21. Quinn
QUINN
H er quiet “Sounds nice,” lingers in the air even after the conversation moves on.
But once she settles—once the rest of us pull our Alpha energy back and give her room to breathe—the whole night shifts. Becomes easy. Natural.
Blake reappears out of nowhere, clutching a handful of crayon drawings like they’re priceless treasures.
“They’re for you!” he announces, shoving them into Sterling’s hands.
Sterling takes them with this soft, glowing look of adoration on her face. “These are amazing,” she tells him, holding them up like real art. Then, with the smooth ease of someone who gets kids, she gently nudges him toward the table. “Want to help me set the plates, artist-in-residence?”
He nods eagerly, practically bouncing with pride.
And simple as anything, she folds into our rhythm again. She moves through the kitchen like she’s done it a hundred times before, her laughter low and warm as they set the table.
She arranges the plates and silverware with this careful intensity, like it matters to her that it’s done right. Like we matter.
And for a few stolen moments, it’s easy to forget she’s never been here before. As fast as he came in, Blake disappears again, and Sterling turns to get the silverware from the drawer Blake showed her earlier.
I keep my hands busy—tossing a salad, cracking jokes, giving Cass and JP a hard time like everything’s normal. Like I’m not stealing glances at her every few seconds. Like I’m not imagining her naked every time she laughs or tucks her hair behind her ear.
Her scent is everywhere, wrapping around me like a damn blanket I can’t live without. It clings to the air, to my skin, to her—threading between us like a quiet, constant pull.
Even in the loose shirt and flowing skirt she’s wearing, I can see the curve of her hips, the soft lines of her body. How her oversized neckline of her shirt exposes a healthy expanse of her shoulder.
I had no idea I could find a woman’s shoulder so erotic. I’m attuned to every breath, every shift, every brush of fabric against her skin daring me to reach for her.
When she bends to pick up a fork she dropped, I groan—deep, low, completely involuntary.
Didn’t even realize it was out loud until she straightens and turns to look at me.
Her eyes—wide and gray—are dark with something that makes my pulse stutter. Arousal.
Pure, unfiltered want.
And then her scent hits me hard—richer, sharper, impossibly sweet. It curls through the room like smoke, thick and heady, dragging all my instincts to the surface.
I stop breathing. She stiffens, looks away fast, trying to play it off. But I see it—her fingers gripping the edge of the table, knuckles white. Her chest rising and falling too quickly, breath shallow and uneven.
And then there’s the way she presses her thighs together, just slightly, her body clenching.
A flush climbs her cheeks. She squirms, shifting like she can’t quite get comfortable in her own skin.
A heat spike.
Fuck.
I’ve seen it before, the way it starts soft, creeping in slow and sweet, until it—it consumes the Omega.
She’s trying so hard to ignore it. But you can’t fight pheromones. Her scent swells, flooding my lungs, wrapping around me in a slow, suffocating pull.
I’m hard as a fucking rock.
Across the table, JP goes still, beer frozen halfway to his mouth, nostrils flaring as her scent crashes into him. I feel it through the bond the second he decides he can’t take it—he shoves his chair back, practically stalking out to the patio. Leaves the back door wide open behind him.
By the stove, Cass stiffens, his grip tightening around the spatula. Fingers flex, then clench again. I wonder if he’s going to snap the damn thing in half.
I get it.
My Alpha’s locked in on her. We’re not scent-matched, but that doesn’t mean it’s any easier to resist her.
Through the bond, it pulses—sharp, hot, instinctual. Want. Need. Something ancient and buried in our bones.
We all feel it.
Her.
The way her Omega is responding to us—her scent, her body, her instincts—all of it is screaming yes.
And fuck, it’s nearly impossible not to answer that call.
Omega pheromones are literally designed to draw Alphas in. To pull at us. It’s biology at its rawest, most intimate level— primal and impossible to ignore, already tangled around every one of my senses.
