9. Under the Stars
Under the Stars
Jessie
Standing in the open doorway of the apartment.
Jake steps over the threshold first. Reaching out, I grab his forearm and rise onto my toes to press a kiss against his rough cheek.
His stubble scratches my lips. He lets out a low rumble of approval, his dark eyes tracking my face with a fierce, possessive focus that makes my pulse jump.
Edward goes next. Wrapping his giant hand around my fingers, he offers a gentle, grounding squeeze. Stepping close, I press my lips to his scruffy jaw. A soft breath escapes him. His thumb brushes my knuckles; the rich scent of clove and vetiver wrap around me before he steps back.
Nolan brings up the rear with a warm, easy smile. Grabbing the edge of his button-down shirt, I pull him down an inch to plant a parting kiss on his cheek. He ducks his head, a bright flush creeping up his neck. He adjusts his dark frames, shooting me a soft look as he trails behind the other two.
The wooden door clicks shut. The deadbolt slides into place.
The silence inside the small studio apartment hits my ears with the force of a tidal wave.
For hours, this space held the chaotic energy of three towering Alphas and a raging, instinctual heat.
Now, standing alone in the middle of the checkered linoleum kitchen, the contrast is jarring.
Staring at the empty wooden chairs tucked around the table brings a rush of adrenaline.
The faint remnants of their combined scent, rich fig layered with vetiver, clove, and steeped black tea, hang thick in the air.
The aroma sinks into my pores, a constant reminder of the boundaries I crossed.
My stomach does a chaotic series of flips.
A ragged breath tears out of my throat. Adrenaline and fear war for control of my nervous system, making my hands shake.
My brain screams at me to grab my keys and run, but my body aches for the heat of the men who just walked down the stairs.
Pivoting away from the empty kitchen, focusing on my top priority becomes a necessity to keep from losing my mind.
“Winston,” I call out, keeping my voice to a soothing hum.
Walking into the living area, I drop to my knees beside the faded floral sofa.
Peering into the dark shadows underneath the cushions reveals Winston.
The tuxedo cat huddles in the farthest corner, his green eyes glowing with deep suspicion.
He ignores chaotic farm dogs and aggressive barn cats without a single flinch, but he harbors a deep distrust for unfamiliar adult humans.
Three strange men invading his territory and turning the living room into an instinct-driven sex den sent him straight into hiding.
Grabbing a plastic container of his favorite crunchy treats from the coffee table, I give it a firm shake. The rattling sound cuts through the quiet room.
“Come here, buddy. The coast is clear. They went downstairs.”
I place a few hard treats in the center of my palm and extend my hand.
Winston lets out a cautious, questioning trill.
He creeps forward inch by inch, his belly low to the woven rug.
Sniffing my fingers, his whiskers twitch as he investigates the lingering scent of the pack on my skin.
Deciding if I pass the test takes a minute.
At last, he bumps his soft head against my knuckles and crunches on the treats from my palm.
Scooping his warm, furry body into my arms provides instant comfort.
Burying my face into his neck, his rumbling purr grounds my racing mind.
He offers a perfect distraction to stop the whirlwind of the morning from tearing my composure apart.
Carrying him into the kitchen, his steady purr acts as a tether to reality.
Winston squirms after a minute, demanding his freedom.
Setting him down on the linoleum, I grab a small tin of wet food from the counter and pull the aluminum tab.
The distinct pop and hiss grab his full attention.
Scooping the rich pate into his ceramic dish in the corner, he trots over and gets to work on his breakfast.
Crossing the room, I lean my hips against the laminate kitchen counter. My mind spirals, replaying the deal made in the parking lot. I agreed to stay. Agreeing to a three-month courtship with three men who trigger every instinctual response in my system sounds insane.
My entire life revolves around a singular survival strategy: run before roots can take hold.
Decades in the foster system taught me the danger of relying on other people.
Memories of social workers shoving my few belongings into black trash bags in the middle of the night still haunt my dreams. They tossed me from one stranger’s house to the next, trading fake smiles and empty promises.
That transient chaos forged my need for independence.
Taking mobile clinic contracts and living out of my transit van ensures no one ever dictates my future.
