Chapter 3
The room at the end of the hall used to be nothing.
A place for spare boxes, old clothes, extra blankets I rotated into my nest when I felt restless. It smelled faintly of dust and detergent and the cheap paint the landlord used before we moved in.
Now it smells like possibility. Like loss. Like both at once.
Ragon stands in the middle of the bare floor with his arms folded, feet planted wide in that commanding stance of his, dark brown hair pulled back in its neat man bun.
A stack of flattened boxes leans against the wall, and the old dresser I used for overflow clothes has already been moved to the opposite corner.
"We'll put the bed there," Ragon says, nodding toward the far wall with those piercing blue eyes focused on the logistics. "Desk under the window. Shelves along this side."
He talks like this is a logistics problem, an equation to solve. One new omega added without destabilizing existing systems.
My stomach twists.
"Sure," I say, voice flat. "Make sure you leave room for the shrine."
Drake, who is carrying in the mattress with Eli, stumbles mid-step. "Vee..." His wavy dark brown hair falls across his forehead as he steadies himself.
Ragon's gaze cuts to me, those blue eyes narrowing. "Stop it."
"What?" I shrug, tucking blonde hair behind my ear. "If she's the miracle match, you'll need somewhere to put candles and offerings. Maybe a little sign. 'In Scent We Trust.'"
Drake brows draw together, his athletic frame tensing. Eli's scent spikes tight and unhappy, green eyes flicking between us behind his glasses. Ragon's hardens, iron under pine.
"Vee," Eli murmurs, adjusting his glasses with those careful fingers. "That's not—"
"Funny?" I interrupt. "I'm not trying to be funny."
Ragon's eyes narrow further. "Then what are you trying to be?"
Seen, I want to say. Important. Not disposable.
Instead, I toss my hair over my shoulder and give him a brittle smile. "Difficult."
"Mission accomplished," Ragon says dryly. "Help them with the bed."
"I don't want to help with the bed."
His scent flares a warning note. "That wasn't a request."
My instincts twitch. The command threads through my system, tugging. I cross my arms over my chest, nails digging into my upper arms.
"I'm busy," I say.
There is absolutely nothing in my hands. No activity in progress. Just my own stubbornness filling the empty space.
Drake shifts the mattress to lean against the wall and wipes a hand across his forehead, hazel eyes tired. "Vee, come on. I know this sucks, but—"
"This sucks?" I echo. "Wow, thank you for the expert assessment. Truly, I would never have guessed."
He flinches, and his scent sours with guilt. I immediately hate myself, but the words keep coming.
"Maybe you should explain that to her when she gets here," I add. "Tell her it really sucks for your current omega that you brought home a replacement."
"Stop," Eli says quietly, his lean frame tense, but his voice lacks its usual firmness. He's exhausted too.
Ragon, though—Ragon is not exhausted.
He is done.
"Verena," he says, and the use of my full name lands like a weight. His tall, muscular frame seems to fill even more space as he steps toward me. "You are going to walk over to that wall and hold the headboard while they attach the frame. Right now."
My instincts shiver. That's not a suggestion. That's alpha command, threaded through with dominance so thick it's like pressure in the air.
I don't move.
I know I should. Every cell in my body knows I should. But there is a screaming, broken part of me that refuses to cooperate, that curls its metaphorical lip and says make me.
"No," I say, hating how small it sounds.
Drake closes his eyes, muttering something under his breath that might be a prayer. Eli's grip tightens on the side of the mattress, knuckles going white.
Ragon steps closer.
He doesn't raise his voice. He doesn't need to.
"Once," he says, voice low and dangerous. "I'm going to say this once more. Go. Help. Them."
The command wraps around my nervous system like iron chains. My instincts flatten themselves against the floor, belly up, whimpering.
My feet move before my brain catches up. I walk to the wall, stiff-legged, hating every step. Hating him. Hating myself for obeying.
Drake and Eli exchange a glance—relief and worry mixed together—before they lift the headboard into position.
"Here," Eli says softly, guiding my hands to the right spot. "Just hold this steady while we attach the brackets."
His voice is gentle, clinical even, like he's talking me through a medical procedure. Maybe he is. Maybe we're all just trying to survive this with minimal bleeding.
I grip the wood, brown eyes fixed on the wall in front of me, refusing to look at any of them.
Drake works in silence for once, no jokes, no commentary. Just the sound of metal scraping against metal as he secures the frame. Across from me, Ragon moves with that controlled precision he always has, back perfectly straight, every movement economical.
