Chapter 3 #3
Not as cozy as mine. Not yet. It still smells too much like paint and cleaner and a faint hint of the alphas. But it's a good start. Safe. Neutral.
A place for someone to land.
My chest aches.
"She's really coming tomorrow?" I ask quietly.
"Yeah," Drake says, his voice going soft. "Her brother's dropping her off. She doesn't have many people. We offered to pick her up, but she said she'd feel better arriving on her own terms."
"On her own terms," I echo. "Must be nice."
"Vee," Eli warns gently.
I drag a hand through my blonde hair. "Whatever. I did my bit. Can I go now, warden?"
"You can," Eli says. "Thank you."
I nod, not trusting myself to speak, and slip out of the room.
***
Marie arrives the next afternoon.
I know the exact moment the car pulls into the driveway because all three alphas react at once.
I'm in the kitchen, staring blankly into a mug of tea I haven't drunk.
Drake is at the sink, rinsing a bowl, his tall frame bent over the counter.
Eli is scrolling through something on his tablet at the table, green eyes focused behind his glasses.
Ragon is nowhere visible, but I can feel him in the house the way an omega feels a storm in her bones.
The sound of tires on gravel filters through the window.
Drake's head snaps up, wavy hair falling across his forehead. Eli's grip tightens on the tablet. Ragon's scent gathers in the hallway before he appears, back straight, jaw set, every inch the commanding alpha.
"She's here," Drake says unnecessarily.
My heart starts pounding. My palms go slick.
"Remember the boundaries," Ragon says, looking directly at me for the first time. "You will be polite. You will not pick a fight. If it gets to be too much, you excuse yourself and go to your room. Understood?"
I want to say no. I want to say I'll do whatever I want.
"Yes, Alpha," I force out instead.
His scent loosens a fraction. "Good girl."
There's a knock at the door. Not tentative, not aggressive. Just there.
Drake wipes his hands and practically jogs to answer it, scent flaring with nervous excitement. Eli stands slowly, placing the tablet down with deliberate care. I stay where I am in the kitchen doorway, half in shadow, half in view.
Close enough to see. Far enough that I can bolt without it being dramatic.
Drake opens the door.
Fresh air and unfamiliar scents flood the house.
One scent rises above the rest.
Sweet. That's the first thing. Sweet like sugared milk and something floral—jasmine or honeysuckle, but softer, creamier. Underneath, there's a thread of warmth that reminds me of baked bread and clean sheets.
It hits me in the chest like a physical thing.
My instincts recoil and sharpen at the same time. Omega, they say. Big omega, strong omega, new omega. My own scent spikes defensively, trying to reclaim space.
Drake inhales sharply. Eli's scent flares, then steadies. Ragon's deepens, heavy and complex.
"Marie," Drake says, and I hate the way he says her name—soft and bright and nervous.
"Hi," a woman answers.
I lean just enough to see.
She's smaller than I imagined. Not in height—she's probably only an inch or two taller than my 5'4"—but in the way she holds herself, shoulders tucked in, hands clenched around the strap of a duffel bag.
Dark hair pulled back in a low braid, glossy and thick.
Her skin is pale with a hint of olive undertone, cheeks flushed from the climb up the steps.
She's wearing a simple dress and a cardigan, nothing flashy.
Pretty.
Of course she's pretty.
Her eyes flick over Drake, Eli standing behind him, and then to Ragon as he steps into view. Each time, their scents respond—rising, sweetening, spiking with that instinctive yes, this reaction.
It makes my stomach lurch.
"Come in," Ragon says, his voice low and formal. "We've been expecting you."
Marie steps inside. Her scent unfurls more fully now that she's not half outside, curling through the house, brushing against mine.
My instincts bristle.
Her gaze moves past the alphas and lands on me.
For a second, everything narrows.
Omega to omega.
She takes me in—my messy blonde hair pulled into a low bun, the oversized T-shirt with my favorite band's logo, the leggings, the bare feet. The hickey fading at the side of my neck from a week ago when I still thought I was the only one they kissed like that.
Something tightens in her eyes.
Jealousy. Appraisal. Unhappiness.
Obviously, she was hoping I wouldn't still be here.
"Marie," Ragon says, gesturing between us. "This is Vee. Our omega."
Our.
The word lands like a shot of adrenaline and grief.
Marie's jaw ticks almost imperceptibly. Then she forces a small smile, tight at the edges.
"Hi," she says. "It's nice to meet you."
Her voice is soft, careful. Not high, not low. Plain.
"Is it?" I ask before I can stop myself.
Eli makes a soft warning sound. Drake's scent spikes with alarm. Ragon's eyes cut to me, sharp.
Marie's fingers dig into her bag strap. "I hope it will be. Eventually."
Fair answer. Reasonable. My instincts, petty and hurting, hate it anyway.
I step out of the doorway fully, crossing my arms, trying not to flinch at the way all three alphas adjust their stances unconsciously—subtly repositioning so Marie is more in the center of their circle.
"So you're the miracle match," I say.
"Vee," Eli says, a warning edge in his voice.
Marie's cheeks flush deeper. Her scent wobbles—embarrassment, insecurity, a little hurt. "I didn't ask for that. I didn't know what was happening until your alphas explained."
Your alphas.
The possessiveness in me snarls. Mine, my instincts hiss. Mine first.
Out loud, I say, "Lucky you."