I force my shoulders to relax, try to breathe through it, but she smells so good it’s like walking through fire and pretending you’re not getting burned.
I clear my throat, set my glass down harder than I mean to, pretending I don’t feel like I’m about to snap.
Sterling notices. Of course she does.
All of this happens in under a minute.
Her cheeks go bright red, and she lets out a nervous little laugh, clearly not blind to the effect she’s having on us.
“Sorry,” she murmurs, her face beet red, trying to force her breathing back to normal. “Sometimes this whole Omega thing is a little…embarrassing.”
She laughs lightly, trying to smooth over the undeniable tension, the unspoken elephant in the room.
Cass’s jaw tightens. JP comes back into the kitchen, noticeably calmer, and sits back down. He watches her carefully, his fingers tapping idly against the side of his glass, his eyes too dark, too sharp.
I can’t fucking imagine how hard it must be for him—to be this close to her during a heat spike and still hold himself back.
How he thinks he could help her through a heat and still deny her his knot is a damn mystery.
I lean forward slightly, letting my gaze settle on hers.
“Sterling.”
She blinks up at me, already a little hazy, her pupils blown just enough to make my gut tighten.
“Yeah?”
“You don’t have to be embarrassed,” I say gently. “It’s part of who you are. Part of who we are.”
She looks me in the eye, and I suddenly realize—I don’t think anyone’s ever said that to her before.
Not like this. Not without judgment or expectation.
Maybe no one’s ever tried to normalize Alpha and Omega dynamics for her. Just…made it okay to be what she is.
“Yeah, I guess,” she says softly. “It’s all just…kind of new to me.”
JP’s voice cuts through the quiet, low and steady.
“What do you know about pack dynamics?” he asks. “Did you grow up around one?”
Sterling hesitates, her fingers tightening slightly around her glass. There’s a flicker across her face—uncertainty, maybe even something that looks like pain.
“My mom was a Beta,” she says after a moment, her voice softer now, more careful. “She was part of her sister’s pack. My aunt was the Omega.”
She glances around the room, then adds with a slight shrug, “It was a very traditional pack. The kind of pack that doesn’t really make room for…independence.”
Her lips twitch like she’s trying for a smile but can’t quite manage it. “I never wanted that. What I grew up with—it didn’t feel like something I wanted to strive for. It felt…limiting.”
Cass shifts in his chair, frowning. “So you’ve never really had a pack of your own?”
Sterling shakes her head. “No. Never really had the chance.”
“Never?” I ask gently.
She gives a small, almost self-conscious smile and takes a bigger sip from her glass. “I used to think maybe someday. But it just…never happened.”
JP’s fingers curl against the edge of the table, his jaw tight.
Cass watches her closely, like he’s trying to map every thought behind her quiet, cautious tone.
And me,I feel it settle in my chest—hot, possessive, aching.
She’s never had a pack that looked out for her. And I’d be lying if I said I don’t want to be the one to give it to her.
The protection. The safety. The warmth of a real pack—not the cold, rigid kind she grew up around.
I lean forward, resting my forearms on the table. My voice is calm, steady—though my pulse is thundering in my ears.
Here goes.
“Sterling,” I say, watching her eyes lift to meet mine. “We’d like to court you. If you’ll have us.”
She blinks at me, lips parting slightly, clearly caught off guard.
I press on gently, not wanting to overwhelm her but needing her to hear it all.
“I know this might feel fast. And I know you didn’t come here tonight expecting anything like this.
But we’ve been circling each other for weeks, and I think you feel it too.
How we can’t seem to leave each other alone. ”
I glance at Cass and JP. They’re both watching her now—quiet, respectful, but every inch of them focused on her.
“Courting, for us,” I continue, “means giving you space and safety while showing you what life with us could look like. No pressure. No expectation. Just…a chance to be close. To take care of you, if you’ll let us. To see if we fit.”
