A Few Days Later
Tansy
I’m standing at the sink, unloading the dishwasher one warm plate at a time, and I feel fucking amazing.
That’s the only way to describe it.
Not good.
Not okay.
But amazing, like my body finally feels right for the first time in my life.
I open a nearby cupboard and reach up to put away a few coffee cups. My mating bites pull faintly when I reach too high, still raw enough to remind me they’re there.
The skin around them is tender, flushed, and sensitive to even the softest brush of fabric. But I like it. It reminds me of who I belong to.
The bonds with Warren and Gray didn’t crash into me all at once the way it did with Cass. Instead, they’ve been growing—slow, deliberate threads weaving deeper every hour.
I feel Warren like a cool, focused pressure behind my eyes, calm and watchful, his presence settling my thoughts when they start to spiral. There’s a steadiness to him that slides neatly into the spaces Cass doesn’t fill, smoothing things out instead of overpowering them.
Grason is warmth. Low and constant. A heavy, reassuring presence that sits right behind my ribs, like a broad hand at my back. When I think of him, my body eases automatically, muscles loosening without me telling them to.
He doesn’t crowd the bond. He reinforces it quietly, relentlessly.
All three bonds are heaven.
I slide the last glass into the cabinet and lean my hip against the counter, breathing it in.
Footsteps sound behind me, unhurried and familiar. I don’t need to turn around to know who it is.
Grason steps into view, wearing slacks and a polo that fit him a little too well. Clean lines, short sleeves that hug his big biceps, and broad shoulders that make me want to melt just looking at them.
He looks so damn good.
“Someone feels good this afternoon,” he says as he moves to me.
I beam up at him, unable to help it. My arms wrap around his waist, cheek pressing to his chest as our bond thrums in response. His energy pulses through it, steady and warm, like a heartbeat syncing with mine.
“I feel incredible,” I say honestly, tipping my head back to look at him. “You look really good.”
His mouth curves in a little, shy smile. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Where are you going all dressed up?”
“Running somewhere with Cass,” he says easily.
My smile falters before I can stop it. Just a flicker. But enough.
Grason notices immediately.
He dips his head, fingers lifting my chin, and kisses my bottom lip.
“He wants to talk to a few business partners. He hasn’t seen them in months. It’ll be quick,” he says. “We’ll be back before you know it. Promise.”
I nod, the tightness easing as quickly as it came. I believe him. That’s the thing that still surprises me.
Raised voices drift in from the living room a second later, sharp enough to cut through the quiet hum of the house.
“—no, Warren, you need to fucking handle this.”
Cass.
Grason exhales softly against my hair, already turning toward the sound. “Time to go,” he murmurs, and I follow him out of the kitchen without thinking, curiosity getting the better of me.
Cass and Warren are mid-conversation, standing near the coffee table. Cass has his cane in one hand, posture rigid, jaw tight in that way that means he’s past irritated and heading toward pissed.
Warren stands opposite him, shoulders squared, hands shoved into his pockets as if he’s bracing for impact.
“It’s wildly inappropriate,” Cass says flatly. “Jimmy has no reason to be calling me.”
Warren drags a hand down his face and lets out a heavy sigh.
“I know. I’m sorry.” He looks genuinely annoyed now.
“I fired him. I told him I’d give him a reference to get in with another pack.
I even tried to let him down gently, which in hindsight, was probably a mistake. But the kid clearly won’t let it go.”
Cass scoffs. “He doesn’t get to not let it go. That’s not how this works.”
“I’ll fix it,” Warren says immediately. No hesitation. “I promise. He won’t bother you again.”
Cass holds his gaze for a long moment, then nods once, sharp and decisive. “Good.”
The tension breaks just enough for Grason to step in. “You ready?” he asks Cass quietly.
Cass adjusts his grip on the cane, testing his weight like he always does before moving. He’s walking better than he has in months—barely a limp now—but he still likes having it close in case he gets tired. And because he hates the lectures he gets from me and Beck when he pushes too hard.
We’re pretty ruthless about that.
All three alphas head for the door together, Warren holding the door open and Grason already reaching for his keys. Cass moves steadily, controlled, the cane tapping lightly against the floor.
Cass glances back at me once, expression softening just a fraction. “We won’t be long,” he says.
“I know,” I tell him, and I do. “Try not to get punched this time.” I laugh, and Cass smiles.
