Chapter 39
Unintended Consequences
DAN
Thank the gods Nathan insisted on bringing his cats.
Despite all four humans being mature and articulate, we collectively fail at making any kind of real conversation over the dinner table.
Awkward silences abound as we, myself included, eat more than we should of the admittedly delicious veggie-and-beans casserole paired with thick frozen-berry smoothies that, judging by the green flecks and Corin’s admonitory glare, contain extra nutrients.
The cats don’t care. They clearly hold their relocation against Nathan and me. Both turn their backs on us and spend the entire meal hiding under the sofa, visible only as eyes occasionally glittering in the dark.
Once we humans are ensconced in the living room—Corin and Johanna on either end of the sofa, me in an armchair to one side, and Nathan the matching on the other—we still can’t break the quiet.
Nathan picks up his armchair and readjusts it to face the sofa rather than the screen on the wall. Corin glares at the divots in the carpet showing where the chair originally sat, but Johanna shakes her head slightly, and he doesn’t say anything.
Then the cats emerge. Nathan calls to them—the first crack in the silence.
Fluffier ignores him. Fluffy saunters over in his general direction, stops just out of reach to lick a paw, and then turns and heads for the sofa, tail high and flouncing from one side to the other.
They’ve figured out the general hierarchy in the house. Each, in turn, makes a circuit around the living room. Fluffier, then Fluffy pass by me without so much as a glance my way. They stop and sniff at Johanna’s legs, and permit her to bend and stroke them.
When they reach Corin, however, they leap onto the sofa and proceed to rub against him. Fluffy settles at his side, while Fluffier turns around three times before curling in his lap. With one hand each, he strokes them, and they start purring. A matching rumble comes from him.
Opposite him, Johanna alternately smiles and bites her lip.
There’s an odd tang to her cranberry scent, but I can’t parse it out, as Corin and Nathan’s stronger scents override it.
She’s the most at ease of us all, lounging in casual clothes that drape her curves, reminding me of seeing her unclothed earlier, sprawled over the end of the bed with Nathan’s cock in her mouth and Corin knotting her.
Lust and need surge through me. I’d wanted to knot her in Corin’s place, but didn’t trust myself. Didn’t want our first time together again, first time knotting—assuming it ever happens—to be in service of dispelling another alpha’s rut.
Nathan glances my way, reassurance and yet more apology flowing from him.
Some of my mixed emotions must also shift my scent, because Corin turns in my direction, too, though he doesn’t say anything.
This isn’t the time or place, so I push those hopes and memories away.
I’ve grown very good at compartmentalizing over the years.
Nothing but purrs, for minute after minute after minute. No music, no shows on the screen, nothing. Corin’s scent settles on the woodsy side, with little hint of apples. Combined with Nathan’s snuffed candle, I could almost believe there’s a fire nearby, save for the faint hint of cranberries.
Finally, I break the silence.
“I’m sorry, Nathan, but the cats made the call.
Corin is clearly prime alpha, head alpha, or whatever he wants us to call him,” I say, hoping he senses my amusement through the bond.
Mixed irritation and acceptance flow back at me, along with rills of worry, hope, and fear—so many other emotions I can’t untangle them.
I’m still figuring out what comes from him versus what’s mine by right.
“That’s presuming you’re still interested in packing up with us? ”
Might as well bring it up now.
Still petting the cats, Corin turns to Johanna. Their gazes meet and they seem to have a silent discussion given their minute movements: eyebrows lifted, head tilted one way, then another, a shoulder shrug here and there.
“Yes,” Johanna says at length, glancing from me to Nathan and back, the odd tang to her fragrance increases. It’s sour, but not in a bad way, easily dissipating once swallowed.
“But?” I ask, uncertainty filtering through me. Mine or Nathan’s?
She bites her lip and tilts her head in my direction.
“There’s something odd about your scent.”
“You’d think I’d be used to that by now.” Johanna sighs, lacing her fingers together and pressing her hands over her chest. “I need ... I want to know why Nathan went into rut. What went wrong, and if there’s anything I could’ve done to stop it.”
This time, it’s easier to separate Nathan’s emotions from my own. Like Johanna, I’m curious—that’s mine. The sharp pangs of fear or dread must be his. The rill of hope could be both. Each, however, overlays a layer of aching, sore pain, pressing against me like a heavy fog.
The aroma of smoke increases, cut slightly by the sour tang of Johanna’s cranberry as it shifts toward tart.
“I enjoyed parts,” she adds, “but it scared me, too.”
“I don’t have an easy answer. One moment I was fine—well, not fine, but completely myself and in control.
” Nathan’s throat works, and the pain flowing across our bond increases, but in an unbalanced way that makes my shoulders stiffen.
“Then the residue of Max’s scent and yours and the hint of omega musk going into heat combined, and my alpha took over. ”
“So Anamaria’s scent was the trigger?” Corin asks, hand pausing over Fluffier’s back until a disgruntled meow restarts the petting.
“No, not her scent.” Nathan stiffens, the pain briefly vanishes, dispelled by a sharp stab of irritation and insult. “I’m not interested in children—she may be grown but she’s too young for me. Too flowery, anyway.”
