Chapter 2
Jasper
I'm not paying attention to my very irritating pack mates.
I'm focused on fixing this cabinet hinge that's been driving me insane for the past week—making that little squeak every time Theo opens it looking for his fancy herbal teas. Five different kinds, all smelling like something that died in a garden. But the man loves his tea, so I fix his cabinets.
"We need to talk about the house payment," Wells says from somewhere behind me.
I grunt in response, tightening the screw with probably more force than necessary. The old Victorian groans around us constantly, like it's reminding us of its age. I respect that. We're all carrying baggage.
"Jasper," Theo's voice now, gentle but insistent. "Did you hear what Wells said? About the loan?"
I sigh, set down my screwdriver with deliberate care on the marble countertop we'd splurged on (Wells's idea—"It'll add value to the house," he'd said), and finally turn around.
Theo is leaning against the fridge, arms crossed over his chest. His scrubs have little cartoon dogs on them today, which would be ridiculous on anyone else, but somehow works on him.
The man smells like sandalwood and clean cotton, his alpha scent a counterpoint to my own more aggressive one.
Across from him, Wells stands with his tablet in hand, looking like he's about to present a corporate fiscal report. Which, knowing him, he probably is.
"I heard," I say. "But I don't see what's changed since yesterday. Or the day before that. Or the entire month we've been having this same conversation."
Wells adjusts his glasses, a nervous habit he's had since college. "What's changed is the deadline. We have exactly forty-five days to make the balloon payment, or we default."
My jaw tightens. I'm well aware of the deadline. I'm the one who signed us up for this mess in the first place.
"I'm picking up extra shifts at the clinic," Theo offers. "But it's not going to be enough."
"And I've gone through our budget three times," Wells adds, his normally controlled scent spiking with stress pheromones. "We've cut everything nonessential."
I rub a hand over my face, feeling the stubble I haven't bothered to shave in days. "I can take on another renovation project—"
"In addition to the Henderson job and Mayor Tillie's deck?" Theo interrupts, eyebrows raised
"When exactly would you sleep?"
"I don't need that much sleep," I growl, though we all know that's a lie. I'm a grouchy bastard on less than six hours.
Wells clears his throat. "I've run the numbers, and I think we need to consider... alternative income sources."
Something in his tone makes my hackles rise. "What kind of 'alternative sources'? I'm not stripping."
Theo and Wells exchange a look. One of those looks that means they've already discussed this without me.
"We should rent out the one of the spare rooms," Theo says, with the blunt directness that makes him both an excellent veterinarian and a constant pain in my ass.
I stare at them, waiting for the punchline. When none comes, I bark out a laugh that even to my own ears sounds more like a wounded animal than anything humorous.
"No. Absolutely not."
"Jasper—" Wells starts.
"No," I repeat, shaking my head. "This is our home. Our territory. We're not bringing in some random stranger."
"It wouldn't be random," Theo argues. "We'd vet them carefully."
"Oh, great. So we'll have a carefully selected stranger instead of a random one. Much better," I snap.
Wells sighs and sets his tablet on the kitchen island.
The screen shows a spreadsheet with numbers highlighted in alarming shades of red.
"The math doesn't lie, Jasper. If we rent the room at less than market rate, we can meet the balloon payment.
Without it..." He trails off, but we all know what's at stake.
The house. My great-aunt Vivian's house. The place I spent every summer as a kid. The only good memories I have from a childhood mostly spent alone.
I turn back to the cabinet, snapping the door open and closed. The hinge works perfectly now. At least I can fix some things.
"Fine," I finally say, my back still to them. "But they have to be an alpha."
"Or a beta," Theo adds quickly.
I turn, narrowing my eyes at him. "What's wrong with an alpha?"
"Nothing," he says, raising his hands in a placating gesture that makes me want to growl.
"But limiting ourselves to just alphas reduces our options by like, seventy percent of potential renters."
"Fine. Alpha or beta," I concede. "But absolutely no omegas."
Wells raises an eyebrow. "Bit prejudiced there, Carpenter."
"It's not prejudice, it's practicality," I argue, even as I feel my neck heating up. "Three unmated alphas and an omega under one roof? It's asking for trouble."
"We're not animals, Jas," Theo says gently. "We can control ourselves."
"It's not about control," I mutter, though maybe it is, a little. "It's about... complications."
