20. Cayenne
Chapter 20
Cayenne
Consciousness returns in layers—each one wrapped in a warmth I haven’t felt since before Sterling Labs turned my world into corrupt code. The TV murmurs in the background, some cooking show still playing on low volume, while outside winter rewrites the world in shades of white and possibility.
My head rests in Theo’s lap, his fingers gentle in my hair like he’s composing a symphony of comfort. Through however many hours I’ve been out, he stayed, turning himself into living furniture just to let me rest. The thought does something funny to my chest—corrupts my usual firewall against feelings.
“Welcome back, sleeping beauty.” His voice carries that musical lilt that turns even simple phrases into poetry. “You missed three failed soufflés and one dramatic rage-quit.”
Heat floods my cheeks as I push myself up, scrubbing sleep from my eyes. My body feels rebooted, systems running smooth for the first time in weeks. “You didn’t have to stay.”
“I wanted to.” He brushes a strand of hair from my face with the kind of tenderness that makes my heart execute unexpected commands. “Besides, you’re adorable when you talk in your sleep.”
“I do not talk in my sleep.” But even as I protest, I run a mental diagnostic on what secrets I might have spilled in my unconscious state.
His thumb traces my cheek, and something in the air shifts like code rebuilding itself into something new. “You said you felt safe.”
The confession hangs between us, heavy as encrypted data I can’t quite decode. Because he’s right—I did feel safe. Still do, wrapped in this snow-muffled moment with an omega who reads me like open source code.
There’s something effortless about Theo, like finding perfectly written software that just works. My eyes map his features like I would a new system—those dark brows, that aristocratic nose, the mustache that somehow makes him look both distinguished and dangerous. My gaze catches on his lips, and suddenly I’m compiling new kinds of code.
“I’ve never...” The words stick like bad syntax, but his patient silence gives me courage to debug. “I’ve never kissed an omega before.”
His eyebrow arches with elegant precision. “Just my wild alpha then?”
“That was different.” I study the blanket’s pattern like it holds answers to questions I’m afraid to ask. “I didn’t know him then. Didn’t know any of you. It was just...”
“Escape?” His voice holds no judgment, just understanding that runs deeper than binary. “And now?”
I force myself to meet his gaze, to face this vulnerability like I would a system breach. “Now everything’s different.”
“May I be your first then?” The question comes soft as snowfall against windows. “Your first omega kiss?”
My heart executes a critical error in my chest. “Yes.”
He leans in with the same deliberate grace he uses at his piano, giving me time to ctrl-alt-delete this moment. But for once, I don’t want an escape key. Don’t want to hack my way around these feelings or compile excuses.
His lips brush mine like the first perfect line of code—gentle, elegant, full of possibility. No demands, no forced entry, just pure connection that makes my soul sing in binary. When he pulls back, his smile could light up the darkest server room.
“There,” he whispers against my lips. “Now you’ve been properly kissed by an omega.”
A laugh bubbles up from somewhere deep in my source code, joy executing without permission. “Technically perfect.”
A throat clears from the doorway—Finn’s version of a system notification—and we look up to find him practically vibrating with contained excitement.
“If you two are done being adorable,” he adjusts his glasses in that way that makes him look like an eager professor, “there’s about eight inches of snow outside. Perfect conditions for someone’s first sledding experience.”
The way Finn says it—like he’s been calculating snow density and optimal sledding conditions all morning—warms something in my chest. These men, this pack, they keep finding new ways to define family.
“Well?” Theo nudges me with playful grace. “Ready for your next adventure?”
Looking between them—my gentle omega and my brilliant beta—I feel something settle into place. Something that feels dangerously like belonging.
“Let’s go break some physics.” I scramble up, nearly face-planting as I fight with the blankets. “I need to change. And boots. Did anyone pack boots? And a coat. Gloves.” I hop around like an excited kid, my usual grace abandoned for pure enthusiasm. “A hat?”
Finn’s laugh carries equal parts affection and amusement. “Go put something warmer on. I’ll take care of the rest.”
