Chapter 10
The outing is Jasper's idea.
Of course it is.
"We need data that isn't contaminated," he says over coffee Monday morning, like he's talking about a lab sample and not my entire life. "House dynamics give one picture. Outside environments give another."
"Data," Drake repeats flatly. "We're people, not spreadsheets."
"People are messy data." Jasper sips his coffee. "Still data."
Ragon leans back in his chair, considering. "You want to take everyone out."
Jasper nods. "Group outing. Normal activities. No crisis parameters. Vee's usual haunts. I want to see how you all function where you're supposed to be comfortable."
My heart does something stupid at the phrase Vee's usual haunts.
"You mean my stores," I say, trying very hard not to sound like a kid who just heard the words field trip.
"Yes. Nesting place. Bookstore. Whatever else makes you volunteer to leave the house."
"We do groceries," Drake offers.
"I said comfort, not penance."
Eli's mouth twitches.
Marie shifts in her chair, cardigan sleeves pulled over her hands. "All of us? At once?"
"That's the point. Pack unit. Not staggered exposure."
My pulse jumps. All of us. Out there. Together.
This used to be my favorite thing. My stores, my routes, my alphas trailing me like patient satellites while I piled the cart with blankets and books and overpriced tea.
"I don't hate it," I say carefully. "The idea."
"Good. Then it's settled. You lead. We follow."
I should say something responsible like we could ease Marie into this or public is risky when we're all a breath away from feral. Instead, hope flickers its stupid little match inside me.
"Fine. But if anyone complains about how much fabric I touch, you're walking home."
We leave at ten.
The question of who rides where becomes its own small war I try not to let show on my face.
We only have the one SUV today—Ragon's. He drives, because control. Jasper gets the passenger seat, because new alpha plus long legs. That leaves two in each of the middle and back rows.
Historically, this goes: Vee flanked by alphas, one on each side, everyone's scent mashed together into something that feels like home.
Today, Marie hovers near the middle row like a ghost waiting to be invited in.
"You sit there," I say, forcing lightness. I gesture to the space behind Jasper. "Less leg room in the back. It'll bother you more."
"What about you?"
"I can make myself small. It's my mutant power."
Drake hesitates for half a second, then slides into the middle beside her. Habit, maybe. Scent match, definitely. I feel the choice in my ribs anyway.
Eli gives me a look that's three parts question and one part apology. "Come on."
I climb into the third row and buckle up, the seatbelt clicking like a period on the sentence you did this, now live with it.
From back here, they look like a different pack. Ragon's profile carved and calm at the wheel. Jasper's shoulders relaxed but ready. Marie tucked between Drake and the window, already playing with the hem of her shirt. Eli beside me, his thigh a solid line of warmth.
"Playlist?" Drake asks.
"No lyrics. I need to hear the road."
Drake grumbles. "You're killing my vibe."
"Your vibe will recover," Eli murmurs.
Instrumentals fill the car—some ambient nonsense that sounds like a spa and a spaceship had a baby. The world outside rolls by in smears of green and grey.
Marie leans forward, pointing. "Is that where you used to live?" she asks Drake.
"No. My terrible bachelor pad was three blocks further down and twice as ugly."
She laughs, bright and nervous. Her scent warms, pleased.
I watch the back of her head and try to mute the way my heart is keeping score.
Eli's hand finds my knee. His thumb rubs once over the fabric of my leggings, a quiet, grounding circle. I let my muscles unlock a millimeter.
"Where first?" Jasper asks.
"Nesting store. Then the bookstore. Then maybe the bakery, if you behave."
"I always behave."
I snort. "You sound like someone who schedules their rebellions two weeks in advance."
"Three," he corrects.
Drake cackles. "Oh, he's going to fit right in."
The nesting store smells like heaven and poor impulse control.
Warmth hits us the second we walk in, thick with cotton and synthetic fluff and whatever they pump through the vents to make omegas spend just a little bit more.
Displays of blankets and pillows tower in curated color stories.
A little sign near the entrance reads BUILD YOUR BEST NEST in loopy script.
"This is where she turns feral," Eli tells Jasper. "Don't touch anything unless she says you can."
"Oh, please. Like I'm territorial about—"
"Last time we came," Drake interrupts, "she hissed at a teenage beta for picking up the last moss-green throw."
"It was the perfect texture! And he was going to use it in a car, Drake. That's sacrilege."
Marie's eyes go wide. "Wow. I've never seen this much fluff in one place."
"Welcome to my church. The altar is that wall over there."
