Chapter 30 #2
Theo smirks—and it's the kind of smirk that immediately makes alarm bells ring in my head. That knowing, slightly mischievous expression that tells me something is going on that I'm not aware of.
I arch an eyebrow at him.
"What? What did you do?"
His smirk only widens.
Before he can answer my question, I feel the warm, soft, quilted weight of my cardigan being draped carefully over my shoulders from behind. The fabric still carries a hint of warmth, like it's been held close to someone's body.
I look up and behind me to see Nash standing there, his blue eyes sparkling with amusement and something darker, more possessive, more predatory.
He adjusts the cardigan gently with large, capable hands, making sure it covers me properly and sits evenly on my shoulders. His motor oil and leather scent wraps around me along with the fabric.
"You really think," he starts, his voice dropping to that low, rough register that makes my stomach flip, "we're going to let just anyone, random strangers, other guests, whoever might wander in here,watch our Omega demonstrate every single flexible position we'd love to put you in behind closed doors? "
He pauses deliberately, letting that sink in.
Then adds with absolute finality,
"Fuck no. Absolutely not happening. Not a chance in hell."
My face has to be tomato red now. Actually, beyond tomato. Maybe closer to fire-engine red or stop-sign red. I can feel the heat radiating from my cheeks. I groan loudly and cover my burning face with both hands.
"That's illegal! You can't just rent out an entire public wellness facility because you're possessive Alphas!"
Nash chuckles—deep and warm and completely, utterly unapologetic.
The sound reverberates through his chest. He leans in close from behind, his lips brushing feather-light against the side of my neck in a way that makes me shiver involuntarily despite the warmth of the cardigan.
His hand grips my waist possessively, fingers splaying wide across my skin through the thin, sweat-dampened fabric of my sports bra, thumb stroking small circles against my ribcage.
"You know what's actually illegal?" he whispers directly against my flesh, his breath hot and damp on my sensitive skin.
"These tights. These fucking tights that have been absolutely tormenting me for the past solid hour while I've been standing in the corner watching you bend and stretch and move your body in ways that make me want to rip them clean off your gorgeous legs so I can fuck you nice and hard right here on this mat. "
I quiver visibly at his words, at the raw uncensored desire in his tone, at the possessive grip of his hand.
"I—I didn't do anything wrong! I was just existing! Just doing my normal workout routine! That's not tormenting! That's self-care!"
Theo chuckles from where he's still standing in front of me, looking thoroughly entertained by my flustered state.
"It's becoming very abundantly clear that your existence itself—just you being you, breathing, moving, existing in space—is a significant difficulty in our books, Sugarplum. You don't have to do anything specific. Just being yourself is more than enough to drive all three of us completely insane."
I groan in complete defeat, overwhelmed by both of them ganging up on me with their combined Alpha intensity and possessive declarations that I have absolutely no defense against.
Nash's hand moves from my waist up to my chin, gripping it gently but firmly, forcing my head up and back until I'm looking directly at him from this awkward backward angle. His blue eyes are dark with want but also tender somehow, soft around the edges despite the heat in his gaze.
Then he kisses me.
Very tenderly, very carefully—lips moving against mine with restrained passion and controlled intensity that makes my toes curl inside my knitted socks and my hands grip his forearm for balance.
When he finally pulls back, breaking the kiss reluctantly, he's smiling down at me.
"You look really good, Reverie. Really, really good in that outfit doing your thing. But I'm especially glad you enjoy Pilates so much. It clearly tests your strength and flexibility in all the best possible ways. Very beneficial practice."
I smile despite my embarrassment, genuine happiness bubbling up.
"I really do love it. It makes me feel empowered and strong and capable. Like I can do anything."
I feel Theo's hands settle on my waist from behind, warm and steady.
I turn my head to look at him over my shoulder.
"Thank you for taking all those clips and videos," I say sincerely. "And for waking up early to help me with this."
He nods, then leans in to kiss me too—quick but no less affecting.