I’m moving before he finishes speaking, flying past a grumbling Ryker and down to the basement. My luggage explosion gets another victim as I dig through for winter gear. Leggings, sweatpants, two pairs of socks, sports bra, thermal undershirt, and a sweater. Essential maintenance handled, I’m back upstairs in record time.
“Boots.” Finn hands me a brand new pair in my size, his expression far too innocent.
I narrow my eyes at him, but we both know better than to discuss how or when he acquired them. Just like we don’t discuss how perfectly they fit.
“Hats.” Jinx approaches with a blush painting his cheeks, holding three crocheted creations. The room goes quiet, and I sense another pack story I’m not quite privy to yet. “The emerald green one feels like you.”
“I’m missing something here.” But I take the offered hat, tucking my hair under it with care. The wool feels soft, well-loved.
“Matches you,” Jinx mumbles, studying his boots like they hold the secrets of the universe.
“Gloves.” Ryker’s contribution comes with his usual gruff efficiency.
“Coat.” Theo appears, actually fully dressed for once, holding out what’s clearly another recent purchase.
Bundled up like a proper snow warrior, I can barely contain my excitement. “Sledding?”
“Come on.” Ryker leads us out into the crisp March air where—holy hell, are those snowmobiles?
“Come on, Glitch.” Jinx grabs me, lifting me onto the snowmobile before sliding in front. His cherry tobacco scent wraps around me, somehow warmer than all my new winter gear combined.
“I’ve never been on one of these either.” I grip his jacket, suddenly aware of how many new experiences this pack keeps giving me.
He takes my hands, wrapping them firmly around his waist. “Hold tight.” His voice carries that edge of beautiful madness that makes my pulse skip. “I like to make Ryker nervous.”
Sure enough, our pack alpha’s growl carries over the sound of engines starting. “Jinx, I swear to god?—”
But we’re already moving, snow spraying behind us as Jinx takes off with the kind of reckless joy that matches my own. Behind us, I hear Theo’s delighted laugh mixing with Ryker’s cursing. Finn follows on his own machine, somehow making even snowmobile driving look precisely calculated.
The property transforms into a winter wonderland as we ride, trees heavy with snow and untouched powder stretching toward the mountains. Jinx takes corners just sharp enough to make me squeeze tighter, his laugh wild and free in the winter air.
We reach the sledding hill—which is less of a hill and more of a mountain—and dismount. I bounce from foot to foot, caught between excitement and that familiar urge to calculate risks.
“Okay, how do we do this?” I eye the hill that suddenly looks a lot steeper up close.
“First,” Finn starts, ever the professor, “we should discuss proper sledding technique?—”
“Nope.” Jinx scoops me up like I weigh nothing, dropping us both onto a sled. “Physics later, fun now.”
“Wait—” But Ryker’s already behind us, hands on Jinx’s shoulders.
“Ready?” our alpha asks, and I catch the rare smile in his voice.
“No—”
“Perfect.” And then we’re flying.
The first run is pure adrenaline—snow spraying, wind whipping, Jinx’s solid warmth keeping me anchored as we hurtle down the hill at speeds that definitely violate several laws of nature. My screech of delight echoes through the trees, mixing with Jinx’s wild laughter.
We hit the bottom in a spray of powder, tumbling into a snowbank. I emerge breathless, heart racing, already addicted to this new kind of rush.
“Again,” I demand, snow falling from my hat. “But this time I want to see how everyone else does it.”
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Theo announces from the top of the hill with theatrical flourish, claiming a sled like it’s a stage, “prepare to witness art in motion.”
He transforms sledding into a performance—each turn graceful, each shift of weight deliberate. Snow sprays behind him like special effects as he carves elegant curves down the hill. Even his wipeout looks choreographed, sending him spinning into a snowbank with perfect dramatic timing.
“Show-off,” Ryker mutters, but there’s fondness in his voice.
“Your turn, Alpha.” I challenge, watching him assess the hill like it’s a tactical objective.