After I was mated, Grason finally told us how Cass popped himself in the face with a cabinet door at his accountant’s office. It sounded horribly embarrassing, but the bruise is completely gone now.
“Love you,” Cass and Grason say their goodbyes, then shut the door behind them.
Warren doesn’t move right away. He watches through the window next to the door for a beat longer than necessary, watching our alphas leave. Then turns to me, his expression easing into something warm and familiar. He crosses the room in long steps and cups my face, kissing me.
I hum into it, hands resting against his chest. Our bond answers immediately, a calm, steady presence that settles behind my eyes, smoothing everything out.
When he pulls back, I blink up at him. “You look pretty today.”
I snort, unable to help myself. “Why do you guys always compliment me when I’m wearing one of your oversized shirts?”
“Because you look good.” Warren leans back, admiring my legs. “It rides up in all the right places.”
I smack his chest, then ask, “Where’s Beck?”
Warren snorts softly. “Last I saw, he was upstairs pulling all the shoelaces out of his shoes, while researching whether ghosts can get stuck in mirrors.”
I smile, completely unsurprised. “Of course he was.”
Warren brushes his thumb along my jaw once more, then steps back. “I’m going to make a phone call,” he says. His tone shifts, still gentle, but more focused. Business mode. “I’ll be in the office.”
“Okay.”
He leans in, pressing a kiss to my forehead, then heads down the hall.
I turn back toward the kitchen, going over my little list of things that still need to get done. There are still counters to wipe down and something faintly sticky near the sink that will bother me if I don’t deal with it now.
I slide a few stray mugs and plates into the dishwasher, the soft clink of ceramic oddly soothing. Then I reach for a washrag, run it under warm water, and then turn to the kitchen island.
And movement catches my eye outside.
I still, rag dripping in my hand, and slowly lift my gaze out the back porch doors. There’s someone at the edge of the yard, half-shadowed where the trees start to thin. My pulse stutters as a man cuts a line straight toward the porch.
Who is that?
I squint, trying to figure out if it’s a gardener or someone like that, but he’s walking in a weird way. Creeping. Like he’s trying not to get caught.
A chill slips over me right as the man moves closer, stepping into better light, and recognition hits fast.
Jimmy.
The rude alpha. The one Warren fired.
“Fuck that.” I fling the wash rag onto the countertop, water splattering everywhere. Then I open my bond to Warren, forcing it to flare like a snapped wire.
The response is immediate.
Heavy footsteps tear through the house, fast and violent enough that the floor seems to shudder under them.
I don’t even have time to turn before Warren comes barreling through the house, his pace reckless, uncontrolled.
I hear the impact of his shoulder clipping the corner of the wall as he takes the turn into the kitchen at full speed.
He slams into the doorway, momentum barely checked, phone still clenched in his hand. His head snaps left, right, and back toward the windows. His eyes are wild, scanning, searching, locking onto every shadow as if it might lunge.
“Tansy,” he says, voice low and dangerous. “Where?”
I point outside, heart still pounding. “Edge of the yard. He’s coming toward the porch.”
Warren turns, catches sight of the man through the glass, and his expression immediately shifts. “Motherfucker.” He shakes his head, clearly annoyed. “Stay here,” he says, already shifting his weight toward the back door. “Do not go near the windows.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice,” I say, simply. “I’m going upstairs to find Beck.”
“Good,” he says firmly. “Lock yourselves in up there. Don’t come down until I say so.”
“Will do,” I promise.
He reaches out and kisses the top of my head. Then he turns toward the back door, already shifting into motion, alpha focus snapping into place like armor.
As I head for the living room, my bond with the alpha flares and then abruptly dims, like someone slamming a door halfway shut. The sudden pressure makes me stumble a step.
Warren’s trying to block me out, but our bond is too new and open for him to fully control.
I can still feel everything pulsing with him. The tight coil of his anger, the sharp edge of his focus, the restraint he’s forcing on himself. He clearly doesn’t know how to shut me out yet.
I swallow hard, then keep moving.
The second I reach the stairs, Beck appears at the top. He’s carefully carrying a sizable mirror that used to be in his room. It’s nearly as wide as his shoulders, the frame clutched awkwardly against his chest as he squints down at the steps.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Getting rid of this.” He adjusts his grip, walking sideways down the stairs. “I don’t want it in my room anymore.”
“Why?”
He shrugs. “Bad vibes.”