"You're welcome. We'll edit them together after breakfast like I promised."
Then he asks, "Have you set up an Instagram account yet? In addition to your TikTok?"
I blink, genuinely confused. "Why would I need one? I already have my main account where I post everything."
"It's good for branding," Theo explains patiently.
"Different platforms reach different audiences.
Instagram tends to be better for more curated content, longer captions, photo carousels.
You can hit demographics that might not use TikTok as heavily.
Plus it's easier to work with brands for sponsorships through Instagram's business features. "
I consider this, nodding slowly.
"Okay. That makes sense. I'll research how to set it up properly after breakfast? Learn about the features and what kind of content works best there?"
Both Alphas nod approvingly.
"Should we go wake Grayson up so we can all eat breakfast together?" I suggest, already looking forward to the lodge's restaurant and whatever delicious food they're serving this morning. "I have to shower first though. I'm all sweaty from the workout."
Theo and Nash exchange a look—one of those loaded Alpha communications—and matching smirks spread across their faces.
"Alone!" I add quickly, firmly, before they can suggest anything. "I'm showering alone! Not with you horny Alphas!"
They both chuckle but don't argue, which is probably wise.
We walk back across the enclosed patio toward where I'd left my rolled-up yoga mat, water bottle, and small towel.
The snow outside the floor-to-ceiling windows is falling more steadily now with each passing minute, accumulating rapidly on the wooden deck railing and the pine tree branches with increasing speed and volume.
The flakes are larger now, falling faster, creating that hypnotic effect of constant white motion.
As I'm bending down to roll up my yoga mat properly, making sure to align the edges so it'll fit back in its carrying strap, I notice something unusual on the nearby wooden bench.
A small folded piece of paper sitting there almost deliberately, like it was placed rather than dropped.
Origami, actually—delicate and precisely folded into what looks like a small crane or perhaps a lotus flower.
The paper appears to be pale pink or cream-colored, standing out against the dark wood of the bench.
"Oh!" I say brightly, straightening up and pointing at the origami with genuine delight.
"Was someone leaving origami decorations around the lodge?
That's such a cute touch! Very aesthetic and artistic!
Perfect for Instagram content, actually.
I love places that pay attention to little details like this! "
I move toward the bench to pick it up, curious to examine the craftsmanship up close and maybe take a photo of it with the snowy backdrop. It really is beautifully folded—precise creases, perfect symmetry.
But Nash reaches it before I can get there, his hand shooting out with surprising speed—almost aggressive speed—to snatch the delicate paper before my fingers can make contact.
He unfolds it quickly with zero care for preserving the origami structure, deliberately unraveling it with rough movements to read whatever's written inside.
And I watch his expression shift. Subtle changes that someone who didn't know him well might miss, but I notice.
His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. The muscles in his neck tense.
His blue eyes harden, going from playful warmth to something cold and calculating in an instant.
His entire body language changes—shoulders squaring, stance widening slightly into something more defensive or protective.
That's not the reaction you have to a simple weather warning. That's not how someone looks when they're reading lodge information about a snowstorm. That's the reaction you have to a threat.
"What does it say?" I ask, trying to peer at the paper in his hand, trying to see what's written there that caused such a dramatic reaction.
He folds it back up quickly—casually, like it's nothing important—and tucks it into his pocket with practiced ease.
"Just a warning about the blizzard. Management probably left notes around the property to alert guests about the incoming storm. Think it's about to start properly with this heavier snowfall."
But his tone feels wrong. Off. Too casual, too dismissive, trying too hard to sound unconcerned.
And I notice him glance at Theo—one of those quick, loaded, meaningful looks that speaks entire paragraphs without a single word being spoken aloud.
The kind of silent communication that people who've known each other for years develop, especially military people who've relied on each other in life-or-death situations.
Theo's expression hardens too in response, just fractionally. His olive-green eyes narrow slightly. His posture shifts almost imperceptibly into something more alert, more prepared.