Chapter 8 #2
I taste the sauce. It's good. Better than good, actually—rich and perfectly balanced.
"It's perfect," I tell her.
"Really?" Her whole face lights up. "Oh good! I was worried. Ragon seems like he has high standards."
"He'll love it."
And he will. They all will. Because Marie is learning them, absorbing their preferences, shaping herself to fit their needs with the kind of focused attention that comes from knowing you're wanted.
I retreat to my room before dinner is ready.
When Ragon knocks an hour later to tell me food is on the table, I tell him I already ate. It's not true, but the thought of sitting at that table while everyone praises Marie's pot roast makes my stomach turn.
He stands in my doorway for a long moment, blue eyes searching my face.
"You okay?" he asks.
"Fine. Just tired."
He doesn't believe me. I can see it in the set of his jaw. But he doesn't push.
"Get some rest," he says finally. "We'll talk tomorrow."
He closes the door gently behind him.
I lie in my nest and listen to the sounds of dinner downstairs. Laughter. The clink of silverware. Drake's voice doing an impression of someone, Marie's delighted giggles in response.
The house sounds happy.
I pull my blanket over my head and try to sleep.
***
Friday morning, Ragon calls me to the kitchen.
Not asks. Calls.
His scent is controlled but purposeful when I pad downstairs in bare feet and yesterday's hoodie. He's at the table with his phone and a mug of coffee, dark hair pulled back, tattoos stark against his forearms.
"Sit."
I sit.
Drake and Eli are conspicuously absent. Marie too. It's just me and Ragon in the early morning quiet.
He doesn't ease into it. "Jasper is coming today. Seventeen hundred."
The name lands like a stone in my stomach. The fourth alpha. The one who's supposed to balance everything. The one who won't be scent-matched to Marie.
The one who's supposed to be for me.
Except he's not mine. He's the pack's. He's Ragon's solution to a problem I didn't ask to be.
"Okay," I say, voice flat.
"He wants to observe first. Get a read on how we function before he commits."
"So we're being tested."
"We're being assessed." Ragon's jaw ticks. "There's a difference."
"Not to me."
He sets his mug down with deliberate care. "He'll be here at five. I want the house presentable. I want you presentable."
"You want me to perform. To prove I'm not the broken omega who makes everything harder."
His eyes flash. "I want you to be yourself. Your actual self. Not whatever defensive version you're building in your head right now."
"My actual self is tired, Ragon. My actual self doesn't want another alpha coming in to judge whether I'm worth keeping around."
"No one is judging that."
"Aren't they?" I laugh, sharp. "You said he wants to see if he can protect both omegas equally. That means he's deciding if I'm worth protecting."
"Vee—"
"I'm going to take a shower. Make myself presentable. Like you asked."
I stand before he can respond. I'm halfway to the door when he speaks again.
"He's going to ask questions. About you. About your history. About what you need."
I stop.
"I’ve already talked to him about our situation, but he’ll want to know more,” he continues. “I'm going to answer honestly. "Because he deserves to know what he's walking into. And because you deserve an alpha who understands you."
"I already have alphas who are supposed to understand me." I don't turn around. "How's that working out?"
The silence that follows is heavy enough to feel.
I leave before he can answer.
At four-thirty, I'm in my room staring at my closet like it's a test I'm going to fail.
What do you wear to meet the alpha who's supposed to fix everything?
What do you wear when you're the problem he's being brought in to solve?
I settle on leggings and a soft grey sweater that doesn't cling. I braid my blonde hair because leaving it down feels too vulnerable. I look at myself in the mirror and see someone trying very hard to appear stable.
Marie knocks on my door.
"Hey," she says, poking her head in. "You getting ready too?"
"Yeah."
She steps fully inside, and I notice she's wearing a dress. A pretty one, pale blue, with her dark hair loose around her shoulders. She looks... intentional. Like she's thought about this.
