Chapter 30
Luna
Reed takes the last curve of the driveway at a speed I’d describe as legally ambitious, one wrist hung over the wheel, the low sun strobing through the tree line.
“Admit it,” he says. “Best second-best day of your life.”
“Second-best?”
“First one’s whenever your next day with me is. I like to leave room to grow.” He flashes me a grin, wide and shameless.
In his defense, it really was a nice day.
I had a burger, half his fries, and a double scoop of something the ice cream place called Apple Pie in a Cone, which delivered on every word of the contract.
And somewhere in there, I caught a saboteur.
I’ve decided I’m allowed to be a little proud of that one.
The porch light is already on when the truck crunches to a stop. Reed kills the engine, and the house reaches me through the open window: butter, cinnamon and warm sugar, leather-and-coffee underneath, cedar-and-chocolate under that, all of it drifting out in one slow wave. Yum.
We climb out of the truck, and when I reach the second porch step, my feet stop.
“Hey.” Reed’s holding the screen door, watching me. “You good?”
I close my eyes and take one long breath, all the way down. “Definitely,” I say, opening them on a smile. I’m better than good.
Inside, the living room has been rearranged.
Both couches shoved together to face the TV, the seam stuffed with cushions, a stack of blankets on one armrest tall enough to qualify as a medium-risk fire hazard.
Bram’s at the stove with a pot and a lid, shaking it in slow circles and spreading the buttery smell of popcorn.
Yum yum...
Ash is at the counter with a row of toast and three open mason jars, sleeves rolled, spreading a different batch of what looks like special butter onto each slice, cutting them on the diagonal.
Bram looks up first. “There she is.” The smile reaches all the way up into the crinkles. “Have a seat. You’ve been on your feet since six.”
Ash comes around the counter instead, a piece of toast held out on a plate. “Try this.”
I take a bite. My god. It tastes like... apple butter. With cinnamon up front and something smokier underneath. The second bite happens entirely by reflex.
“That’s gooood,” I say, mouth still full.
“I’ll take gooood over good,” he chuckles, then winks.
I wave the toast at the couch fort, the blanket tower, all of it. “So what is all this?”
“Movie night.” Bram tips the pot so I can see popcorn to the brim inside. “You’ve got time to shower, get comfortable, whatever you like. Then we pick a movie and chill.”
“Yaaay,” Reed announces from inside the couch fort, already horizontal. “I love me a good movie. Or three.”
I stand there one beat longer than necessary, toast in hand, taking it in. Popcorn. Apple butter. Three alphas and a fort built out many blankets—for me, no doubt.
I could really get used to this.
***
By the time I shut the water off, I’m a much cleaner animal than the one who got in.
Then, I stand in front of my dresser, loungewear, right now, feeling like a high-stakes decision.
I settle on the soft plaid sleep shorts and the cream knit sweater.
It slides off one shoulder no matter what my shoulder does about it, but it’s cute.
I leave my hair, which is still a little damp at the ends, down and head downstairs.
Bram straightens up from the coffee table with two popcorn bowls and forgets to set either of them down. Reed’s head appears over the back of the couch fort, followed by a low whistle. Ash just looks, his eyes wide, his glass of cider gone still in his hand.
“Well,” Reed says. “The movie’s gonna have some real stiff competition.”
Heat climbs up my neck, the good kind. I feel pretty. Seen.
“Easy, boys,” I say, and come the rest of the way into the room before my smile gives me away.
I come face to face with the couch fort and stop, suddenly realizing the cushions are wedged into the seam at careless angles, the blankets are stacked instead of layered, and the whole arrangement has clearly been assembled by alphas who think a fort is a structural problem instead of a—well, I don’t have the word for what it actually is, but my hands are already moving.
I kneel on the cushions and get to work. Re-wedge the seam so there’s no gap. Shake the blankets out and layer them, heaviest on the bottom, the soft fleece on top where a cheek might land. And stand the spare pillows up along the backrest in an overlapping row.
I sit back on my heels and look at what I’ve made.
Huh.
That is a nest. A starter nest, anyway. On their couch. Built on autopilot in under four minutes.
Which makes me realize... Am I nesting? Because that can be an impending heat sign... except, no, mine isn’t due for another three months. Maybe wanting to be warm and burrowed-in with my alphas is just a scent-match thing.
My alphas. I sit with the phrase for a moment. A week ago, it would have set off every alarm in my head. Today, it just warms me from the inside out.
“Damn,” Bram says, his voice pulling me out of my thoughts. “Now that looks comfy.”
“Way better,” Reed agrees.
Ash crouches down, handing me a glass of cider. “Makes me wanna snuggle already,” he murmurs, his eyes locking onto mine.
Deep down, my omega preens under the absolute approval of her alphas.
