Chapter 13 #3
I busy my hands with lining another tray.
"My pack has a lot going on. We had a bad incident. I handled it badly. I got punished. Like Ragon said. The kitchen used to be my job. It became my hobby. Baking especially. Now it's sort of Marie's space, too."
"And you got booted."
"I got sidelined. I was always in her way. She didn't even know how to cook when she came. But she's been learning. They still let me cook sometimes, but there isn't much room for baking."
"Oh," he says.
Alex gives him a look. Finn lifts both hands. "I'm not judging their dynamics. I'm just trying to map them so I know what I'm walking into when I wave from the fence."
"There's Jasper. Auditing. Watching." I gesture vaguely. "He's taking notes."
"You don't like him?" Malcolm asks.
"I don't dislike him. I just don't want to be a case file."
Alex nods, understanding flickering in his eyes.
Finn leans his elbows on the counter.
"Speaking of weird dynamics. You. Beta in an alpha pack?"
He brightens. "Ah, my favorite topic: me."
Alex groans quietly.
"Is it unusual? In practice, I mean. Registry's got forms for everything, but..."
"But most people assume 'pack' means alphas and omegas only. Yeah. We get looks sometimes."
"How did it happen? If that's not rude."
Finn glances at Alex, who gives a minute shrug.
"We've known each other since we were, like, nine. I moved to Alex's school mid-year. He was already halfway through becoming the terrifying little hall monitor we all know and love."
"I was a responsible child," Alex says.
"You were a tyrant. They made him safety captain and he tried to organize fire drills that weren't scheduled."
Alex sips his coffee like he's above this.
"Anyway, we glommed onto each other. Best friends. Shared everything. School projects, snacks, questionable haircuts. I started to realize I was a beta, he started to realize he was whatever the alpha version of a control freak is." He grins. "We fit anyway."
"His parents assumed he'd form a pack someday," Malcolm adds. "They started throwing alphas at him in high school. It was obvious he was going to be pack lead."
"And he started introducing me as 'part of the package.' Like, hi, if you like Alex, you're going to have to deal with his emotional support beta."
My heart squeezes.
"Seriously?"
"Seriously. When he started talking about forming a legal pack as adults, I assumed he meant an alpha group with me as the awkward roommate."
Alex gives him a flat look. "You assumed wrong."
"I did. He went to the registry and said, 'I want a dual-alpha pack with a beta co-head.' Lady behind the desk nearly choked."
"The forms are there. They just don't expect anyone to use them."
"Do you feel left out?" I ask Finn. "I mean. With bonds. Instinct stuff."
He shakes his head. "I can't scent-match the way omegas can, or anchor the way alphas do. But Alex never treats me like I'm less. He checks in. We talk. We set boundaries like boring adults. When Malcolm joined, he signed on knowing my role wasn't negotiable."
Malcolm nods. "Came with the Alex package. Worth it. Finn's the only one who understands half his insane spreadsheets."
Finn smirks. "Alex never once considered forming a pack without me. Even if, on paper, betas are technically optional."
The way he says it—casual, proud, absolutely certain—hits me somewhere deep.
Optional.
That's how I've felt for weeks.
Not necessary. Not central. Not chosen.
Just an extra piece. A problem to manage.
"You don't mind not bonding with a mark?"
"I mean, sometimes I wish I could scent them the way you can.
Or get that full-body 'click' when someone matches.
But Alex and Malcolm treat me like an equal.
Alex defers to me on things I know better.
Malcolm asks my opinion instead of assuming I'll fall in line.
I get a say in who joins us. That's worth more than some chemical high I can't access. "
Alex's expression softens. "This pack's structure is built on three pillars. If you take out the beta one, the whole thing falls over."
Finn flushes. "Stop. We have a guest. You're going to embarrass me."
I swallow hard around a sudden lump.
Three pillars.
Valued. Necessary. Not just tolerated.
I think of Ragon explaining my "lesson" at dinner like a success story.
Of Drake's attention sliding to Marie before it even lands on me.
Of Eli's hands in my hair trying to convince me I'm not second-hand.
"You okay?" Finn asks softly.
I realize I've gone quiet, cookie scoop dangling.
"Yeah. Just processing. You're very healthy."
"Ugh, rude. We try to keep that a secret."
Malcolm laughs. Alex's mouth twitches.
The oven dings.
We pull the first tray out and the smell of butter and chocolate and sugar fills the room. I close my eyes, inhaling. For a moment, I could almost forget everything else.
"Okay, we definitely did something right," Malcolm says. "Marry us," he tells the cookies.
"I thought you were marrying the coffee machine," Finn says.
"We're in a throuple now."
We eat cookies standing around the island, burning our tongues because none of us have patience. They moan—not sexual, just pure joy.
"You're hired," Finn tells me.
"Yeah?"
"Official position. Neighbor witch. You come over, do mysterious alchemical things with flour, leave us better than you found us."
Something in my chest unclenches.
We make another batch—these with cardamom and sea salt. I show Finn how to tell when the dough is right by feel. He's a quick study, and when he gets it right, he grins like a kid.
"You're good at this," I tell him.
"Teaching?"
"Listening. Most people don't ask why the dough feels wrong. They just blame the oven."
"Most people don't have your patience."
If only he knew.
We clean up afterward, Alex and Malcolm insisting on doing dishes while I sit on a stool and eat another cookie.
"Come back any time," Alex says as I gather my notebook. "Seriously. You brighten the place up."
"Make pie next time," Malcolm adds.
"Don't scare her off. Let her finish her cookie before you demand future pastries."
I laugh.
For the first time in a long time, my laughter doesn't feel like a fluke.
Walking back across the shared yard, my chest does a weird, complicated twist.
I don't want to go home.
Not in the dramatic, running-away sense.
Just... I don't want to trade this warm, uncomplicated kitchen for a house where every interaction is threaded through with old hurt and new rules.
By the time I reach our back door, my good mood has curdled into something bittersweet.
The door opens before I touch the handle.
Eli stands there, hair still damp from a shower, T-shirt soft and worn, eyes searching my face. "Hey. How was it?"
"Good. They're nice. Very functional. Finn almost proposed to the mixing bowl, but we talked him down."
He smiles. Then he steps aside, letting me in.
As I cross the threshold, the house's familiar scents close around me—Ragon's smoke and pine, Drake's citrus and scrubs, Marie's sugar-sweet, Eli's tea and linen, Jasper's clean neutrality.
Not bad.
Not unsafe.
Just heavier.
Less simple.
"They asked me to come back. Bake more things."
"You should. If it makes you feel like that." He gestures vaguely at my face.
"Like what?"
"Like you remembered you have color."
I blink.
"Oh."
He reaches out, fingers hovering near my arm, waiting for permission.
I close the distance.
His hand lands warm and sure around my wrist. "You smell different. Lighter."
"Cardamom. And not being the worst thing in the room."
"You were never—"
"I know. Even if it doesn't feel like that all the time."
He squeezes my wrist. "Come on. Tell me everything. I want to hear about Finn's emotional support coffee machine."
We walk down the hall together, shoulders brushing.
For the first time since the punishment, the house feels slightly less like a cage.
I still don't go near Ragon if I can help it. Drake still smells more like Marie than himself. The ban might be lifted on paper, but some of the damage is still very much there.
But Eli is back in my nest.
The neighbors' kitchen feels like a place I'm welcome.
And for a few hours today, my omega instincts were allowed to be exactly what they're supposed to be: soft, generous, full of sugar and wanting to feed people—without being punished for it.