Chapter 17
The rest of the zoo blurs.
Not enough to forget Chase, not enough to stop my palm from feeling phantom cardboard where the card used to be, but enough that I start moving on habit—one foot in front of the other, one exhibit after another.
Ragon keeps a hand on me.
Not metaphorically. Literally.
Since he dragged me back from the penguins and tore the card up like it insulted his ancestors, his fingers have settled at the nape of my neck and stayed. Not tight, not throttling—just there. Warm and heavy and unyielding.
Guiding. Claiming. Controlling.
If I step a little too far away, pressure increases. A silent nope. If someone gets too close, his grip tightens. My omega, the traitor, stops spiraling and purrs at the contact.
We pass the lions.
The big male is exactly the stereotype—huge, golden, sprawled on a rock like he owns the sun. His females pace the enclosure in long, lazy arcs.
"Look at that mane," Drake says. "I could do that. Give me six months and some hair vitamins."
"You can barely manage a headband," Eli says. "Please don't emulate the lions."
I lean on the railing, letting my eyes track the lionesses. The way they move around him without ever quite touching, orbiting a gravity they don't question.
Ragon steps closer behind me.
His thumb strokes absent circles at the base of my skull, right where his hand has been resting. The motion is absent-minded, almost. Instinctive.
Heat floods my chest.
I go still, afraid that if I move, he'll remember he's mad at me.
He doesn't pull away.
His fingers slide up into the hair at my crown, combing through gently. It's not the punishing grip from earlier. It's soft. Familiar. The way he sometimes used to pet absently at my head when I kneeled beside his chair.
"You okay?" he asks, so low I have to tilt my head to catch it.
"Fine."
His hand pauses. "Try that again."
"I'm not as bad as I could be. On a scale from 'penguin documentary' to 'live-action horror show,' I'm somewhere in the middle."
His mouth twitches. I can hear it in his voice. "We'll talk later. About him."
Chase. The card. All of it.
My stomach flips. "Am I in trouble?"
"You're in discussion. Whether it becomes trouble depends on if you go collecting any more business cards from strange alphas."
"I didn't collect. I was handed."
He hums. His fingers stroke my hair again, slower. The affectionate rhythm does more to calm me than his words.
We move on.
Small monkeys next. Tamarins and marmosets and little screaming chaos-goblins that stare back at you like they're planning a heist.
We crowd around the glass—Drake making faces, Marie laughing at a tiny monkey pressing its hands to the glass. Eli hangs back, content to observe. Jasper lingers near him, posture loose but eyes sharp.
I'm tucked between Ragon and the rail, his hand still an anchor at my neck.
A little monkey launches itself from a branch, misses its landing, flops into a hammock, and pops back up like gravity is a suggestion. I giggle.
"You would be that one," Drake says. "Launch first, regret later."
"He stuck the second landing."
"After pancaking."
"He learns. That's the important bit."
The monkey swings closer to the glass. On impulse, I lean up on my toes and tilt my face toward Ragon's jaw, brushing a quick, soft kiss there.
It's reckless.
I half-expect him to go stiff, to step away.
Instead he turns his head just enough that his mouth grazes my temple.
A small, present-painful kiss.
My heart does a ridiculous little somersault.
For a minute, I let myself float. Chase fades to the edge. The card, the threat, all of it dim. There's just the press of Ragon's lips on my skin, the brush of his thumb at my hairline, the noise of small monkeys and children.
Maybe, I think, stupid and hopeful, maybe he really does want to keep me.
Maybe I'm not as replaceable as I feel.
We hit the gorillas last.
The enclosure is huge—lots of rocks and logs and patches of grass, a deep trench between the glass wall and where the gorillas actually live. A sign says something about conservation efforts. Another has photos and names—Luka, adult male; Sula, adult female; Kito, juvenile.
The family unit is sprawled around the space, big bodies surprisingly gentle with each other.
The alpha male sits on a rock ledge, massive and calm, dark eyes scanning his domain. The female lounges nearby, picking at his fur in absent grooming. Every so often, he leans into her touch or reaches out to pull her closer, big hand resting on her back.
It's stupidly cute.
My chest clenches.
I press my palms to the rail and watch them, transfixed.
Beside me, Marie is quiet.
Too quiet.
Her scent has been tight and erratic all day—the sharp edges of anger overlaid with jittery fear. I've been doing my best not to breathe too deeply around her, not to poke at old wounds.
She stands a little to my right, just behind Drake's shoulder, eyes on the gorilla pair. Her expression is strange—soft around the edges, mouth turned down, hands knotted in the straps of her bag.
"Look at them. They look sure."
"Sure of what?" Drake asks.
