey sighs and sits forward, bracing his muscled forearms on his knees. "You. In the maintenance tunnels. Your hair was different—more red, less brown. But it was definitely you. And your scent was everywhere. Honeysuckle and…"
"Summer rain," Plague supplies quietly. When Whiskey and I both look at him, he shrugs. "That's the undertone beneath the honeysuckle. Rain on grass at the end of a warm, sunny day."
Whiskey rakes a hand through his brown hair. No wonder it's always tousled. He can't keep his hands off it. "It started a few days ago, when we came home. Like watching the same movie from slightly different angles, I guess. But the core was the same. You in the tunnels, always just out of reach."
All our phones buzz simultaneously.
Wraith is the first to check, his body going rigid as he reads the message. Whiskey mutters something under his breath. Plague is unreadable as always.
I pull out my phone, dread pooling in my stomach as I check the group chat.
THANE
Valek is skulking around near where the loft entrance was. I can't hear much, but be careful.
My heart lurches. “He knows something's off,” I whisper.
“Or he's just exploring,” Plague offers, though he doesn't sound entirely convinced. "Valek seems like the type to investigate every inch of new territory."
"Like a fucking predator," Whiskey mutters.
Wraith turns the volume up on the TV, filling the loft with more noise. He signs to Plague, who nods in response.
"You're right," Plague says. "We should minimize movement in and out of the loft until he loses interest."
"I don't mind being stuck up here," Whiskey says with a grin. His attempt to whisper is a complete failure and Wraith gives him a look that could peel paint off the wall.
"He minds," Plague says mildly.
I stifle a laugh at Plague's dry remark. The tension between these two alphas is so thick you could cut it with a knife.
I pull another blanket into my nest, my hands busy even as my mind races.
There's a potential threat right below us—an alpha who's already seen me once and who could expose me to Wade if he realizes I'm here.
I should be way more worried than I am. But somehow, sitting here surrounded by three protective alphas who are apparently my scent matches, I feel. .. not safe, exactly.
But something close to it.