Drake steps forward, putting a hand out like he wants to stand between us and knows he shouldn't. "Why don't we show you your room? We got it all set up. Eli picked the sheets, so if you hate them, blame him."
Marie gives a tiny, nervous laugh. "I'm sure they're fine."
Ragon picks up one of her bags like it weighs nothing, his muscular frame making the task look effortless. Eli takes the other with those precise, careful movements. They flank her automatically as they head down the hall.
I watch them walk away.
The way Drake hovers near her elbow without touching. The way Eli tilts his head slightly toward her, scent steady and reassuring. The way Ragon adjusts his stride just a fraction to match hers.
I have never felt more like an outsider in my own home.
When they disappear into the room at the end of the hall, I sag against the counter, knees weak.
The scent of her lingers in the air, mingling with theirs, pressing against mine.
My chest aches.
I should go to my room. I should do what Ragon said—excuse myself, let them handle the welcome, rip the bandage fast.
Instead, I creep down the hall on quiet feet and stop just short of the doorway, far enough that I'm not technically in Marie's room, close enough that I can hear.
"...it's really nice," Marie is saying. "You didn't have to do all this."
"We wanted to," Eli replies. I can hear the smile in his voice. "If anything is wrong, tell us. We can change it."
"You can throw away the fuzzy heart pillow," Drake says. "That one was a mistake."
Marie laughs, small and real this time. "No, I like it. It's cute."
"Ha!" Drake crows. "Validation."
"Don't encourage him," Ragon says. But there's warmth there. Unearned and immediate.
Marie's scent swells again, pleased.
I grip the doorframe with my fingertips, nails digging into the wood. My throat is tight with a thousand unsaid things.
"Thank you," Marie says after a moment. "For letting me come here. I know this is complicated."
"It doesn't have to be," Drake says too quickly.
"It is," Ragon says at the same time.
Silence. Then Marie, careful: "Because of Vee?"
You're welcome, I think viciously.
"Because bringing any new omega into an established household is complicated," Eli says, the diplomat as always. "We're all adjusting. Including Vee. She's dealing with a lot."
I don't know if I want to kiss him or scream at him.
"I'll try not to make it harder," Marie says.
Too late, I think.
"She'll come around," Drake says, and I feel the words like a slap. "She's got a big heart."
Translation: she's being a nightmare now, but she's really sweet inside, promise.
Ragon adds, "We expect you both to treat each other with respect. No competition. No games. Understood?"
"Yes, Alpha," Marie says, prompt and obedient.
My insides twist at the sound.
I back away before I have to hear more.
Back in the kitchen, I stir my cold tea and try not to sob. The house feels different already, like someone moved all the furniture in my absence. Like the center of gravity has shifted a few inches to the left and I'm constantly off-balance.
Footsteps approach a few minutes later. Drake appears, leaning in the doorway with that athletic grace of his.
"She's settling in," he says.
"Thrilled for her," I mutter.
He sighs. "Baby..."
"Don't," I say, fingers tightening around the mug. "Just don't. I did what you wanted. I helped decorate the shrine. I didn't bite her. I didn't even hiss. That's all you're getting from me today."
"She's scared too," Drake says softly. "She smells like it."
"She smells like a bakery exploded," I snap. "And you're all drooling over it."
"Vee," he protests. "We are not—"
"You're orbiting her," I say. "All three of you. Like she's got her own gravity."
He's quiet for a moment. "It's instinct. We're trying not to let it run the show, but it's loud."
"Louder than mine ever was?" I ask.
His scent cracks. "It's not a competition."
"It feels like one," I say. "And I'm losing. I can’t win against biology. I don’t even have a chance."
Drake crosses the room in two strides and cups my face in his hands before I can dodge. His palms are warm, thumbs careful at my cheeks.
"Look at me," he says.
I don't want to. I do anyway.
His hazel eyes are earnest and wrecked. "You are not losing us. I swear to you, baby. I swear on every bond we don't have but should. You are not being replaced."
"Then why does it feel like I'm being erased?" I whisper.
He closes his eyes briefly, breathing through his nose. When he opens them again, they shine.
"Because we're doing this badly," Drake says. "Because this is hard and we're clumsy and we hurt you when we should have protected you first. I can't change that. I can only keep choosing you. Every day. Even when my instincts are screaming about jasmine-scented miracles."
The admission hurts. Helps. Both.
"I hate her," I say.
He gives a sad half-smile. "You hate what she represents."
"I hate that she’s your scent match."
"That too," Drake allows. "You're allowed to feel that."
"Ragon says I'm not allowed to feel anything unless it's respectful."
"Ragon is scared shitless," he says. "Doesn't excuse him. Just explains some things."
"Do you think she's going to like him?" I ask, viciously curious. "Your terrifying head alpha?"
Drake huffs a genuine laugh. "She already called him 'Alpha' by accident. He looked like someone slapped him with a warm blanket."
I picture it. The tiny, soft omega looking up at him with big eyes and calling him Alpha. Something ugly moves under my skin.
"Great," I mutter. "I'll start embroidering the wedding napkins."
Drake drops his hands and steps back, rubbing the back of his neck. "We're not bonding anyone today. Today is just day one."
Day one.
Of what, I don't know.
All I know is the house smells different now. And no matter how many times they say you're staying, I can't shake the fear that I've just watched the beginning of my own phasing out.
I lift the cold tea to my lips and swallow, grimacing.
It tastes like sugar and bitterness and the faintest hint of jasmine.