My gaze returns to her face, searching for something in those storm-gray eyes.
“It means we put you first. It means you call the shots. It means you choose—when, how, and if anything happens.”
Her breath catches, and I don’t miss the way her fingers tremble slightly as she holds her glass.
I lower my voice, softer now. “You’d have all of us. The whole pack. Me. Cass. JP. We’d take things slow, at whatever pace you need. But we’d show you what it’s like to be wanted, Sterling. Every part of you.”
A pause.
Then, because honesty matters, I add, “And we’d like to offer ourselves for your heat. No strings or expectations.”
“My heat?” she squeaks, her face erupting in color.
“I—” She laughs nervously, shaking her head, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Is that something you just ask a girl over dinner?”
Cass smirks, shoulders relaxing.
“When she smells the way you do?” he muses, lifting a brow. “Yeah.”
Her blush deepens, her fingers toying with the ends of her hair, her scent spiking with nervous energy.
“I recognize the signs,” I say, keeping my tone as neutral as possible.
“We can help you through it. I don’t know what your other heats have been like, but we’ll follow your lead. We can talk through what you’re comfortable with beforehand. No pressure. Just support.”
She looks down at her lap, exhaling slowly. Her shoulders tense, then fall with a quiet sigh as she draws her bottom lip between her teeth.
With a soft huff, she drops into the chair at the table, her face flushing bright red.
Redder than I’ve ever seen.
“That’s the problem,” she mutters. “I’ve never had one.”
Silence.
Heavy. Tense. Charged.
JP’s brows lift slightly. Cass’s jaw tightens.
And I let out a slow breath, leaning in just a little.
“Sterling, sweetheart…” I murmur, gentler now. “You mean you’ve never—like, never ever had a heat?”
Her lips part, her storm-gray eyes flicking to mine, uncertain. Hesitant.
“I know it’s weird,” she says with a small, self-deprecating laugh.
“Oh, honey…” I shake my head, reaching out and gently placing my hand over hers. “That’s not what I meant. It’s not weird.”
My thumb brushes lightly along the back of her hand, just enough contact to reassure, not overwhelm her.
“We’re all different. We move at our own pace. Maybe your body just wasn’t ready until now.”
She blinks down at our hands, then back up at me with a deeply layered expression.
Her scent spikes, thick and dizzying, her heart hammering so loud I swear we can hear it.
I pull her hand into mine, her palm up…then bend my head to place a kiss in the center of her palm.
Because this isn’t just about biology.
It’s about her.
Her wants. Her needs. Her right to choose.
We’re not here to claim—we’re here to offer. To give whatever it is she wants from us, if anything at all.
The weight of it settles between us, heavy and electric. Tension coils through the air, tightening the space around the table, around her.
Sterling’s lips part, her storm-gray eyes wide and for a breathless second, none of us move.
We just wait.
“I…I don’t know…I don’t know. What am I supposed to say?"
Her voice squeaks, a confession wrapped in uncertainty.
She starts to speak again, just as Blake barrels into the kitchen, completely oblivious to the tension, the unspoken words, the way his interruption shatters the charged atmosphere like a stone through glass.
“Dad, I’m hungry! Are we ever going to eat? Miss Hart, come here…”
And he wastes no time, grabbing Sterling’s hand, tugging her toward him. She turns back, glancing at us over her shoulder, an expression of unapologetic amusement— and stark relief—flashing across her face.
“I’ll think about it,” she says over her shoulder as Blake pulls her from the kitchen.
And just like that, the conversation is over. And we all breathe out the collective breath we’ve been holding.
The rest of the evening passes in a comfortable haze of food and laughter.
We don’t talk about heats or courting. But it’s never far from our minds.
Her scent lingers in the air, making it impossible to not think about it.
Not with the way our bond thrums, alive with hope, with hunger, with something dangerously close to happiness.
Because tonight she’s here. She’s with us. And that’s enough.