Chapter Two
Frankie
W hen I come to— again— two things are immediately clear.
One: I am not dead.
Two: I absolutely, positively wish I were.
Waking up would be fine; but waking up to the scent of eucalyptus muscle rub, industrial-strength testosterone, and dominance with a hint of lavender fabric softener?
Well. That’s when I realize I’ve made a catastrophic series of life choices and should not be trusted with job applications.
My brain tries to help. It offers: Mate? Mates?? MULTIPLE???
I roll slowly onto my side and straight into a very firm, very muscular, very naked male thigh. I shriek, then jolt so hard I nearly launch myself off the table.
“She's awake!”
“Well, don’t crowd her.”
“She looks pale. Should she be pale?”
“Back up,” another voice snaps. “You’re going to scare her.”
Too late.
I crack one eye open and regret it instantly.
I’m lying on a physio table in what I assume is Alderbridge RFC’s medical room. There are rugby-ball-shaped ice packs, a faint whiff of Deep Heat, and a poster of a wolf howling at the phrase BE YOUR OWN BEAST.
And at the foot of my bed?
Four dangerously hot alphas.
As in, scientifically irresponsible levels of hot. The kind of hot that suggests their group chat is just protein macros and sin.
I blink. Once. Twice.
Yep . They’re still there, still massive, and still looking at me like I’m dessert.
I recognize every one of them. After all, I did my research for this interview. I learned everything I could about the rugby club's history, memorized player stats, press quotes, Reddit scandals, and I even read a fanfic I can’t talk about without therapy.
So, now that I've come around, it's safe to say I know exactly who’s glaring at me like I insulted his Excel spreadsheet.
That’s Rory James, a.k.a Knife Jaw, a.k.a team captain. He's Alderbridge RFC's lock forward; built like a human tank and allegedly once played through a concussion and a dislocated shoulder because he “ didn’t want to be dramatic .” He’s tall and broad, with dark skin and wavy hair, and gives off the kind of energy that makes you say sorry even when you’ve done nothing wrong.
Beside him is his polar opposite: Finn Whitaker. He’s all floppy sandy blond hair and striking bright green eyes, weaponized dimples and a smile turned all the way up. He’s the club’s emotional support linebacker, and looks like the kind of alpha who’d carry your emotional baggage and sort it by category.
“Jax, do the face,” Finn whispers, nudging the guy beside him. “The one you did to scare off the reporters last season.”
That’s my introduction to Jax Rivera, who doesn’t react—he just stares . With slicked back black hair and a tattooed forearm, he’s the team’s enforcer with a background in wilderness survival—and possibly graveyard haunting.
Then, of course, there’s Theo. He's still shirtless, and now leaning against a cabinet.
“You dropped something,” he says.
“My dignity?” I croak.
He nods. “Somewhere in the hallway. Right after faint number two.”
I shake my head as my brain catches up. “Wait—shit— again ?!”
“Right before the medical wing,” Finn nods sympathetically. “One second you were walking, then—” he mimes a collapse “—you were soufflé in a wind tunnel.”
“Oh my god.”
“It was elegant,” he adds. “A very graceful flop.”
“I want to die.”
“Please don’t,” Theo cuts in. “It’s barely past noon.”
I twist toward the wall clock and shriek again as I bolt upright.
“No! My apartment viewings!”
Finn winces, and Rory flinches, the pair of them visibly pained.
“I don’t believe this! I missed them.”
“Where were you viewing?” Theo asks. “Maybe we can call them.”
“I… Well ,” I half-laugh. “I, ah... Where do I start? One was a loft bed over a boiler, one had a communal murder shower, and the third was a garage with—and I quote— studio potential .”
“Wait, you mean the one that just got listed as open-concept with flexible plumbing?” Rory asks dryly.
“Yes! It came with optional hot water.”
Theo raises a brow. “How optional are we talking, here?”
“ Very, ” I snap. “And don't look at me like that, alright? At least it would be my maybe-scalding, potentially-toxic hot water.”
“Could you go home?” Finn suggests.
“What—you mean to my mother’s house?” I ask. “Absolutely not. She’s already texted me twice this week asking if I’ve reconnected with god and remembered Nigel exists.”
“Nigel?” Jax frowns.
“Her friend’s son,” I explain. “It's a long story. But he calls kissing ‘ yum-yum time .’”
Theo gags, and Finn takes an actual step backward.