"That they belong."
The words are aimed at the gorillas.
They land on me.
Ragon's hand flexes at the back of my neck.
"That's what we're trying to build," he says quietly.
"With two omegas marked?" she asks, not looking away.
Camouflage conversation. Casual on the surface. Loaded to anyone listening.
"We've been over this. Not here."
Marie's jaw tenses. She swallows whatever she wants to say.
My stomach knots.
I shift my weight, intending to step back, to give them space.
Ragon's fingers tighten, keeping me close.
Right.
Part of the pack.
Witness and battlefield in one.
Off to the left, a zookeeper hops up onto a low stage. He taps a mic; feedback squeals.
"Hey, folks! We've got a little enrichment demonstration for you in five minutes. If you want to see some very lazy rodents get very excited about snacks, come on over!"
The crowd coagulates.
Families drift toward the stage. Kids tug parents forward.
Our group moves almost as a unit a few feet to the left, drawn by the noise. The gorilla enclosure is still directly in front of us; the stage is just off to one side.
Ragon, Eli, Drake, and Jasper form an unintentional wall—broad backs lined up, shoulders angled toward the zookeeper. Marie and I end up directly behind them, pressed into the loose V their bodies create.
I'm half-listening.
Something about capybaras being the world's largest rodent. Kids squealing.
My eyes keep flicking back to the gorillas.
Luka—the alpha male—is closer now, ambling toward the glass with that ground-shaking, knuckle-walking stride. He stops near the edge of the moat, head tilted, watching the crowd.
Noise rises—laughter, chatter, the zookeeper's amplified voice.
I shift to get a better look at the gorillas again, stepping a hair to the right, close enough that my shoulder brushes Marie's.
She stiffens.
I instinctively tilt away, giving her more space.
The stage show ramps up.
The zookeeper tosses some food. Birds flutter. People clap.
Then everything happens at once.
A scream.
High, sharp, wrong.
Not the excited kind.
The falling kind.
I whip my head toward the sound.
For a split second, my brain can't compute what I'm seeing.
The stretch of concrete in front of the gorilla enclosure railing is empty—no Marie, no bag. Just the rail.
Marie.
On the wrong side of the barrier.
She's tumbling down the incline toward the lower level where the gorillas roam, arms flailing, bag flying. She hits the hard-packed ground at the bottom with a sickening thud and rolls, coming to rest a few yards from the base of Luka's rock.
The alpha gorilla surges to his feet, startled.
He beats his chest once, roaring.
The sound tears through the air, primal and furious.
Marie screams again.
Every alpha near me goes feral.
"Fuck," Drake chokes.
"Marie!" Eli shouts.
Ragon's hand vanishes from my neck as he lunges forward, slamming into the railing so hard it rattles.
Chaos erupts.
People gasp. Someone cries. A mom yanks her child back; a dad swears. Staff shout into radios. The zookeeper goes pale, mic squealing as it drops.
Luka moves.
He's not charging—not yet—but he's agitated, massive body shifting closer to Marie, nostrils flaring.
Marie scrambles backward on her hands and heels, eyes white, sobbing.
"Don't move!" someone yells from the staff side. "Stay still!"
"I can't," she sobs. "I can't, I can't—"
Ragon swears, already scanning the layout, looking for a way down.
"Gate!" Jasper snaps, pointing at a side access door, locked and labeled STAFF ONLY.
Drake is already moving. He vaults the first low chain, skids to the gate, rattles it hard.
"Open it! Now!"
"I— I have to get the key—"
"NOW!" all three alphas bark in unison, voices layered with command thick enough the poor keeper nearly drops his walkie.
Everything is noise and scent and panic.
I'm frozen.
Shock pins my feet to the ground.
One second Marie was beside me.
The next she was not.
I replay the last few seconds in my head on hyper-speed. Shoulder brush. Her scent sour and hot. Crowd surge as people shifted toward the stage. A shove of motion at my back as a teenager squeezed past.
I don't understand how she could have fallen. The railing is high.
I didn't touch her.
I know I didn't.
But I was there.
And now she's below. In with the gorillas.
My lungs forget how to work.
The gate slams open.
Ragon and Drake plunge through, Jasper right behind them—three alphas moving as one, racing down the staff path toward a lower access door.
Somewhere in the chaos, alarms start blaring.
Luka is right at the edge of the moat now, pounding the ground with one fist, roaring at the intrusion.
Marie is shaking so hard I can see it from up here.
She looks tiny. Breakable. She's bleeding from one elbow. Her eyes are locked on the gorilla, sobbing loud enough to carry.
"Marie!" I scream, useless. "It's okay! They're coming!"