Chapter 45 – IVY
Chapter
Forty-Five
IVY
My internal clock is still completely fucked.
I wake in the pre-dawn darkness, my body humming with that restless energy that comes from months of living like a nocturnal creature. The hotel room is quiet except for the deep, rhythmic breathing of two alphas who've apparently claimed me as their omega, at least on a temporary basis.
Whiskey sprawls across his side of the bed like a felled redwood, or maybe a hibernating grizzly bear, one massive arm thrown over his face, snoring softly. Plague lies on his back, arms folded over his chest like he's practicing for his own funeral.
Even in sleep, the man can't relax.
Then reality crashes down like a bucket of ice water.
Oh god. What did I just fucking do?
My chest constricts as the full weight of last night settles over me. I let them knot me. Both of them. Two alphas I barely know, and I just—
The panic rises sharp and cold, crawling up my throat.
Then my phone blinks on the nightstand. A text notification from a few minutes ago, just for me. No group chat this time.
WRAITH
hi
you ok?
My breath steadies. The urge to bolt doesn't disappear entirely. It probably never will. But it recedes enough that I can think past the blind animal terror.
Wraith is good.
Wraith is safe.
I know this without a shadow of doubt. And the two alphas that fucked my brains out last night are part of Wraith's pack.
A package deal.
None of what happened last night has to mean anything right now. I made it clear it doesn’t, and Whiskey and Plague both accepted it. It was fun and safe and I have zero regrets.
I type a response back to Wraith, not wanting him to worry.
He's been checking on me every few hours since we left the pack house, his concern obvious through even the briefest texts.
I can tell he's trying not to come off as too intense and clingy, even though I don't actually mind it from him at all.
IVY
I'm fine. Just woke up. Can't sleep past 5 AM anymore haha.
Three little dots appear to show he's typing, then they stop. Then they start again. Then they stop. After several minutes of apparently wrestling with what to say, he finally hits send.
WRAITH
The mental image of the hulking alpha being shy and worrying about what to reply makes me snort a laugh that's almost loud enough to wake the sleeping alphas beside me. I manage to stifle it in my palm.
Better help him out a little.
IVY
How did you sleep?
WRAITH
ok. miss you.
Those two words hit me harder than they should.
I stare at the screen, warmth spreading through my chest despite the early morning chill in the room. Shit. I really do have it bad.
Really, really bad, if I'm being honest with myself.
IVY
Miss you too. A lot.
More typing and erasing on his end. More than ever.
And then… a heart reaction on my text.
He quickly changes it to a thumbs up as if he's worried the heart went too far. Then he takes that off, too, and disappears for a small eternity before going through another solid minute of typing and erasing before I decide to help again.
IVY
Leave the heart emoji! We’ve done more than send heart emojis. Haha
He's frozen for another minute or two.
WRAITH
Yep.
Full-blown butterfly tornado in my chest now.
WRAITH
whiskey and plague being good?
I glance at the two sleeping forms beside me. Whiskey's face is peaceful in sleep, all the manic energy that defines him temporarily at rest. Plague's jaw is tense even unconscious, like he's grinding his teeth through whatever dreams haunt him.
IVY
They're being perfect gentlemen. Well, mostly.
WRAITH
mostly?
Shit. I shouldn't have added that qualifier. Wraith's protective instincts are already on high alert.
IVY
Just teasing. They're taking good care of me. Promise.
WRAITH
good
valek still prowling
thane keeping him busy
IVY
Any problems?
WRAITH
no
fuck
IVY
What? What’s wrong?
WRAITH
nothing
sorry
miss you
IVY
I’ll be back soon. I promise.
WRAITH
is it soon yet
IVY
"Can't sleep either?"
I jolt and turn to find Plague watching me, his pale blue eyes luminous in the dim light filtering through the hotel curtains. Unlike Whiskey, who looks like he's been hit by a truck in his sleep, Plague appears perfectly composed despite having been horizontal for less than four hours.
"My body thinks it's time to start sharpening skates," I whisper, not wanting to wake Whiskey. "Occupational hazard of living in maintenance tunnels."
"Circadian rhythms are remarkably persistent," Plague agrees quietly. "Even when the environmental cues that established them are removed."
Leave it to Plague to turn insomnia into a scientific discussion. He's lucky his cool, dry delivery is hot enough that it isn't infuriating.