"I'm so nervous," she admits, sitting on the edge of my bed. "What if he doesn't like me?"
The question is so absurd I almost laugh. "He's going to love you. You're their scent match."
"But I'm not his." Her fingers twist together. "What if he thinks I'm... I don't know. Too much? Not enough?"
I should feel sympathy. I do, sort of. But mostly I feel exhausted.
"You'll be fine," I say.
She watches me braid my hair in the mirror. "Are you scared?"
"Of what?"
"Of him. Of what he'll think of you."
The honesty in her voice almost undoes me.
"Terrified," I admit.
She nods slowly. "Me too."
For a moment, we're just two omegas standing in a bedroom, both afraid of being measured and found wanting.
Then she stands, smooths her dress. "Well. At least we'll be terrified together."
She leaves, and I finish my braid alone.
Downstairs, I can hear movement. Ragon giving quiet instructions. Drake laughing nervously. Eli's calmer voice smoothing over whatever tension is building.
At four-fifty, I make myself go downstairs.
They're all in the living room. Ragon by the window, watching the street. Drake on the couch, leg bouncing. Eli standing near the bookshelf, hands in his pockets. Marie perched on the arm of the couch, fingers twisted together.
Everyone looks up when I enter.
"There she is," Drake says, too bright. "You look nice."
"Thanks."
I don't sit. I stand near the doorway, close enough to be present, far enough to run if I need to.
At four-fifty-eight, a car pulls into the driveway.
Ragon's scent sharpens. Drake straightens. Eli's gaze flicks to me, checking.
The doorbell doesn't ring. Instead, there's a firm knock. Three times. Deliberate.
Ragon opens the door.
And the fourth alpha walks into our house.
He's tall—not as tall as Ragon, but close. Broad-shouldered, tan-skinned, with close-cropped black hair and eyes that seem to catalog everything in a single sweep. He's wearing dark jeans and a grey Henley, simple and deliberate.
His scent hits me like a wall—leather and cedar and something sharp underneath, like steel or stone.
Alpha. Undeniably, unmistakably alpha.
But it doesn't pull at me the way the others' scents do. It doesn't sing mine or home or safe. It's just... there. Powerful but neutral.
"Jasper," Ragon says, offering his hand. "Welcome."
They shake. It's brief. Assessing.
"Ragon." Jasper's voice is exactly what I heard on the phone earlier this week when Ragon called him—a door closing quietly and firmly. "Appreciate the invitation."
"You remember Drake." Ragon gestures. "And Eli."
More handshakes. More assessment. Drake's smile is genuine but guarded. Eli's nod is measured.
"And these are our omegas," Ragon continues, turning toward us.
Jasper's gaze sweeps over both of us.
I brace for him to look at Marie first. Everyone does. The biology is loud—she's their scent match, the one they're meant to want.
But Jasper's eyes land on me.
Not in the way alphas sometimes look at omegas—possessive or hungry or claiming. Just... attentive. Present. Like I'm the data point he came here to assess.
"Vee," he says.
Not a question. He already knows which one I am.
"Jasper."
His mouth doesn't quite smile. He turns to Marie, and I see the slight shift in his attention—polite, respectful, but not pulled. "Marie."
"Hi." Her voice is smaller than usual. "It's nice to meet you."
"Likewise."
He turns back to Ragon. "Give me the tour?"
They disappear down the hallway, Jasper's sharp gaze taking in every detail. The others relax slightly once he's gone.
Drake exhales loudly. "Well. That was intense."
"He's direct," Eli says carefully.
"He's scary," Marie whispers.
I don't say anything.
Because the truth is, I don't know if I'm scared or relieved.
Scared that he sees right through me.
Relieved that maybe, just maybe, that's not a dealbreaker.
***
Dinner is a careful dance.
Jasper sits at the table like he's been here for months, not hours. He asks questions—polite, pointed questions about routines and schedules and how we divide labor. He listens more than he talks. When he does speak, his words are economical. No wasted syllables.
