Chapter Thirteen – Clean Work
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Clean Work
I wake up from the best sleep of my life to Jo’s alarm firing at four-thirty in the morning.
It’s still dark outside. She carefully slips mine and Jay’s arms off her, squirming between us to crawl out of the nest. I start to move too, and she plants a kiss on my temple.
“It’s too early. Go back to sleep,” she whispers.
But I get up anyway and wrap my arms around her. Shane and Jay don’t take long to be on their feet too.
“Are you okay?” I ask softly, trying to keep the insecurity out of my voice.
Last night was the best I’ve ever had; all my experiences feel dull and tasteless in comparison. But for someone raised human, whose relationships had always been with human men — one at a time — last night might’ve felt overwhelming. She’s not used to this. Three bodies. The rut. The knots.
In my head, I’d planned for our first time to be calm, slow, and careful, so she wouldn’t feel overwhelmed or scared. Naively, I thought we could fight off the rut. I thought we’d have enough control not to slip into it the very first time with her.
But when I realized what she was saying last night, when I felt it was really happening, I lost it. All that planning vanished and instinct took over. Then it was all fire and need: fast, hard, no restraint.
What if she felt used?
What if she regrets it?
Shane takes her from my arms into his. She kisses him before looking back at me, a small smile on her face.
“I’m okay,” she finally answers me. “Last night… I don’t even know why I was scared. It was just right.”
My chest lifts, my heart floating with light, breathless happiness.
When she goes to shower, the three of us head to the kitchen to make her breakfast. Her favorite is French toast, and she promised to teach us how to make it, but for now, we stick with what we know: toast, eggs, and coffee.
When she walks in, I see her in her light green scrubs for the first time. She looks amazing, her long hair tied in a ponytail just like the first time we saw her.
Her eyes light up when she sees everything laid out on the table. “Wow. I could get used to this.”
As we eat together, a shy smile blooms on her lips whenever her eyes flick up to meet ours. At some point, she blushes out of nowhere.
I get it. My mind’s been replaying last night on a loop.
After breakfast, she kisses each of us and leaves with her Corolla keys in hand, and my chest tightens as I watch her go. I hear the front door close and feel an urge to chase her down and bring her back inside.
Unexpectedly, my brothers aren’t taking it much better, their posture stiff, jaws clenched.
When she first told us about her job, I got the impression they didn’t care at all and I was the only controlling idiot who had a problem with her being out in the world unprotected.
But now I think it’s an aegis thing, because despite all their talk that day, both of them are clearly struggling to keep still.
It’s only five-thirty, and we’re not expected at the station until nine, so we have plenty of time. I clean the dishes and load the dishwasher while Jay and Shane start sorting through the boxes still scattered across the floor.
Once we’ve unpacked what we can from the kitchen stuff, I head upstairs and wait for Jay to finish with the beard trimmer so I can use it next. We all stopped shaving after Jo said she liked short beards.
I stall, taking my time in the shower, but I’m still ready early, so I sprawl out on the couch and turn the TV on, zoning out immediately.
First day at the new station. This past week felt like a fantasy, something so good it can’t possibly last. Part of me is actually relieved to go back to the hard reality of a PD. It’ll make things feel more real, like I won’t wake up any second back in our old apartment downtown Greenster.
By eight, we’re already in the truck, heading out.
When we reach the station’s street, the building is easy to spot.
It’s definitely bigger than the one back in Greenster, but PD buildings always have the same institutional look.
The station sits on the corner of a wide intersection, a two-story concrete building with plain brick siding.
A short flight of steps leading to double glass doors beneath a flat overhang marks the front entrance.
Above it, a standard city seal reads: “Great Sky Police Department—Division 2.”
We park the truck on a side street. It’s not nine yet, but staying in the car makes no sense, so we head to the front entrance and walk in together. After a week of being completely relaxed around Jo, we put our guards back up fast and easy. Back to pack rule number one: always show up as a unit.
Inside, the lobby is tight, with fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. There’s a front desk behind thick glass, and a receptionist half-hidden behind her terminal. A couple of officers linger near the far wall, sipping coffee and pretending not to watch us.
I realize something’s different.
The smells, every single one of them, are sharper than I’ve ever sensed. I stop walking, and feel my brothers halt, too. Both have their nostrils flared, brows drawn in confusion .