Corin chuckles at that, sofa creaking as he shifts slightly. Fluffier is not pleased with the motion; the cat gets up and does the turn-around thing again. “I get that. You have daughters, right?”
“Yes, but even if I didn’t, it wasn’t that.” Nathan shakes his head. “I’m not sure what the trigger was, but not her.”
The atmosphere in the room eases with Nathan’s openness and Corin’s ready acceptance. Worth it for that, but also Nathan’s quick-changing emotions help me begin to tell what’s from him versus what’s me. His don’t fit quite right and fade quickly unless constantly reinforced.
He’s more at ease now, yet the underlying pain has returned. Still, it makes my spine itch as it presses against my heart before blowing away.
I put in my two cents. “The idea that the smell of omegas in heat sends all unbonded alphas into rut is a myth. That’s the usual trigger, yes, but some element of interest must already exist, and even then ruts aren’t chance events—they’re the result of the intersection of external triggers and internal susceptibility, which vary from alpha to alpha.
” I look pointedly at Corin, whose earlier ignorance is telling.
No doubt Nathan gets a taste of the jealousy that briefly stabs through me. “I’m guessing you’ve never had one.”
“No.” Corin tilts his head in a show of vulnerability, which helps shift my jealousy to mere envy.
“Nor me, before today.” Nathan also exposes his throat to me, displaying the faded scars of his bond marks.
“What did your alpha want most of all?” Corin turns to Nathan, head and chin high, in challenge or order. “To fuck Johanna or bond her?”
“Bond.” More pain seeps from Nathan, this time separate threads. How many isn’t clear, just that there’s more than one ache involved and they’re unequal. The larger seems old and heavy, the others fresh and still bleeding.
He rubs the marks on his neck. “We needed to find our mates. It’s strange, I’d have sworn I’ve adjusted—it’s been years since the accident took Renee and Lawrence—but suddenly I was missing them, hurting, needing to find the bonds.”
As he speaks his lost mates’ names, the heavier strand of pain jerks and stabilizes into two, entwined strands of loss and grief. The newer remains separate.
“Did you have two bonds or three?” I ask.
“Two mates, two bonds.” He traces the upper mark, then pulls the collar of his shirt down to reveal the full extent of the other. The bites overlap, forming a misshapen infinity symbol of teeth marks along his throat and the top of his shoulder.
“I can feel three strands of grief coming from you.” I frown. “I don’t know how best to describe it: they’re like sore spots leaking through our bond. Two heavy and old, one still raw.”
“There was no third.” Nathan shakes his head, although the three twined pains continue to stream from him.
“I courted Max to let me join him and Johanna. She would have been the third mark if she’d agreed.
Maybe Max a fourth—though he seemed doubtful about bonding—if only we’d had the time.
He was leaning toward letting me court Johanna, but got sick before he agreed. ”
“Maybe that’s it—not me, but Max.” Johanna rises and flits from the room, fast enough that Fluffy gives an irritated meow as the sofa cushions shift.
Her footsteps echo down the hall, followed by a muted bang; then, she returns with a piece of paper in hand.
Her scent turns sour, with a salty edge, as though composed of cranberries doused in seawater.
Corin and I both leave our chairs to join her next to Nathan, who rises as well, so we can all see what she’s holding. The cats aren’t happy but settle after a few disgruntled grumbles.
Peering over Nathan’s shoulder, I see a letter resembling the one Max wrote me, sent after his death. The words differ markedly from mine:
I’m sorry I waited too long to say yes.
“You said you smelled the residue of Max in the room.” Johanna eases an arm around Nathan’s waist; he starts, and a flicker of hope runs through the grief still pouring over the bond between us.
“Before his death, you were courting him, convincing him the three of us could be a pack, without demanding of him anything he couldn’t give, or taking me from him.
He would’ve said yes—you know that, as does your alpha, because of his letter.
Could your alpha have already considered him your mate? ”
Nathan arches, his head falling back, shoulders tight as agony lances through him, spilling over into me. I grab hold, bracing him, as my alpha rouses, shrieking at me not to let go.
“You lost him, too.” Tears trickle down Johanna’s cheeks. “No wonder your alpha wanted a bond, a mate to hold on to.”
The paper falls from Johanna’s hands. Corin scoops it up as Nathan collapses forward into Johanna’s and my arms, heaving as he sobs. His torment registers with me, though not as direct; my face is wet as I hold him close, arms intertwining with Johanna’s.
Corin puts the letter safely away, then joins us.
His arms spread wide to embrace all three of us.
Even the cats get in on the action, slipping from the sofa to rub against Nathan’s legs, purring loudly.
Corin’s rumble starts up, too, inspiring mine to match until we’re all a big ball of tears and purrs.
They all smell right to me now, individually and together.
We’re holding Nathan, rooting him, providing a safe space for him to grieve. All this trickles from him to me, sharing overwhelming relief above and beyond the shadow of sorrow.
If this is what it means to be in a pack, I never want to leave.