He doesn’t disappoint. His run is all efficiency and controlled power—the fastest, straightest line from top to bottom. No wasted movement, no fancy tricks, just pure alpha precision that somehow still manages to look impressive.
“That’s not sledding,” Jinx protests. “That’s just falling with style.”
“Then show us how it’s done,” Ryker throws back, and oh—there’s that competitive edge I’ve been waiting to see.
Jinx grins like a madman as he runs back up the hill leaving me behind, already positioning his sled at an angle that makes Finn wince. “Watch and learn.”
What follows can only be described as organized chaos. He hits every bump, catches air off every drift, turning the hill into his personal playground. By the time he reaches the bottom, he’s created a path that looks more like a modern art installation than a sled run.
“Now that,” he calls up, “is how you sled.”
“Actually,” Finn pushes up his glasses, “if we account for wind resistance and the coefficient of friction...” He trails off at our collective groans. “Fine. I’ll show you.”
I expect careful calculation. What I get is... perfect precision meeting pure joy. He hits each turn at exactly the right moment, uses the packed snow from our previous runs to gain speed, and somehow manages to look both proper and ridiculous in his cardigan under winter gear.
“The physics don’t lie,” he says when he reaches the bottom, trying to look dignified despite the snow in his hair.
“My turn.” I grab a sled, ready to try solo. “I think I’ve got it figured out.”
“Wait.” Ryker’s hand lands on my shoulder. “Together first.”
I look up at him, surprised by the offer. “You sure? I thought you didn’t?—”
“Just get on the sled,” he grumbles, but there’s a smile hiding in his voice.
We position ourselves—his larger frame behind me, strong arms caging me in—and then we’re off. It’s different from sledding with Jinx. Where he was chaos and laughter, Ryker is steady strength and sure guidance. He shows me how to shift my weight, when to lean into turns, how to read the snow ahead.
“See?” He says as we glide to a stop. “Now you can?—”
I’m already running back up the hill, sled in hand. “My turn!”
“Remember what we showed you!” Finn calls up, but I’m already positioning my sled, mind mapping the perfect combination of everyone’s techniques.
I want Theo’s grace, Ryker’s precision, Finn’s calculations, and just a touch of Jinx’s chaos. What I get is... well.
The first few seconds are perfect—I’m flying, I’m graceful, I’m one with the snow. Then I hit a bump I definitely didn’t calculate for, overcorrect like a rookie, and suddenly I’m careening sideways down the hill while four voices shout conflicting instructions.
“Lean left!”
“No, right!”
“Tuck and roll!”
“Just jump!”
I choose option E: none of the above, letting momentum take me on a wild ride that ends with me face-first in a snowbank, laughing so hard I can barely breathe.
“That was...” Finn starts.
“Impressive?” I emerge from the snow like a yeti, grinning despite the cold seeping down my neck.
“I was going to say terrifying,” Ryker growls, but he’s already helping me up, brushing snow from my coat with more gentleness than his tone suggests.
“I liked the part where you invented a whole new sledding technique,” Theo offers diplomatically. “Very avant-garde.”
“That’s one word for it.” Jinx scoops up a handful of snow, packing it with deadly precision. “I prefer...”
The snowball hits me square in the chest.
Everything freezes for a heartbeat—four men watching to see how I’ll react to this declaration of war. I slowly bend down, gathering my own ammunition.
“You know,” I say casually, “I may not be good at sledding yet.” I straighten up, snowball perfect in my gloved hand. “But I have excellent aim.”
The projectile catches Jinx right in that smirking mouth.
“Oh, it’s on.” His grin turns feral. “Teams?”
“Every alpha for themselves,” I counter, already diving behind a snow drift as chaos erupts.
Theo immediately proves that artistic grace translates to deadly accuracy. Finn’s calculations mean nothing when Ryker dumps snow down his back. And Jinx... Jinx becomes a snow-throwing demon, somehow everywhere at once.
But I grew up on strategy games, and snow isn’t so different from code—it’s all about reading patterns and exploiting weaknesses.
