Chapter 12 Theo
Theo
Iwake up smelling Rowan's scent on my wrist. Maybe I'm imagining it. It shouldn't still be there—not after many showers and the few weeks that have passed—but somehow it lingers, a ghost of sweetness that makes my stomach clench with guilt and something far more dangerous.
I crossed a line that night. Scent-marking someone without permission is inappropriate at best, predatory at worst. Especially someone who's vulnerable, confused about her changing biology, and dependent on us for housing.
It doesn't matter that it felt right, that the way she responded—even in sleep—suggested her body welcomed my scent. I know better.
Or I should.
I drag myself out of bed, rehearsing an apology in my head, like I do every morning. I'll be straightforward. Honest. I'll tell her I crossed a boundary and it won't happen again. That I respect her autonomy and understand if she's uncomfortable around me now.
But when I get to the kitchen, all my carefully prepared words evaporate.
Rowan is already there, huddled over a cup of coffee, her golden curls falling in a curtain that partially shields her face.
Jasper is at the table, reading something on his phone while methodically demolishing a plate of eggs.
Wells is nowhere to be seen—probably already left for an early meeting with the mayor.
"Morning," I say, aiming for casual and landing somewhere around awkwardly cheerful.
Jasper grunts in acknowledgment. Rowan mumbles something that might be "good morning" without looking up from her coffee.
I move to the coffee pot, hyperaware of her presence just a few feet away. Her scent is different this morning—still sweet, still enticing, but layered with nervous energy and something sharper. Anxiety, maybe. Or embarrassment.
Because she hates me now. After what I did, and not saying anything about it for weeks? Could she have been awake after all?
"Sleep well?" I ask, directing the question at her even as I busy myself with pouring coffee, giving her space to respond without the pressure of my gaze.
"Fine," she says, her voice slightly higher than usual. "Great. Yep. Like a rock. Or a log. Or whatever solid object people say they sleep like."
She's babbling. Rowan never babbles. And she still won't look at me.
Jasper looks up from his phone, his eyes narrowing as they flick between us. "What's with you two?"
"Nothing," Rowan says quickly.
"What do you mean?" I ask at the same time.
Jasper's eyebrows rise. "That's not suspicious at all."
"I'm just tired," Rowan says, standing abruptly. "Early shift at the shop. Inventory day. Super exciting. Gotta go."
She brushes past me, careful not to make contact, but the movement stirs the air between us, sending a wave of her scent in my direction. Beneath the anxiety and the blockers, there's something else—a hint of contentment, of comfort.
Of me.
My scent is still on her, faint but unmistakable. My coffee mug nearly slips from my suddenly nerveless fingers. My dick hardens in my jeans.
The front door closes behind her with a decisive click.
"Spill it," Jasper says the moment she's gone. "What did you do?"
I turn to face him, trying to look innocent. "What makes you think I did anything?"
"Because she's acting like you have the plague, and you look like you kicked a puppy." He sets down his phone, giving me his full attention. "And you both reek of guilt."
"I don't reek," I protest, but my heart isn't in it. "I just... I might have crossed a line..."
Jasper's expression darkens. "What kind of line?"
"Not that kind of line," I say quickly, reading the unspoken accusation in his glare. "I would never take advantage of her. You know me better than that."
Some of the tension leaves his shoulders, but his eyes remain wary. "So what happened?"
I sigh, running a hand through my hair. "We were watching a show when I got home from my shift a few weeks ago. She fell asleep and…she looked... peaceful. For the first time in days. And I just... I scent-marked her. Just her neck. It was subtle, but—"
"You what?" Jasper's voice is dangerously quiet.
"It was instinct," I defend, though I know it's a weak excuse. "She was distressed earlier, and my alpha just... reacted."
"Your alpha needs a leash," Jasper snaps. "She's our roommate, Theo. Not our omega."
The possessive 'our' doesn't escape my notice, nor does the flare of something like jealousy in his scent.
"Speaking of crossed lines," I say, deciding offense is the best defense, "what was going on with you two on the porch yesterday? Wells said he walked in on something... intense."
Jasper's jaw tightens. "Nothing happened."
"But something almost did," I guess, reading the truth in his expression. "You're giving me hell for scent-marking her, but you were what—making a move?"
"I was proving a point," he says stiffly.
"What point?"
"That she's affected by us. All of us. That her body is responding whether she admits it or not."
I stare at him, incredulous. "And you thought the best way to prove this was to, what, intimidate her? Get in her space? Make her uncomfortable?"
"I wasn't intimidating her," Jasper growls, standing up. "I was making her face reality. The reality you and Wells keep tiptoeing around like it'll go away if we just ignore it long enough."
"And what reality is that?" I demand, my own frustration rising to match his.
"That she's presenting as an omega. That it's happening faster than any of us expected. And that we need to deal with it before someone gets hurt."
I want to argue, but he's not wrong. Rowan's condition is progressing rapidly. What started as subtle shifts in her scent has evolved into more pronounced symptoms—the heat spike episodes, the increasing responsiveness to alpha presence, the emotional volatility.
"I know," I admit, deflating slightly. "I just... I don't want to push her. She's clearly terrified of what's happening to her body."
Jasper's expression softens fractionally. "That's exactly why we need to address it head-on. Before it gets worse."
Before either of us can say more, my phone buzzes with a text. It's from Crystal at the flower shop.
