Chapter 15 #2
This man is not just "something like" a military bodyguard. He's something far more dangerous and far more interesting than he's letting on.
"Wait," I say, a new thought occurring. "You're actually a bodyguard? Like, professionally? That's your job?"
Tank's smirk widens, and he shoots a look at Julian that's loaded with meaning I can't interpret. "Something like that."
Julian doesn't even look up from his food. "Don't."
"Don't what?" Tank asks, all innocence.
"Whatever you're thinking about saying. Don't."
I arch an eyebrow, looking between them. There's clearly a whole conversation happening in subtext that I'm not privy to, a history that explains the loaded glances and half-finished sentences.
Elias leans over toward me, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that's definitely loud enough for both other Alphas to hear.
"Ignore those two. Sometimes they have a language of their own. I'm not part of the loop, though." He grins, his hazel-green eyes sparkling with mischief. "I'm the youngest, so I think I need to join the thirty-year-old club before they let me in on the secret handshake."
The youngest. The firefighter. The one who I made a latte art of Sasha wearing a fire helmet that made him cry over coffee that reminded him of his grandmother.
He seems lighter than the other two—more playful, more open.
But there's something in his eyes that tells me he's seen things too.
That he's not as carefree as he pretends to be.
I laugh, genuine and surprised. "How old are you?"
"Twenty-nine. Tank's thirty-two, and Julian's the ancient one at thirty-five."
"Ancient," Julian mutters, still not looking up. "I'm going to remember that when you want something from me."
"You love me," Elias says cheerfully.
"That's debatable."
I smile, something warm unfurling in my chest despite my best efforts to stay detached.
"Maybe we should start with proper introductions?
I feel like that would be good, given that I just..
. you know..." I gesture vaguely, unable to find the right words to offer to pretend to be your Omega for six weeks.
And also slept with one of you. And made breakfast for all of you. And apparently got emotionally attached to your dog in the span of twelve hours.
Julian finally looks up, those green eyes pinning me in place. "Why are you even here?" His voice is flat, direct, cutting straight to the point without any of the warmth his packmates have shown. "Are you the new cook or something?"
Ouch. That stings more than it should, coming from a man who gave me iron gummies and noticed I was spiraling before I did.
Elias rolls his eyes so hard I'm surprised they don't get stuck. "Julian, you need better communication skills."
"I can communicate just fine."
"No, you sound like a douche every day of the damn week."
"I don't—"
"Some dudes were targeting her at the Valentine's meet and greet last night."
Tank's voice cuts through their bickering, low and steady. He doesn't raise his volume—he doesn't need to. Both Alphas fall silent immediately, their attention snapping to him like soldiers responding to a commanding officer.
His dark eyes are still locked on mine as he continues. "You know that mandatory government shit they make us do. Well, some bounty hunters showed up looking for her. So I played bodyguard."
The kitchen goes quiet. Elias's expression has shifted from playful to serious. Even Julian's mask of irritation has cracked slightly, something that might be concern flickering in his eyes.
Bounty hunters. Tank called them bounty hunters. Not "some guys" or "random people"—bounty hunters. Which means he knows more about my situation than I told him. Which means he's been paying attention. Which means...
I don't know what that means. But the way he's looking at me—protective, possessive, like he's already decided something about me and isn't going to change his mind—makes my heart do something complicated in my chest.
"Which led to us coming back to my place," Tank continues, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "And, well..." His gaze sweeps over me slowly, deliberately, taking in the borrowed t-shirt and the messy hair and the marks I know are visible on my shoulder. "We had a fucking good night."
Heat floods my face. I can feel it spreading from my cheeks down my neck, probably turning me the color of a ripe tomato. The borrowed t-shirt suddenly feels very thin, and I'm hyperaware of every mark on my body that Tank's mouth and hands left there last night.
Tank winks at me. "No regrets there, Sweetness."
Oh God. He did not just say that in front of his packmates. He did not just announce to everyone at this table that we spent the night doing exactly what the marks on his chest suggest we were doing.
My entire face is crimson now. I can feel the heat radiating off my skin like I've been standing too close to a fire. "Introducing me as the wild fling of the night is totally getting you in the dog house," I manage to huff, crossing my arms over my chest defensively.
Tank's smirk only widens. His eyes soften, though—something warmer creeping into their depths as he looks at me.
"I'll wear a leash and bark next time, hmm?"
Julian chokes on his food.
Actually, genuinely chokes. His hand flies to his chest as he coughs, and Elias bursts out laughing—the kind of full-body laughter that makes his chair scrape against the floor as he throws his head back.
"Oh my God," Elias wheezes, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. "I can't—Tank, you broke him. You actually broke the unflappable Julian Mercier."
Julian is still coughing, but he manages to shoot Tank a glare that could melt steel. "I hate you," he rasps.
"No, you don't."
"I really, genuinely do right now."
Tank just grins wider, clearly pleased with himself. He doesn't look the least bit repentant about embarrassing me or nearly killing his packmate with inappropriate comments. If anything, he looks like this is exactly the kind of chaos he thrives on.
My whole face is still burning, but something is happening in my chest. Something light and bubbly and terrifying in its unfamiliarity. It takes me a moment to recognize it for what it is.
Joy. This is joy. This ridiculous, chaotic, embarrassing moment—it's making me happy.
When was the last time I felt happy? Real, genuine, I-can't-stop-smiling happy?
Not the performative contentment I showed to the world.
Not the numb acceptance I wrapped around myself like armor.
But this—this bubbling, giddy, stupid kind of happiness that makes me want to laugh and cry at the same time.
I watch Julian try to regain his composure while Elias continues to laugh.
I watch Tank's smirk soften into something genuine, something pleased, like making his packmates react is exactly what he wanted.
I watch Sasha's tail wag beneath the table, thumping against the floor in what might be canine approval.
These men are ridiculous. Absolutely, completely, thoroughly ridiculous. They bicker like children and tease like teenagers and look at me like I'm something worth keeping. Something worth protecting. Something more than just an Omega to be traded or owned or used and discarded.
This is temporary, I remind myself firmly. This is fake. This is just a business arrangement that benefits everyone involved. I shouldn't get attached. I shouldn't start hoping for things I can't have.
But as I sit at this table, surrounded by warmth and laughter and the mingled scents of three Alphas who have made me feel more welcomed in one morning than my entire life combined...
And I think to myself, with a mixture of terror and wonder:
Why do I feel like these Alphas are going to make my life more lively than it's ever been?