The Living Room
Warren
I stand near the base of the staircase with my arms crossed, watching the physical therapist unpack her equipment.
She’s a young beta. Maybe mid-twenties. Attractive in a clean, efficient way, with pink scrubs and a high, tight ponytail. She adjusts the height of a portable table, lays out resistance bands, then checks a tablet with Cass’s file on it.
She seems friendly, but professional. Exactly the kind of person you want handling a long, frustrating recovery.
Cass sits on the edge of the couch, jaw set, already looking like he hates every fucking second of this.
Dr. Pace, unfortunately, looks far too comfortable.
He’s chatting with Beck and Grason like nothing is wrong, smiling easy as he gestures with his coffee cup. “—It’s all about consistency,” Pace is saying. “Routine. Small adjustments over time make a bigger difference than people expect.”
Beck hums in agreement, nodding along like he actually understands. Grason looks bored.
I don’t hear most of what the older beta is saying.
All I can see is Pace’s hands.
The same hands that injected Tansy with a heat accelerator without permission. The same hands that pumped Beck full of omega-specific medication like he was a fucking test rat.
I don’t say a word. I don’t even move. I stare at him, hard and unblinking, letting the full weight of my attention settle where it belongs.
Pace notices eventually.
At first, his brow furrows, confusion flickering across his face like he’s trying to figure out why I’m looking at him. His lips part as if he’s about to say something to me, but then he clearly thinks better of it.
I narrow my eyes a fraction more, drilling all my rage into the fucker, and that makes his smile completely fall.
Pace’s easy posture falters, and he shifts his weight, taking a small step back, hiding on the other side of Beck.
Fucking asshole.
The physical therapist tucks her tablet under her arm, before turning to Cass.
“Today is just an assessment,” she says evenly.
“We’ll focus on range of motion and stability.
No pushing through sharp pain. I want to see how the joint responds, then we’ll build a plan around strength and mobility over the next few weeks. ”
Cass nods once. “Understood.” His tone is polite enough, but his expression is simmering with fury.
Overhead, the landing creaks once, and I turn toward the stairs.
Tansy.
The omega comes down the stairs slowly, one hand grazing the railing.
Her long hair is damp from the shower, set in a thick braid down her back.
It’s wild at the edges, dark red curls already escaping near her temples.
She’s wearing Cass’s clothes. A dark purple T-shirt that hangs loose around her shoulders and soft gray sweatpants that are cuffed at her ankles.
She reaches the bottom of the stairs and stops right next to me. “Good morning, Warren,” she says softly.
I simply stare at her.
She’s fucking gorgeous.
Every inch of her.
Her soft face with blushing cheeks. There’s still a bruise from the mating bite on her neck. The way she looks rested and warm and very real, standing in the middle of our house.
But my mind betrays me, snagging on what I saw in Cass’s room this morning.
I see Tansy’s naked, flushed body. Her skin gleaming with a sheen of sweat. Cass was locked inside her from behind, his hand possessively gripping one full breast. All I can think about is his hips flush against her ass as he pulsed inside her.
The memory of their combined scent, of her soft cry and his guttural groan, floods my senses. My own body responds instantly, a hot, sharp pulse of arousal that makes my dress slacks suddenly feel too tight.
And then she moaned…
"Warren?" Tansy whispers my name, jerking me out of my memory like a slap.
I blink, and the image in my mind shatters, replaced by Tansy’s concerned eyes staring right at me. Her bottom lip is so puffy and pink. I wonder what it would look like wrapped around my cock, swollen and glistening as she looked up at me with those wide, innocent eyes.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
I clear my throat, my voice rougher than I intended. “I slept great.” I grimace almost immediately, realizing she didn't ask me how I was doing. "I mean, good morning,” I say, praying I sound at least halfway normal.
Tansy’s full lips curve upward, giving me a small, amused smile. Then she turns away and walks past me toward the others, braid swaying gently against her back.
The moment she walks off, the air shifts.
I draw in a breath before I can stop myself and get hit with her heavenly scent. Earthy and warm, like sunbaked soil and wild honey, wrapped tight in Cass’s smoky amber. Alpha over omega. Deliberate and heavy.
My lungs lock for half a second as I suck in another deep breath.
I understand why he’s doing it. I really do. Soaking an omega in your scent helps forge a fast and strong bond. But fuck, I wish he wouldn't.
The combination of the two aromas swirling together is fucking with my head.
