Chapter 12 Jessica
JESSICA
The Negrorio house smells like a pine forest had a baby with a bakery and that baby was raised by lumberjacks who moonlight as baristas.
I'm standing in the foyer at almost five in the morning, clutching my salvaged suitcase like it's the only thing keeping me upright, trying to process the sensory assault that is four alpha scents in one enclosed space.
And oh my God, it's overwhelming.
Cedar and smoke. That's Sergio, standing by the door in sweatpants and a faded t-shirt, watching me with those steady dark eyes like he can see straight through to my soul.
Pine and mint. Pedro, lurking in the kitchen doorway with his arms crossed, scowling at me like I've personally offended him by existing. Which, to be fair, might be accurate because Pedro's default setting appears to be "mildly irritated by everything."
Sandalwood and sawdust. Carlos, right behind me, I can feel his body heat radiating through the henley I'm still wearing. His henley. The one that smells like him. The one I'm currently wrapped in like some kind of scent-marked burrito.
And dark sugar mixed with ironwood. That scent drifts down the staircase a second before Nacho appears on the landing.
Wearing low-slung grey sweatpants.
And absolutely nothing else.
His chest is bare, carved muscle and defined abs just inches from my face. Somewhere, my dignity is filing a missing persons report.
I make a sound that I will deny to my dying day. Something between a squeak and a whimper and possibly a small prayer to whatever deity is responsible for abs like that.
"You're here." Nacho descends the stairs two at a time, and I track every movement because apparently I have no self-control whatsoever. The sweatpants hang low enough that I can see the V of his hip bones disappearing into the waistband. "Carlos texted. Said there was flooding."
"My bathroom exploded." My voice comes out strangled, like someone's sitting on my vocal cords. "Well, the pipe exploded. The bathroom just suffered collateral damage. And my bedroom. And possibly my entire life."
"Are you hurt?" He reaches the bottom of the stairs and stops in front of me, and this close I can see everything. The small scar above his left eyebrow. His dark skin gleams in the warm light. The trail of hair that leads down from his navel and disappears into those criminally low sweatpants.
My omega is having a full-scale meltdown.
ALPHAS, it screams in my head. FOUR OF THEM. ALL OF THEM. RIGHT HERE. YES PLEASE THANK YOU.
I mentally tell it to shut up with extreme prejudice.
"Just my dignity," I manage. "And possibly my bank account. And my faith in modern plumbing."
"You look like you're about to pass out." Pedro's gruff voice cuts through my internal chaos. He's moved from the kitchen doorway to stand a few feet away, his pine and mint scent mingles with Nacho's dark sugar, and the combination makes my head spin. "When's the last time you ate?"
I try to remember. The brownies feel like a lifetime ago. A different lifetime. Before the flood and the kiss and the decision to move into a house with four alphas who apparently all smell like heaven had a cologne sale.
"I had chocolate," I say.
"That's not food."
"It has cocoa beans. Cocoa beans are a legume. Legumes are vegetables. Vegetables are food. Therefore, chocolate is food. Logic."
"That's not how nutrition works," Pedro says flatly.
"It's how my nutrition works. My body, my rules, my questionable dietary choices."
Sergio makes a sound that might be a laugh. I turn to look at him, and the movement is too fast, and suddenly the room decides to do an impression of a carnival ride.
The floor tilts.
My vision blurs.
I'm falling.
Arms catch me before I hit the ground. Strong arms attached to a broad chest that smells like pine and mint and antiseptic and something uniquely Pedro.
His hands are warm through the henley, one splayed across my back, the other gripping my arm to steady me. I'm pressed against him, my cheek against his shoulder, my nose practically buried in the curve of his neck where his scent is strongest.
It wraps around me like a weighted blanket. My omega purrs so loud I'm genuinely concerned everyone can hear it.
Then a growl rips through the room.
Low. Dangerous. Primal. The kind of sound that makes every prey instinct I have stand at attention and salute.
I lift my head, disoriented.
Sergio is staring at Pedro. At Pedro's hands on my body. At the way I'm pressed against him, breathing in his scent. His jaw is clenched so tight I can see the muscle jumping. His eyes have gone dark, pupils blown wide enough to swallow the brown.
He's growling.
At his packmate.
For catching me when I fainted.
The room goes absolutely still. Like someone hit pause on reality.
Nacho freezes halfway down the last step. Carlos stops breathing behind me, his chest going rigid against my back. Pedro's hands tighten on my waist for half a second, then release so fast you'd think I burst into flames.