We argue about the movie for a while—Reed lobbying hard for something with a high body count and plenty of explosions—but in the end, all three of them just defer to me, looking over and waiting for the final verdict. I end up picking The Princess Bride.
We sort ourselves into the fort with suspiciously little discussion.
Ash folds onto the left end, long legs crossed at the ankle, cider in hand.
Reed drops down on my right. Bram takes the front half, the other couch, within arm’s reach.
And I land in the middle of all of it, with the biggest popcorn bowl in my lap.
But there’s still one thing wrong (a flaw I diagnosed during construction and couldn’t fix with engineering): the blankets are warm and soft, but they don’t smell like them.
Me wants to watch a movie warm and buried in my alphas’ scents.
I clear my throat. “Hey—um. I’m not sure how to say it, so... would you guys maybe... lend me what you’re wearing for the movie?”
“You cold?” Bram starts, already reaching for the spare blanket. “There’s a—”
“No,” I say. “It’s—I just—”
And I don’t get to finish, because his hand changes direction. He shrugs out of his flannel, and a second later it’s in my lap, warm from him, leather and coffee. “Sorry, I can be a little slow, sweetheart.”
Reed’s hoodie is over his head and off, dropped on top of the pile. Woodsmoke and musk. “Inspector.”
Ash takes his time and lays his sweater over the rest. Cedar and chocolate.
But as I burrow into the haul, my eyes get derailed by the view: a sprawling landscape of lean, cut muscle right in front of me, every flex and shift of their arms on full display.
I swallow hard, my mouth literally watering as I look them over.
Naturally, they all wear the exact same insufferable, knowing look.
Forcing my eyes away with sheer willpower, I pull Reed’s hoodie over my head, drape Bram’s flannel across my legs, and bunch Ash’s sweater right under my chin.
The three scents fold over me all at once, and deep in my throat, my omega makes a sound I have absolutely no intention of ever transcribing.
Thirty minutes in, the movie’s got us. Reed mouths the entire Inigo Montoya speech under his breath, both times it comes around. Bram laughs at the funny parts. Ash mostly stays quiet, but every time my toast napkin goes empty, another slice turns up on it.
Somewhere in there I start to migrate. My feet drift across Bram’s lap and his big hand closes warm around both ankles and stays. My head finds Ash’s shoulder during the Fire Swamp scene, and he tips his head down and rests it against my hair.
During a quiet stretch a purr starts up in my chest, low and rusty and without one ounce of my permission.
I brace for the embarrassment, but instead, all three of them lean in.
Reed’s chest first, then Bram’s, then Ash’s—a deep answering rumble rolling up out of each of them until the whole fort is one warm, idling engine.
After that I lose the thread of time entirely.
The room goes soft and lamp-gold, and I float somewhere just above my own body, scent-drunk and boneless, and when I surface again we’re already at the final act.
I have never in my life felt this taken care of.
By the time the credits roll, it’s well past midnight and we are all thoroughly exhausted.
The big lamp clicks back on, aggressively bright, and the blanket fort reluctantly starts to come apart around us as we stretch out our cramped limbs.
Ash leads the charge on the goodnight rituals, leaning in to brush his lips tentatively on my lips.
Reed, never one for halfway measures, catches me by the waist, dipping me low just to give me a thorough, breathless kiss that leaves me laughing as I find my footing again.
But it’s Bram who catches me off guard. We’ve never kissed before, so when his large hand cups the side of my neck, my breath hitches.
He hesitates for a fraction of a second, testing the waters, before bending down to gently brush his lips over mine.
I melt into it, realizing just how much I’ve been craving this kind of connection with him.
When he pulls back, his eyes are dark and warm, lingering on me for a long beat.
“By the way, tomorrow’s you and me, Luna,” Ash says, breaking the quiet. “I’ve got something pretty good lined up. Let’s get out of here and go to town.”
“We were just in town,” Reed says.
“Not that town.” Ash’s eyes don’t leave mine. “We’d be gone more than a day. If you don’t mind.” Then, lighter, to the room: “If anybody minds.”
“If it’s good with Luna,” Bram says, picking up the last bowl, “it’s good with me.”
“More than a day,” Reed repeats, flopping back into the cushions with a hand over his heart. “You’re stealing our omega for more than a day. Cold, man.” But he’s grinning the entire time he says it.
“Sure,” I say, smiling. “Sounds like fun.”
“Pack light,” Ash says, and the smile he gives me isn’t the half one. “I’ve got the rest.”
And then they’re turning, peeling off toward the stairs, and something in my chest just... refuses.
“Hey.” It comes out smaller than I mean it to. Three heads turn. “Could you—” My face is on fire. “Wanna sleep together tonight?”
For a second, nobody moves. The entire energy of the room shifts as they glance at each other.
“Sweetheart,” Reed finally says, low, turning to me. “I think I can speak for everyone when I say it would be our absolute pleasure.”