I build my fortress while they’re distracted with each other, analyzing their patterns like I would network traffic. Theo moves with deadly grace but leaves his left side exposed. Finn overthinks his shots, calculating trajectories when he should be dodging. Ryker’s tactical expertise makes him formidable, but he’s focused on protecting others more than winning. And Jinx... Jinx is pure beautiful chaos, but chaos can be predicted if you know where to look.
Time to execute my plan.
I let Finn and Ryker wear each other down with precision strikes while Theo and Jinx engage in what looks like interpretive dance with snow. Then, when they’re all focused on their respective battles, I strike.
A rapid-fire barrage catches Finn off guard—one to the chest, another to the knee. He goes down dramatically, glasses fogged and covered in snow. “I’ve been hit! Man down!”
“Finn!” Theo’s distraction costs him. My snowball catches him in the shoulder, spinning him into a drift.
“You’ll pay for that!” But he’s laughing as he falls, making a snow angel instead of retaliating.
Ryker proves harder to take down. He dodges three shots, using trees as cover, but forgets to watch his six. The snow I packed just right slides down his neck, making him curse in what sounds like Russian.
“Language, Alpha.” I duck his return fire, already moving to my final target.
Jinx meets my eyes across the battlefield, snow in his wild hair, that feral grin promising retribution. “Just you and me now, Glitch.”
“Surrender?”
“Never.”
We circle each other like predators, snowballs at ready. He moves first—fast as lightning, but I’m already rolling away. My counter-attack catches him in the chest, but he doesn’t go down.
“Is that all you’ve got?” He packs another snowball, eyes never leaving mine.
I let him think he has me cornered, backing toward a tree. He advances, victory in his stance, unaware that he’s walking right into my trap.
“Any last words?” He raises his arm to throw.
I smile sweetly. “Look up.”
The branch above him is heavy with snow—snow I hit with a perfectly aimed snowball while everyone was distracted. His eyes widen a second before everything comes crashing down, burying him in white powder.
When he emerges, sputtering and laughing, I stand over him with my final snowball. “Now who’s got who?”
“I yield!” He holds up his hands in surrender. “All hail the snow queen!”
Victory cheers and slow claps sound from our fallen comrades. Finn’s already talking about statistical improbabilities while Theo demands a rematch. Ryker just shakes his head, but I catch his proud smile.
“Come on,” I offer Jinx my hand. “I’ll make hot chocolate to soothe your wounded pride.”
“With tiny marshmallows?” Jinx takes my hand, but instead of letting me help him up, he yanks me down into the snow beside him. “Because losers deserve tiny marshmallows.”
“You’re all children.” Ryker’s declaration might carry more weight if he wasn’t still picking snow out of his collar. “Dangerous, overgrown children.”
“Says the man who dumped snow down Finn’s back,” Theo points out, making snow angels with artistic precision.
“Speaking of backs,” Finn pushes up his now-dry glasses, “we should probably head in before someone catches hypothermia. The statistics for?—”
“No statistics,” I cut him off, letting Jinx pull me to my feet for real this time. “Just hot chocolate and maybe a movie?”
The way their faces light up at such a simple suggestion does funny things to my heart. Like maybe this is what family is supposed to feel like—snowball fights and sledding and warm drinks after.
The ride back is calmer, everyone worn out in the best way. This time I ride with Finn, watching Jinx try to race Ryker while Theo eggs them both on from the back of Ryker’s snowmobile.
Inside, we shed wet layers like snakes shedding skin. Boots by the door, coats on hooks, gloves set to dry. It should feel domestic. Should feel like too much. Instead, it feels...right.
“Dibs on first shower!” Jinx announces, already heading for the stairs.
“There are four bathrooms,” Ryker reminds him with fond exasperation.
“Yeah, but mine has the best water pressure.”
“They’re all on the same system—” Finn starts, but Jinx is already gone, leaving wet footprints in his wake.
I find myself in the kitchen, rummaging through cabinets until I find what I need. Real chocolate, whole milk, a pinch of salt, and yes—tiny marshmallows. Because some things are worth doing right.