“What the hell?” Shane mutters, looking between me and Jay.
A strong sense of smell comes with being an aegis, but this is something else. I’m not just picking up the usual crowded-hallway mess of sweat, metal, and soap: I can follow the threads. I can separate them.
There’s a middle-aged woman sitting ten feet away, her hands still faintly scented with garlic. The man beside her reeks of alcohol and sex, sweat and body fluids, stale and clinging. The coffee those officers are sipping has a burned undertone, like it was brewed from over-roasted beans.
So this is how it starts. Our bond with Jo is already working on us.
Jay must’ve reached the same conclusion, because he answers Shane’s question with a mutter. “We’re changing.”
We can’t help but smile at each other. Almost every eye in the station is on us now, probably wondering why we froze in the middle of the lobby like someone hit pause. I shake it off and step up to the desk.
The receptionist blinks at me, startled, and her eyes go wide. She glances toward the two officers like she’s silently asking for backup.
Yeah, I know that kind of human too well. If the real estate agent type wants us for the whole "aegis can’t control themselves" fantasy, this one’s scared of us for the exact same reason. Like we’re one wrong breath away from jumping the counter and tearing her clothes off.
I hear Shane and Jay sigh behind me, both annoyed. The two officers cross the room fast, shoulders squared, chests puffed, ready to play hero. I’ve seen this exact scene too many times to care.
“Larsen pack,” I say flatly. “Transferred in. Reporting for High-Risk Operations.”
She tears her gaze off us and looks down at her screen, tapping something, then picks up the desk phone and dials, her voice a little shaky. “Hi, this is front desk. The aegis unit just arrived.” A pause. Then: “Yeah. They’re here.”
She hangs up and stares at a point somewhere around my throat, avoiding my eyes. “Someone’ll come get you.”
I nod and we step aside, but we don’t wait long. A man comes through the double doors, uniform crisp, posture solid. Not big like us, but tall for a human.
“Larsens?” he asks when he’s close.
I nod.
He doesn’t offer a handshake. “Sergeant Wilsbone. Come with me.”
We follow him through the doors and down a narrow corridor. His voice carries back over his shoulder. “High-Risk Unit’s in the back of the station. We’re not large, so we don’t have much space. We share locker rooms and the break room with regular officers.”
We pass a small steel door marked HIGH-RISK UNIT - AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY in stenciled black paint. The sergeant swipes a card to unlock it and pushes through without looking back .
At the end of the hallway, he steps into a cramped office, and we follow. He takes his seat behind the desk. There’s only one chair on our side, so we stay standing.
“I’m not gonna lie to you,” he says. “Sending us a temp aegis unit is some bullshit I didn’t ask for. If I had to deal with your kind, I’d rather it be the ones assigned here permanently. But for now I’m stuck with you, so we’ll make it work.”
Feels like Greenster all over again. Back there, Balls hated us because we were strays. Thought we were inferior because of it. He wanted prime material and got us instead. Now this guy’s bitter because we won’t stay.
Jay’s already pushing soothing pheromones into the air. I follow, mostly for Shane’s sake, because honestly, I don’t give a shit how this guy feels about us. Like he said, we’re not here for long.
The sergeant continues. “Here’s the deal. You pull your weight. You don’t cause trouble. That’s all I expect.”
I nod once. “Understood.”
He stands. “Let’s walk.”
We follow him to a glass-walled room. Maps cover one wall, mission tags pinned in clusters. A screen flickers with a paused surveillance feed.
“Briefing room,” he says. “0700 roll call. Don’t be late. If you miss it, you’re benched.”
Next is a caged-off room with wire mesh walls and a solid steel gate. Lockers line the inside, each marked with call signs and barcodes. Tactical vests hang on hooks. Rifles locked in upright racks. There are two cabinets in the back, probably for heavier ordnance.
“This is the gear cage. You won’t be issued weapons or armor until Quartermaster gets your certs transferred and the captain signs off.”
No problem there. The gear’s sized for humans anyway.
Down the hall, we pass a locker room. The sharp sting of disinfectant hits hard.
Inside, there are narrow benches, peeling paint and rust in the showers.
I can tell the second locker on the right row is Wilsbone’s just by the scent coming from it.
If I tried, I could probably place the two officers from the lobby too.