"Sorry." Pedro steps back, putting distance between us like I'm radioactive. His voice is rough. Strained. "You were falling. Didn't mean to... I was just trying to help."
"Thank you," I say, wobbling on my feet like a newborn giraffe. "I appreciate not becoming intimately acquainted with your floor. It looks hard. The floor, I mean. Not... other things. I'm going to stop talking now."
Sergio hasn't moved. Hasn't stopped staring at where Pedro's hands were on my body.
The growl has faded, but the tension in the room is thick enough to cut with a knife. Or possibly a chainsaw. Maybe industrial equipment.
"Brother." Nacho's voice is carefully neutral, the cop voice he probably uses when diffusing domestic disputes. "Want to tell us what that was about?"
Sergio blinks, and it's like watching someone surface from deep underwater. Something shifts in his expression.
"Sorry." He runs a hand through his dark curly hair, looking anywhere but at me. At the door. The ceiling. The family photos on the wall. "I don't know what... that was instinct. I didn't mean to... I shouldn't have..."
"It's fine," I squeak. My voice has gone up several octaves. "Totally fine. Just some light growling. Very normal. Happens all the time. I'm sure people growl at each other constantly in this house."
"It doesn't happen all the time," Carlos says from behind me, and I can hear the amusement in his voice. "In fact, I don't think I've ever heard Sergio growl at one of us before. Ever."
"Carlos." Sergio's voice is pure warning.
"I'm just saying. It's interesting. Noteworthy. Worth discussing at length later."
"It's not interesting. It's embarrassing." Sergio finally looks at me, and I see mortification in his brown eyes. Regret. "I'm sorry, Jess. That was completely inappropriate. You're a guest in our house, and I just acted like some kind of..."
"Caveman alpha staking his claim?" Carlos finishes helpfully.
"I was going to say 'Neanderthal,' but sure. Your version works too."
I don't know whether to laugh or cry or run screaming into the night. My body is vibrating with conflicting signals. Fear and arousal and exhaustion.
"Can someone please show me to my room?" The words burst out of me. "I really need to sit down before I fall down again and start a territory war."
"I'll take you." Pedro steps forward, then stops, glancing at Sergio like he's asking permission. "Unless that's going to be a problem."
The tension ratchets up another notch. I can feel it pressing against my skin.
"It's not a problem." Sergio's voice is carefully controlled, each word measured. "Show her the guest room. Make sure she has everything she needs. Extra blankets. Water. Whatever she wants."
Pedro nods curtly and picks up my suitcase before I can protest. "This way."
I follow him down a hallway that opens off the foyer, leaving the other three standing in a tableau of awkward alpha posturing. The floor is hardwood, and the walls are covered in family photos, black and white images of stern-faced men with strong jaws and dark hair.
The guest room is at the end of the hall, Pedro pushes open the door and flips on the light.
It's small but cozy. A double bed with a brass frame, covered in a quilt that looks hand-stitched, all blues and greens in an intricate pattern. A dresser with a mirror. A window that faces what must be the back garden, though it's too dark to see anything. A door that leads to a tiny bathroom.
It's perfect.
"Heat works," Pedro says, setting my suitcase on the bed. "Hot water takes about thirty seconds to come through the pipes. There are extra blankets in the closet if you get cold. Towels in the bathroom cabinet."
"Thank you."
He turns to leave, and I should let him. I should let him walk out that door so I can collapse onto this bed and process everything that just happened.
But my mouth has other ideas.
"About what happened back there." The words tumble out. "With Sergio. The growling thing."
Pedro stops in the doorway, his broad shoulders filling the frame. He doesn't turn around.
"Sergio isn't usually like that," he says finally, his voice gruff.
"I gathered that from the shocked silence that followed."
"It's just..." He rubs the back of his neck, and I watch the muscles in his shoulders shift under his t-shirt. "You're an omega. An unbonded omega. In the territory of four alphas who've been pack mates for years." He pauses. "Instincts get complicated."
"Complicated how?"
He doesn't answer right away. When he finally turns to face me, his grey eyes study me like I'm a medical puzzle he's trying to solve.
"You really don't know, do you?" His voice is softer now. Almost gentle.
"Don't know what?"
"How we feel about you. How we've always felt." He shakes his head slowly, and there's something sad in the gesture. "You've been walking around for years thinking you were just Callum's girlfriend, when we..."
He stops himself. Presses his lips together like he's physically holding back words that want to escape.