Rowan's not feeling well. Dizzy, flushed. Sending her home. Can you check on her?
A coil of worry tightens in my chest. "Rowan's sick. Crystal's sending her home."
Jasper frowns. "Another heat spike?"
"Sounds like it." I'm already grabbing my keys. "I'll go pick her up."
"I can do it," Jasper offers, surprising me. "I'm not working today."
"No, it's better if I go. I can assess her symptoms." What I don't say is that I'm worried about leaving Jasper alone with her when she's vulnerable. Not because I don't trust him, exactly, but because the tension between them is unpredictable, volatile.
He seems to read my thoughts. "I'm not going to pounce on her, Theo."
"I know that," I say, though we both hear the hesitation in my voice. "Just... let me handle this one. Please."
He holds my gaze for a long moment, then nods once. "Fine. But we're having a pack meeting about this tonight. All of us, including Rowan. This can't go on."
A pack meeting. Like we're actually a pack, not just three alphas who happen to share a house and an increasingly complicated relationship with our not-quite-omega roommate.
But he's right. This can't continue.
"Agreed," I say, already heading for the door. "Tonight."
I find Rowan sitting on a bench outside the flower shop, her head in her hands. She looks up as I approach, surprise and wariness crossing her face.
"Crystal texted me," I explain before she can ask. "Said you weren't feeling well."
"It's nothing," she says automatically. "Just got a little dizzy. Probably low blood sugar or something."
"Or another heat spike," I suggest gently.
She winces. "Can we not call it that?"
"What would you prefer? 'Hormonal fluctuation'? 'Biological episode'?"
A reluctant smile tugs at her lips. "How about 'my body's dramatic betrayal'?"
"Catchy, but medically imprecise." I sit beside her on the bench, careful to leave space between us. "How bad was it this time?"
She sighs, letting her guard down slightly. "Pretty bad. I got really hot, then lightheaded. Then Crystal found me sitting on the floor among a pile of knocked-over lilies. Not my finest moment."
"Has it been getting worse? More frequent?"
She hesitates, then nods. "It used to be just at night. Now it's... unpredictable."
This isn't good. If her spikes are increasing in frequency and intensity, she could be approaching a full heat. An unprepared first heat at her age could be dangerous, even traumatic.
"May I?" I ask, holding out my hand.
She eyes it suspiciously. "May you what?"
"Check your pulse. I want to see if your heart rate is elevated."
After a moment's hesitation, she extends her wrist. I take it gently, hyper-conscious of the last time I touched her—the scent-marking I still haven't apologized for. Her skin is warm beneath my fingers, her pulse racing.
"Your heart's beating fast," I observe, keeping my touch clinical despite the way my body wants to respond to her.
"Yeah, well, that happens when your body decides to randomly impersonate a furnace in public," she mutters.
I smile despite the seriousness of the situation. Even in distress, her dry humor remains intact.
"Rowan," I say, still holding her wrist, "I think you know what's happening. And I think you're scared. But denying it won't make it go away."
She pulls her hand back, wrapping her arms around herself. "I'm not denying anything. I'm just... processing."
"Processing what, exactly?"
For a moment, I think she might actually tell me—might open up about her fears, her confusion, her reluctance to accept what her body is telling her. Her eyes meet mine, vulnerable and uncertain in a way that makes my chest ache.
"I..." she starts, then stops, her gaze dropping. "Nothing. It's nothing. Can we just go home? I'm tired."
I swallow my disappointment. "Of course."
We walk to my car in silence, but it's a different quality of silence than this morning—less awkward, more contemplative. As I open the passenger door for her, she pauses, looking up at me.
"Thank you," she says softly. "For coming to get me. For not... pushing."
She's close enough that I can see the faint freckles across her nose, the deep tones in her brown eyes, the slight chapping of her pink lower lip where she's been worrying it with her teeth. Close enough that if I leaned down just a few inches, I could...
No. I won't cross another line. Not when she's vulnerable, not when she's still processing whatever internal struggle has her so conflicted.
But something in my expression must give me away, because her eyes widen slightly, her pupils dilating as her gaze drops to my mouth. Her scent spikes, sweet and inviting, and for a heartbeat, I think she might close the distance between us.
Instead, she takes a sudden step back, nearly tripping over the curb in her haste.
"I should—I need to—Gerald probably needs feeding," she stammers, sliding into the passenger seat with unusual clumsiness.
I close the door carefully, giving us both a moment to compose ourselves. As I walk around to the driver's side, I take a deep breath of fresh air, trying to clear my head of her scent.
It doesn't work.
The drive home is quiet, tense with unspoken words and untaken actions. When we arrive, Rowan mumbles a quick thanks before hurrying inside and up to her room.
I stand in the driveway for a long moment after she's gone, sorting through my confused thoughts and emotions.
I care about Rowan—more than I should for someone who's supposed to be a temporary housemate.
I'm attracted to her—not just to her emerging omega traits, but to her as a person, with her dry wit and fierce protectiveness and vulnerability she tries so hard to hide.
But I also know that what's happening to her body is complicated, potentially dangerous, and definitely not something she's prepared for. She needs support, not pressure. Space to figure things out, not alphas projecting their desires onto her.
Even if those desires are becoming increasingly difficult to ignore.
Jasper is right about one thing: we need to have a serious conversation. All of us, together, before things get any more complicated.
Before anyone gets hurt.
Because right now, with the way things are escalating, that seems all but inevitable.