"No omegas," Wells agrees, though he's still giving me that look that says he thinks I'm being unreasonable. "Theo'll put up a listing tonight."
Three days later, I'm attempting to undo the damage that some DIY enthusiast did to the Henderson's bathroom vanity (who uses a hammer to install a faucet?), when my phone pings with a group text.
Theo: Got a response to the listing. Rowan Whitley. Accountant. Just lost a job, needs a place ASAP. References available. Seems normal?
I frown at my phone. Did you check references?
Working on it, Wells replies immediately.
Of course he's already done a background check. Wells probably has a subscription to some sketchy investigative service for exactly this purpose.
What did their message say? I text back.
Theo sends a screenshot. The message is brief, slightly desperate, and oddly... charming?
Something about baking and sharing snacks. Weird, but not serial killer weird.
Meet them first, I type. In person. Public place.
They're not in town. Coming from the city, Theo replies. We don't have time for that if we want rent by the first of the month.
My jaw clenches. He's right, but I don't have to like it.
Fine. But we should talk about a trial, I respond. Not a day longer unless we ALL agree.
Deal, Theo sends back, with a thumbs-up emoji that somehow feels smug even in text form.
I toss my phone aside and go back to fixing the Hendersons' mangled vanity, trying to ignore the uneasy feeling in my gut. Something about this doesn't sit right, but I can't put my finger on why.
Maybe it's just the idea of a stranger in our space. Someone using our shower, eating in our kitchen, walking through the living room that we've spent three years renovating whenever I had the cash for materials.
Or maybe it's because the house is the only thing the three of us share that's truly ours—mine, Theo's, and Wells's. Not a formal pack bond, not yet. But something close. Something that feels like it could become more, if we let it.
And now we're inviting someone else in.
That night, I'm half-asleep on the couch when I hear Theo's excited whoop from upstairs, followed by the sound of his footsteps thundering down.
"They said yes!" he announces, waving his phone like it contains the winning lottery numbers. "They can be here by Friday!"
Wells looks up from his laptop, where he's been working on something for the mayor's office.
"That's... fast."
"Exactly what we need," Theo counters. "The quicker they get here, the quicker we start getting rent."
"What do we know about them?" I ask, sitting up straighter. "Besides the fact that they're desperate enough to move in with three strangers?"
Theo's grin falters slightly. "Well, we know they're an accountant. And they bake."
"Oh good, so when they murder us in our sleep, at least we'll have cookies first," I mutter.
Wells snorts. "I doubt an accountant with verifiable employment history and no criminal record is going to murder us, Jasper."
"You never know," I grumble. "Did they say if they're an alpha or beta?"
Theo and Wells exchange another one of those looks.
"What?" I demand.
"They... didn't specify," Theo admits. "I didn't ask."
I sit bolt upright. "You didn't ask? That was the one thing—"
"I'll text them now," Theo says quickly, already typing. "But it's nearly 3 a.m. there, so they might not answer right away."
I run a hand through my hair, frustration bubbling up. "So we have someone moving into our house in two days, and we don't even know if they meet our one basic requirement?"
"They're coming from Heraford," Wells points out reasonably. "What are the odds they're an omega? Most omegas don't live alone in big cities."
"That's a stereotype," Theo murmurs, still typing.
"A stereotype based on statistical reality," Wells counters. "Nearly eighty percent of urban single omegas live in designated housing or with family members. It's safer."
"Can we focus?" I interrupt their impromptu sociology debate. "Text them. Ask directly. "
"That seems a bit agressive—" Theo starts.
"Non-negotiable," I cut him off. "If—and it's a big if—I'm living with a stranger in my house, they better not be an omega."
"Our house," Wells corrects mildly.
"Whatever," I growl, standing up. "Let me know what they say. I'm going to bed."
I stomp up the stairs like the mature thirty-two-year-old alpha that I am, nearly missing Theo's quiet words to Wells.
"He's just worried because of what happened with Julia."
My hand tightens on the banister. They don't know the half of it.
In my bedroom, I yank open the window despite the autumn chill.
I need fresh air to clear my head of memories—of another house, another time, when I let an omega into my space and ended up with nothing but regrets and an empty bank account.
I check with Theo one last time before falling into bed. No response from the mysterious Rowan Whitley yet.
Two days. We have two days before this stranger shows up on our doorstep.
What could possibly go wrong?