Marie answers eagerly, wanting to prove she knows the systems. Drake jokes to cut the tension. Eli provides measured, thoughtful responses.
I pick at my food and try not to feel like I'm being examined.
But I notice things.
The way Drake's hand automatically finds Marie's under the table.
The way Eli's eyes track to her when she speaks, like he's cataloging her comfort level.
The way Ragon's scent softens just slightly when she laughs.
Biology. Loud and undeniable.
And then there's Jasper.
His attention doesn't gravitate toward her. It doesn't gravitate toward anyone, really—he's too controlled for that. But when he asks questions, when he makes observations, his gaze comes back to me more often than it goes to her.
Not obviously. Not enough that anyone would call it favoritism.
But enough that I notice.
And enough that Marie notices too.
Her smile gets tighter as the meal progresses. Her answers get slightly sharper, like she's trying to pull focus back.
"I reorganized the pantry this week," she offers at one point. "To make everything more efficient."
"That was Vee's system before," Eli says mildly.
Marie's cheeks flush. "Well, yes, but I thought—I mean, as your scent match, I have a pretty good instinct for what you guys need. Organization helps everyone."
The phrase hangs in the air.
As your scent match.
Jasper's gaze flicks to her, then to me, then to Ragon.
"Scent match doesn't mean mind reader," he says evenly. "Instinct and experience are different things."
Marie's flush deepens.
Ragon makes a small sound of approval.
I stare at my plate and try to process what just happened.
Jasper—this stranger, this alpha I've known for three hours—just defended me.
Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just... matter-of-factly. Like it was obvious.
The conversation moves on, but I feel Marie's eyes on me more than once for the rest of the meal.
Later, after the dishes are done and Marie has disappeared upstairs with Drake, I find myself in the kitchen wiping down counters that are already clean.
Jasper walks in, pours himself a glass of water, leans against the counter.
We don't speak for a long moment.
"You're evaluating us," I say finally.
"I'm evaluating the situation," he corrects. "There's a difference."
"Feels the same from where I'm standing."
He takes a sip of water, studying me over the rim of the glass. "You don't trust easily."
"No."
"Good," he says. "Neither do I."
I turn to face him fully. "Why are you here? Really?"
"Because Ragon asked me. Because this pack needs better balance. Because two omegas with three alphas who are all biologically pulled toward one of them is a structural problem that's going to collapse eventually."
The bluntness is almost refreshing.
"And you're the solution."
"I'm a potential solution," he corrects. "If I decide to stay. If you decide you want me to."
"What I want doesn't seem to matter much lately."
His expression doesn't change, but something in his eyes sharpens. "Then we'll have to fix that."
I don't know what to say to that.
He sets his glass down. "I'm not here to replace anyone. I'm not here to play favorites. I'm here to see if I can help make this work. For everyone."
"Even me?"
"Especially you," he says quietly. "Because from what I've observed today, you're the one holding this house together while pretending you're not falling apart."
The words hit hard.
I open my mouth. Close it. Try again. "I'm fine."
"You're lying," he says, not unkindly. "But that's okay. I just met you. You don't owe me honesty yet."
"Then what do I owe you?"
"Nothing," he says simply. "I'm the one trying to earn a place here. Not you."
He leaves me alone in the kitchen with that thought.
I finish wiping down the counters and try to figure out what the hell just happened.
That night, I sleep alone in my nest. Ragon thought that for Jasper’s first night here, everyone should have alone time. Time to adjust and settle.
I lie in the dark just listening. Footsteps in the hallway. The low murmur of voices. Drake's laugh from across the hall.
My nest smells less like my alphas than it used to. More like fabric softener and my own scent turning stale.
I pull my blanket tighter and try to sleep.
But my mind keeps circling back to the same thought:
Jasper looked at me and saw someone worth defending.
And I don't know what to do with that.