It’s a maddening, perfect blend of wild sweetness and possessive fire, and it’s doing things to my alpha instincts that I’m having a hell of a time trying to ignore.
Determined not to fall apart, I lock my arms tighter across my chest, shoulders stiffening as I force myself to stay right where I am.
Beck clears his throat, clearly sensing the tension in the room and eager to redirect it. He steps closer to Tansy with an easy smile. “Hey, Tansy. This is Mariah. She’s Cass’s physical therapist.” He leans in, smiling widely. “She’s going to kick his ass into gear.”
Tansy lets out a little laugh before turning to Mariah.
She straightens immediately, posture shifting in a way that speaks to years of careful training.
She offers a polite smile and a small nod.
“It’s very nice to meet you,” she says warmly, voice measured and respectful, like she’s greeting someone at a formal function instead of in the middle of our living room.
Mariah smiles back warmly. “It’s nice to meet you, too,” she says, clearly charmed.
Tansy turns back to Beck and leans in, whispering, “I’ll be right back. I’m going to grab something to eat.”
Grason shifts immediately. “Do you want your usual?” he asks as she heads toward the kitchen.
“I’ve got it,” she chirps, but he follows anyway.
A sharp, possessive pang of jealousy hits me so hard it almost staggers me.
Grason is such a lucky bastard. I wish I was in charge of Tansy’s well-being instead of dealing with the fucking business day in and day out.
But I’d rather bite my tongue off than complain about it.
After all, this is my punishment, and I’ll fucking take it until Cass is ready to step back in.
Tansy passes me first, a swirl of honeyed tea leaves swirling in her wake. Then Grason. My body reacts, and I reach out and grab his arm, stopping the alpha.
“I can feed her,” I say. My voice stays even. “I haven’t eaten yet either.”
Grason stops, but Tansy doesn’t. She keeps walking.
“It’s my job to feed her,” Grason says simply, before glancing back at Cass.
Our pack alpha is looking up at the therapist, listening closely as she explains the first phase of his rehab. He nods along while Beck asks a million questions.
“I know, but,” I drop my voice to a whisper, “I haven’t had a chance to really be alone with her yet. I’ve been working crazy hours since she got here, and I’m dying to have a few minutes alone with her. Please.”
“You?” Grason stares at me like I’m sprouting wings. “You don’t cook.”
“Yeah, but I can,” I say.
“You swore you’d never cook again,” he says flatly.
“That was years ago,” I say.
“That was a fire hazard,” he shoots back. “You burned yourself and almost took the kitchen with you.”
“I remember,” I say dryly.
Grason opens his mouth, closes it, then glances back at Cass for backup.
But the pack alpha is still focused on the therapist, nodding along while Beck fires off question after question, completely unaware this conversation is happening.
Grason studies my face, clearly torn between concern for the kitchen and understanding the ask.
“What are you planning to make?” he asks cautiously.
“Something simple,” I say. “No grease.”
He squints. “If the smoke alarm goes off—”
“It won’t.”
“If I smell burning—”
“You won’t.”
“If Beck has to clean the ceiling—”
“I’ll clean it myself,” I grit out, starting to lose my patience.
Grason exhales slowly, then shakes his head. His gaze drifts toward the kitchen, then back to me as he weighs it. He knows what I’m asking isn’t unreasonable, and I seriously doubt Cass would care if I made Tansy breakfast instead of him.
“Fine,” he finally mutters. “Fine. But I’m standing nearby.”
“That’s fair,” I say.
He points a finger at me. “And if you hurt yourself, I’m never letting you hear the end of it.”
I nod once. “Deal.” Then I march off before he can change his mind, heart pounding hard against my chest.
I cut through the little hallway, only to slow when I reach the dining room, suddenly hyperaware of myself.
I glance down, fingers brushing the front of my shirt, checking that the buttons are done all the way up and that it’s tucked in properly.
I tug it smooth at my waist, then roll my shoulders once, steadying my breath.
Get it together, Warren.
It’s breakfast. A few quiet minutes with the most beautiful woman on Earth.
I step through the archway into the kitchen and slow to a stop. At first glance, the room looks empty. Then I notice the pantry door wide open at the far end of the room.
I move closer, peering inside.
The pantry is a tiny space tucked off the side of the kitchen. It’s barely wide enough for two people, with narrow shelves lining every wall. Beck has spent an absurd amount of time organizing it. Everything is labeled, stacked neatly, and sorted by category and size. Nothing out of place.
Except Tansy.