I lead the way, instincts kicking in. My hands find old paths—up this aisle, left at the scented sachets, past the section that's all white and beige for omegas who pretend they don't spill things.
My section is the far back corner. Colors deep enough to drown in. Textures that grab your fingers and don't let go.
I reach for a display pillow, thumb rubbing along the edge. "Okay. Rules. We don't buy anything scratchy. We don't buy anything that pills. We don't buy anything that sheds more than Drake's hair."
"Rude," Drake mutters.
"And we buy whatever I decide is acceptable."
Eli gives Jasper a tiny nod, as if to say this is normal, I promise. Jasper folds his arms, watching.
Marie drifts to a stack of blankets in muted colors—dusty pinks, soft greys. She touches one tentatively. "This one feels nice. Maybe for the foot of the bed?"
Ragon moves to her side instinctively, scent sliding warmer. "You like it?"
She nods, cheeks pink. "I think so. It's soft. And not too bright."
"Put it in the cart."
She beams.
Jealousy spikes, fast and sour.
I grab a different blanket from my corner, one I know feels like being hugged by a thousand tiny marshmallows. "If you like soft, this one's better. The weave on that one will pull in a week."
"Oh. I didn't—"
"She knows these things," Eli says gently. "Trust her."
Drake takes the blanket from me and rubs it against his face. "She's right. This one wins."
Ragon looks between Marie's choice and mine, jaw working. "Both."
"Both?" Marie echoes.
"Get both. One for the main bed, one for the nest."
The hit is small and surgical.
Main bed. The one I don't have a permanent place in anymore. The one we used to all pile into when my nest felt too small for three giant alphas and an omega. The bed I haven’t visited since she arrived.
I swallow hard. "Sure. Both. Great. More fluff."
I move down the aisle before anyone can look too closely at my face.
Eli follows, staying just behind like a shadow. Jasper doesn't move far from the front; his gaze tracks me when I veer away from Ragon's orbit, notes how my body unconsciously angles toward Eli's warmth.
Marie calls out, "Vee, what about these pillowcases?"
I turn, schooling my expression. "Depends. Do you want breathable or 'I don't sweat, I glow'?"
She hesitates. "Both?"
"Okay, princess, come here. Let's set you up."
We orbit the shelves together. I explain thread counts and the lies of marketing labels. She listens earnestly, asks smart questions, takes notes on her phone. At some point, her arm brushes mine. She doesn't pull away.
For a minute, it almost feels like we're two omegas doing something normal.
Then Drake comes up behind us, draping an arm over Marie's shoulders. "You finding everything okay?" He presses a quick kiss to her temple, easy, unthinking.
She leans into it like it's natural.
The air goes thin.
Drake's hand falls away when he realizes where I'm standing. His smile falters. "You too, Vee," he says quickly, reaching to ruffle my hair.
I duck out of range, half-laughing. "Don't pet me like a consolation prize."
The words land sharper than I intend.
Marie's scent goes taut. Jasper's head turns.
"Hey," Drake says softly. "That's not—"
"It's fine. Let's just check out before I start lecturing strangers about their poor blanket choices again."
The bookstore is worse.
It's my fault. I picked it. I knew what it means.
We walk in and the smell of paper and ink and dust hits like nostalgia and safety and a handful of broken glass.
I have rituals here.
Eli and I splitting in the foyer—him to nonfiction, me to fantasy—and meeting in the middle to trade recommendations. Drake trailing us through the humor section, making commentary. Ragon pretending he doesn't enjoy the woodworking manuals as much as he does.
Marie has never been part of this ritual.
Jasper stands just inside the entrance, scanning. "Spread out. But not too far. I want to see who gravitates to whom."
"We're not electrons," I mutter.
"You kind of are," Eli says.
"Traitor."
He smiles.
Marie hovers in the center, unsure. "I don't really know what I like to read. My old pack didn't encourage hobbies."
Something protective flares in me despite myself. "Okay. Then today you find a book that's just yours. No one else's opinion gets to matter."
"Not even yours?"
"Especially not mine. I'm a snob. Don't listen to me."
Eli shifts like he's about to come with us, then stops when Marie's hand curls, almost unconsciously, in the fabric near his elbow. Not quite touching. But the intent is there.
"Could you help me?" she asks him, voice small. "I don't know where to start."
For a second, he looks toward me.
I see the question in his face. Do you need me?
I also hear the echo: She's his scent match.
"Go," I say before Eli can tie himself into a knot. "You're better at beginner guides. You didn't yell at anyone for dog-earing pages in college. I did."
His lips twitch. "We'll meet you at the fantasy shelves."
"Yeah. Sure."
I wander alone.