That van represents my sanctuary. I installed the solar panels on the roof with my own hands.
I bought top-tier surgical equipment with money I saved for years.
If a town gets too close, or a boss gets too demanding, I pack up and drive away.
Yet, when Jake stood behind my bumper and offered me a choice, I folded. The scent match bypassed every defense mechanism I own.
A tight knot of panic forms in my throat.
Staring at my worn work boots, a huge part of me screams that making this deal was a catastrophic mistake.
Letting Alphas into my life means surrendering control.
But another quiet, persistent voice in the back of my mind wants to see where this goes.
The intense, staggering pleasure and safety experienced with them last night defies all logic.
Finding a pack that respects my hustle and prioritizes my veterinary career was never part of the plan.
They promised not to bite me. They promised to let me work.
Gripping the edge of the counter, my knuckles turn white.
What if the connection vanishes? What if last night was just a fluke triggered by failing suppressants?
If the bond fades, I end up with zero protection.
They realize I bring too much baggage, and they kick me out of town.
Losing my hard-earned veterinary reputation, and my heart in one blow sounds like a waking nightmare.
Pushing away from the counter, forcing myself to walk toward the shower is the single option left. The hot water will wash away the sweat and the slick, even if it won’t wash away their scent. The three-month clock is on. Surviving the countdown without losing my independence is all that matters.
A few days pass in a blur of routine. The pack honors their word. They give me total space at the clinic, refusing to hover or interfere with my appointments. They drop off coffee in the mornings and send brief, checking-in texts, but they let me call the shots.
Saturday afternoon rolls around, bringing a fresh wave of panic.
I stand in the middle of my apartment, staring at the open suitcase.
A pile of stiff scrubs, ratty t-shirts, and faded sweatpants stares back at me.
My nomadic lifestyle demands practical, durable clothing.
I own zero cute outfits. Needing something proper for my first official date with Nolan, I lock up the clinic for a late lunch break and jog two blocks down Main Street to the local boutique.
The trip pays off in record time. I find a ribbed knit top accenting my waist, a pair of dark-wash fitted denim jeans, and a light jacket perfect for the late-summer Colorado evening.
Back upstairs, I get ready with a swarm of nervous butterflies erupting in my stomach. I leave my dark hair down in loose, natural waves, ditching my usual messy bun. I apply a minimal layer of makeup to highlight my eyes. I fill Winston’s food bowl ahead of time so he stays settled for the night.
Glancing out the kitchen window, Nolan’s pristine late-model truck pulls into the gravel lot on time. I give Winston a parting scratch behind the ears, and head downstairs.
Nolan steps out of the driver’s side as I push through the clinic’s back door.
He looks handsome. He wears a casual button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing his forearms. His dark-framed glasses catch the afternoon sun.
He walks around the hood and opens the passenger door for me, offering a charming, dimpled smile.
“You look beautiful, Jessie.”
“Thanks.” A hot flush creeps up my neck. “You clean up pretty good yourself.”
I climb into the cab. He shuts the door and jogs around to his side.
We head out of Willowside, the truck tires humming against the asphalt. We leave the town limits behind, transitioning onto a dirt county road pointing straight toward the open prairie.
“Did you always want to teach?” I trace a finger over the smooth door console.
“Teaching science is my true passion.” Nolan keeps his eyes on the dirt road, a warm smile on his face.
“I grew up an only child with Beta parents. When my Alpha designation hit at sixteen, my poor parents had zero idea how to handle a moody, instinct-driven teenager. The shift caused a lot of chaos.”
“So you teach high school to help kids going through the same transition?”
“Spot on.” Nolan checks the rearview mirror. “The kids need a steady presence when their designations hit. I prefer guiding them over working a high-stress corporate job.”
Nolan glances over, the dashboard lights catching his smile. “What about you? How does a nomad end up with a grumpy tuxedo cat?”
“I found him half-frozen under a porch in Heathstead.” I trace a line over the leather console. “He fit in the palm of my hand. Nursing him back to health gave me a focus outside of surviving. Now he runs my life and demands expensive salmon on his birthday.”