When the bed is finally assembled, I drop my hands and step back immediately.
"Done?" I ask.
Ragon straightens to his full height, looking down at me with an unreadable expression. "We need to talk."
"I don't want to talk."
"I don't care what you want right now," he says. "Eli, Drake—give us a minute."
Drake opens his mouth like he wants to protest, hazel eyes darting between us. Eli puts a hand on his shoulder, shaking his head slightly.
"We'll be in the living room," Eli says, his tone diplomatic as always.
They file out, leaving me alone with Ragon in this room that already smells faintly of Marie even though she's not here yet.
I cross my arms again, defensive.
Ragon studies me for a long moment, those piercing blue eyes seeing too much. "You're spiraling."
"I'm fine."
"You're not," he counters. "You're scared and you're lashing out at everyone who gets within arm's reach."
"I wonder why," I say bitterly.
His jaw flexes. "I know this is hard."
"Do you?" I ask. "Because from where I'm standing, this seems pretty easy for you. New omega shows up, perfect scent match, and now you're just... rearranging furniture."
"Vee." His voice drops lower, that warning edge creeping in.
But I can't stop. "What happens when she gets here, Ragon? When your instincts decide she's the one who really matters? When you have to choose?"
"I'm not choosing," he says firmly. "That's the whole point. We're keeping both of you."
"Until it becomes inconvenient," I whisper. “Until you decide I’m too much trouble and everything will be easier with me gone.”
Something in his expression cracks. For just a moment, I see past the commanding alpha exterior to something raw underneath.
"Come here," he says, voice gentler now.
I don't move.
He sighs, long and slow, then crosses the distance himself. When he's close enough, he reaches out and cups the back of my neck with one large hand, thumb pressing just below my ear in that spot that always makes my instincts settle.
"Look at me," Ragon says.
I force myself to meet his eyes, my much smaller frame dwarfed by his presence.
"I would have ripped their throats out if I'd been there when your first pack sent you back," he says quietly. "You know that, right?"
My throat tightens. "You weren't there."
"No," he agrees. "But I'm here now. And I'm not them."
"You're doing the same thing they did," I say, and my voice breaks on the words. "Bringing in someone else. Someone your instincts want more."
His hand tightens slightly on my neck—not painful, just grounding. "My instincts are not the entirety of who I am or what I want. Neither are Drake's or Eli's. Yes, her scent hits us hard. That doesn't erase five years of you."
"It feels like it does."
"Then we're failing you," he says bluntly. "And we'll do better. But Vee, you have to meet us halfway. You can't spend every waking moment attacking Drake or mocking Marie before she's even walked through the door."
Heat rises to my cheeks. "I'm allowed to be angry."
"You are," Ragon agrees. "You are allowed to be angry. You are allowed to hate this. You are not allowed to take that out on the entire pack every second you open your mouth."
"So I just shut up and smile?" I whisper. "Be the good little omega while you rearrange my whole life?"
"You will behave like the omega of this household," he says, and there's steel in his voice now. "Which means you do not throw barbs at Drake every time he speaks, you do not mock Marie before you’ve even met her, and when I give you a direct instruction you do not ignore it."
My eyes sting. "Why does she get all this consideration? 'Oh, poor Marie, be nice to Marie, welcome Marie.' Where was this protectiveness when it was just me? Where was this spine when the last pack sent me back like a defective appliance?"
A muscle jumps in his cheek. "You know damn well I would have ripped their throats out if I'd been there."
"You weren't," I say again. "You're here. Now. Doing this."
His scent spikes with pure frustration. "This isn't about her getting more consideration than you. It's about you not turning vicious because you're scared."
"I am scared," I snap. "Congratulations on noticing."
"That doesn't give you license to lose control of your mouth," Ragon says. "Omega or not."
Rage, hot and humiliated, flares through me. "What are you going to do, Ragon? Ground me? Take away my phone? Send me to bed without dessert?"
Drake's voice drifts from the hallway, worried: "Vee..."
Ragon's face goes very still.
"Yes," he says. "I'm going to restrict your freedoms until you can act like a member of this pack again."
The words hit like a slap.
"What?" I demand, my voice rising.
"You want to act like a feral teenager, you can handle some very basic boundaries," Ragon says calmly. "For the next three days, you will not leave the house. You will not speak to Drake unless it's necessary. And you will not come within ten feet of Marie's room unless accompanied by Eli or me."