"Is that your way of saying 'yeah, that sucks'?" I ask with a small smile.
The corner of his mouth quirks up. "More or less."
We lie in comfortable silence for a moment, both of us careful not to disturb the sleeping giant between us. Whiskey shifts slightly, grumbling something under his breath before settling back into his deep breathing pattern.
"He talks in his sleep," Plague says.
“You’ve noticed?” I ask.
He glances warily at me.
"You know," I say carefully, "I'm surprised you two aren't actually together."
Plague goes very still. "What makes you think we should be?"
"Are you serious?" I keep my voice low, but I can't hide my incredulity. "The tension between you could power a small city. And last night..." I trail off, remembering the way they'd touched each other, the desperate hunger in their eyes.
"Last night was a response to your heat pheromones," Plague says, slipping back into his clinical voice. "Nothing more than biology."
"Bullshit."
He turns to look at me, eyebrows raised at my bluntness.
"You can lie to yourself all you want," I continue, "but don't lie to me. I saw the way you looked at him. The way he looked at you. That wasn't just biology. Unless what happened between the three of us is just biology to you?"
Because if it is, I want to know.
Plague is quiet for so long I think he's going to ignore my observation entirely. When he finally speaks, his voice is barely audible.
"Of course not. You're an omega. That's… different," he says carefully. "What exists between Whiskey and me is complicated."
"Most worthwhile things are."
"He's an alpha. I'm an alpha. We're packmates. Practically brothers, really. I don't even like him half the time," he mutters.
I shift onto my side to face him, studying the sharp angles of his face in the dim light. "Really?" I ask, wincing at the clear doubt in my voice. I'd hoped it wouldn't be that obvious I don't believe a word he's saying.
Another long silence. I can practically see him weighing his words, deciding how much truth he's willing to reveal.
"Whiskey and I have been... circling each other for years," he finally admits. "Neither of us has been willing to acknowledge what that means. Or what it could mean."
"Why not?"
"Because acknowledging it would change everything. And change is..." He struggles with the admission. "Difficult for me."
"Change is difficult for everyone. Doesn't mean it's not worth it."
"Easy for you to say," he says in that signature tone of his that's so dry it chafes. "You've already hit the nuclear button on change."
I snort. "Yeah, well, sometimes blowing up your life is the only way to save it," I say under my breath.
Plague considers this, studying my face. "You're still not sure you're free," he says softly. It's a statement. Not a question.
"I'm still figuring that out." I pull Wraith's hoodie tighter around myself, drawing comfort from his lingering scent. "But I know I couldn't keep living the way I was. Even if it meant losing everything I thought I wanted."
"And now?"
"Now I'm learning the difference between what I thought I wanted and what I actually need."
"Which is?"
"Choice," I say without hesitation. "The freedom to make my own decisions, even if they're wrong. " I pause, then add, "Especially if they're wrong."
Plague nods slowly, understanding flickering in his eyes. "You were never given that."
"I was never given anything by anyone who wasn't serving their own purposes.
Especially not when it comes to alphas." The bitterness in my voice surprises me.
I thought I'd processed most of my anger, but apparently it's still there, simmering just below the surface.
"I kept thinking if I just tried harder, if I was better, things would get better. "
"It wasn't your fault."
"I know that. Intellectually. But knowing something and feeling it are different things."
Plague is quiet for a moment, then asks, "Is that why you're hesitant about the pack? About trusting us?"
His perceptiveness catches me off guard. "Maybe. It's hard to trust my own judgment when it failed me so spectacularly before."
"Your judgment didn't fail you. You were manipulated by someone who clearly made it his business to undermine your confidence and independence. That's not the same thing."
"Tell that to the part of my brain that keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop."
"What would it take?" he asks quietly. "For you to feel safe enough to trust again?"
I consider the question seriously. "Time, I think. And consistency. Wade was charming and attentive at first, too. The control came gradually, so slowly I didn't notice until it was too late. I'm still unpacking the damage."
Plague nods, understanding. "We all have our scars."
I want to push, to ask about the jagged scar I glimpsed across his chest when he removed his shirt last night and my eyes were roaming all the angles and muscles on full display. But something in his posture warns me off.
"What about Thane?" I ask instead, changing the subject. "I've barely talked to him, but he seems... intense."
"Thane is the most honorable person I know," Plague says without hesitation. "If he gives you his word, you can trust it completely. He'd die before breaking a promise."