“See? I can’t go back. She keeps the thermostat at seventeen degrees and makes me drink rooibos tea because she thinks caffeine makes omegas too provocative.” I throw myself back dramatically on the pillow. “Heaven help me: I’m going to end up in a conservatory by Christmas.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” Jax says, quiet but firm.
“...Sorry?”
“You’re staying,” he repeats.
“I’ve fainted twice. There’s no way Evie’s still planning to hire me, and I can’t exactly just stay without a job.”
“She’s still hiring you,” Rory says.
Finn nods. “You’ve got the job. Trust me—Evie’s seen worse.”
“ Much worse,” Theo adds. “One guy she interviewed a few months back turned up in a cape and asked if the team had any spiritual weaknesses.”
“Let's give credit where credit's due, though,” Finn chimes in again. “That cape was excellent , and he's a great facilities manager.”
“Wait, she still hired him?!” I ask.
“Yep! See, that's what we're saying—there's no way she won't still hire you. Besides, you don't need to view those other places. We’ve got the guest room empty, ready and waiting.”
“Wait— what ?”
“You were always going to have the offer of staying at the players’ house,” Rory says. “It’s in the contract.”
“That’s your house?!”
Finn perks up. “You knew we had one?”
“Yes! Well, no. Kind of. I assumed by players, Evie meant some crusty forty-somethings with slow knees; not...” I gesture to the alpha apocalypse before me, “... this .”
Theo flexes. “You’re welcome, sweetheart.”
“This is a nightmare,” I groan. “I’ve fainted twice, I've panted on a physio table, and I told my new boss I wasn’t a hormonal liability while actively sweating through my blazer. Cape or no cape, there’s no way Evie’s still going to hire me.”
Rory mutters something under his breath that sounds vaguely threatening to my self-esteem, and Jax folds his arms.
“You’re staying.”
“I mean… temporarily, sure,” I say weakly. “I can’t go anywhere until I stop vibrating.”
“No: you’re staying with us ,” Finn smiles. “Besides, you shouldn’t be on your own right now.”
“I’m not in heat,” I clarify.
Theo snorts. “Sure. That’s why you were purring on the table.”
“I was not—”
“You were,” Finn confirms. “Little soft brrr sounds. It was adorable, honestly.”
I make a strangled noise and bury my face in my hands. “I am going to self-combust and haunt this training facility out of spite.”
That’s when Evie reappears. “Well,” she says. “It’s settled. The board approved the temporary arrangement.”
I gape. “Wait—I still have the job?”
She raises a brow.
“Frankie. I told you: no one else applied.”
“But—”
“Wait, no, they did apply, but the other candidate sent a dancing baby GIF and a note that said go sports .” She exhales. “Look, we need someone. You’re here, you’re semi-experienced, and you're breathing. Mostly . That qualifies.”
“…Oh.”
Theo claps his hands. “Excellent. I call bunkmate rights!”
“Absolutely not, ” Evie snaps, rounding on him. “I once managed a PR crisis involving a rugby player, a feral heat, and a shattered vending machine. Do not test me.”
Theo pouts. “It was a joke,” he offers.
Evie ignores him and turns to me. “Frankie, so long as you’re happy to go ahead, then we’ll have you start remote next week. Contract, logins, tasks—light load while we get you settled.”
“Okay. Yes,” I nod slowly.“That sounds great. And I’m definitely ready.”
“Perfect,” she nods. “Oh: and FYI, you can’t leave the house until your cycle stabilizes.”
“What? But it’s not a heat!” I insist. “I always take my suppressants. It’s just… a lot. New place, new people, new pheromones. And, you know: alpha saturation. I’ll adjust. Quickly .”
Evie looks like she’s drafting a risk assessment in her head.
“Well… Until then—you rest. And you ,” she eyes the four alphas, “follow the plan. No funny business.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Rory mutters.
“I am trusting you on this,” Evie continues, pointing between them. “Do not make me regret it. And no one ,” her gaze sharpens on Theo, “scent-marks.”
Theo raises his hands. “Not even a sniff .”
“ Good .” Evie softens slightly at me. “I’ll check in tomorrow. Don’t stress.”
Ha. Too late for that.
I’ve somehow accidentally moved in with four ridiculously hot alphas, and my grip on dignity is now hanging by a thread.
Evie leaves the room, and as I stare at the four alphas arguing over who gets to carry my tote bag, I have one clear, spiralling thought:
I am not surviving this.