“Need help?” Theo appears at my elbow, hair still damp with snow.
“Can you make whipped cream?” I measure chocolate into a pan. “From scratch?”
His smile turns wicked. “Piccola, I am Italian. Making things from scratch is in my DNA.”
We move around the kitchen like we’ve done this a hundred times, like I haven’t just spent months running from any hint of domesticity. Theo whisks cream into peaks while I stir melting chocolate, the rich scent filling the air.
“I used to do this with my mom.” The words slip out soft as snow. “After rain storms—because that was our version of winter in California. She’d make hot chocolate from scratch while I did my homework.”
Theo’s whisking slows, giving me space to continue or stop. No pressure, just presence.
“She always said Swiss Miss was a sin against chocolate.” I laugh, but it catches in my throat. “Called it synthetic sadness in a packet.”
“She sounds wonderful.” His voice carries that musical understanding that makes sharing easier.
“She was.” I focus on stirring, watching dark chocolate swirl with milk. “Is this what pack feels like? This... belonging?”
Before he can answer, thundering footsteps announce Jinx’s return. He appears in basketball shorts and a hoodie, hair dripping, looking more settled in his skin.
“It smells like heaven died and went to chocolate paradise in here.” He makes grabby hands at the pot. “Is it ready?”
“Patience is a virtue,” I swat his hand away.
“I have many virtues.” He steals a fingerful of whipped cream instead. “Patience isn’t one of them.”
“Children.” Ryker appears, somehow already showered and dressed in sweats that probably cost more than my first laptop. “All of you.”
But he’s already grabbing mugs from the cabinet, setting them out with military precision while Finn arranges marshmallows by size. Because apparently that’s a thing that needs doing.
I pour the hot chocolate with the same care I use handling sensitive data. Each mug gets a perfect dollop of Theo’s whipped cream, a precise arrangement of marshmallows—thanks, Finn—and a light dusting of cocoa powder because presentation matters.
“Movie time?” I suggest, already knowing the answer from their eager expressions.
We migrate to the living room like a well-choreographed dance. Theo claims one end of the circular couch while Finn settles at the other, already pulling up movie options. Ryker takes the middle, looking for all the world like he’s tolerating this instead of secretly loving it.
Jinx sprawls across all of them like an oversized cat, head in Theo’s lap, feet in Finn’s. Which leaves me...
“Come here, Glitch.” Jinx pats the space he’s somehow created beside him. “You can be the middle spoon.”
I hesitate for just a moment—not because I don’t want to join them, but because I do. Want it too much, maybe. Want this feeling of belonging, of family, of peace.
But then Jinx tugs me down, and I find myself nestled between him and Ryker, with Theo’s fingers in my hair and Finn’s hand resting warm on my ankle. The position should feel confining. Should trigger every instinct to run, to hack, to escape.
Instead, it feels like coming home.
“What are we watching?” I ask, already feeling sleep creeping back in despite my earlier nap. The gentle weight of pack surrounding me, the warmth of hot chocolate in my belly, the quiet satisfaction of a day spent playing in the snow—it all combines into a dangerous kind of contentment.
“Die Hard,” Ryker says the same moment Theo suggests “The Princess Bride” and Finn votes for “Hidden Figures.”
“Beauty and the Beast,” Jinx mumbles into my shoulder, surprising everyone. “What? I contain multitudes.”
The familiar opening notes of Belle fill the room as Finn hits play. I sink deeper into their embrace, letting myself have this moment. This peace. This belonging.
Tomorrow I’ll worry about Sterling Labs and beta deaths and all the secrets burning against my skin. Tomorrow I’ll be the hacker, the fighter, the runner.
But right now?
Right now I’m just Cayenne, surrounded by my pack, watching a tale as old as time while snow falls soft outside. And for once in my life, that feels like enough.
“Be our guest,” Jinx sings off-key into my ear, making me giggle.
Yes. For this moment at least, I’ll be their guest. Their glitch in the system. Their beta who runs with wolves.
And maybe, just maybe, their home.