7. Sloane
Sloane
By morning, the worst of the rut has loosened its grip, but there’s still heat simmering beneath my skin, Callie tucked against my chest and Idris heavy at my back, both of them warm enough to make staying still feel like work.
Callie’s hair is against my mouth, her scent soft from sleep, Idris’ arm stretched over both of us, his hand resting at my ribs, and every slow breath he takes brushes black tea and rain over the back of my neck.
I lie there, trying to focus and failing. My body wants what this pack has to offer, a soft place for Theo to land, my instincts already wrapping him into this pack. I already know Callie’s going to be his favorite, the softness she can provide so drastically different than us Alphas.
The idea of her, with him, in his nest, or the living room, or anywhere really, her face lighting up as he comes into her space as... A low purr pulls from my chest as my body starts heating up.
Idris’ fingers press into my ribs, a quiet warning from my Alpha who is much less asleep than he was pretending to be.
“Breathe through it,” he murmurs near my shoulder, voice low enough that Callie only shifts instead of waking.
His hand slides up to the back of my neck and settles there, his thumb finding the place beneath my hairline that makes the pressure in my body turn manageable for a second. “You’re better than last night.”
“High praise,” I say, keeping my voice low.
His mouth touches the back of my neck, the affection in it catching me harder than the warning did. His hand then moves down to my hip, gently digging into my skin, keeping me in the moment.
Callie stirs between us, making a sleepy sound as she presses closer to my chest. “Why are you both awake?”
“Because Idris likes to start the day by telling me what to do,” I murmur into her hair.
“He does like that.” Her voice is thick with sleep, but her hand finds my wrist where it’s resting over her hip.
She pats me once, then stills as if she’s remembered the whole shape of the day at once.
Her fingers tighten around me before she turns her head enough to blink up at my face. “We have to wash the linens.”
I close my eyes for a second and breathe her in before I answer. “Good morning to you too, baby.”
Her cheeks pink, but she doesn’t let go of my wrist. “Good morning. Linens.”
Idris gives a low sound behind me that would be amusement on anyone else. “I told her we’d handle it.”
Callie’s attention shifts over my shoulder toward him, and the scent of her wakes more fully, sweetening with embarrassment and determination. “You said we didn’t have to wash everything. That doesn’t mean we don’t have to wash the things that very obviously need washing.”
I feel Idris’ thumb move once against my hip.
He knows exactly what her bossiness does to me when I’m already this close to instinct, and he also knows there’s no version of me that’s going to survive her organizing us in her sleep-warm voice without wanting my hands on her.
“Then we’ll wash the things that need washing,” he says, calm enough to make it sound simple. “After food.”
Callie makes a protesting noise, but Idris is already moving.
I keep Callie tucked against me for one more breath before letting her go.
She looks back at me from the edge of the bed, hair tangled over one shoulder, eyes still soft, and her expression gentles in a way that nearly sends me backward again.
“You okay?” she asks.
I sit up slowly because the truth needs to be shaped carefully. “Better. Still a little hot.”
Her gaze drops for half a second, then snaps back to my face with a blush that makes Idris pause beside the dresser.
The air shifts immediately as Idris’ purr starts low in his chest, dragged out of him by her reaction before he can pretend at composure.
I laugh under my breath, even as my body answers both of them with humiliating speed.
Callie pulls one of her sweaters from the chair and clutches it to her chest like fabric can make her less flushed. “I meant emotionally.”
“I didn’t,” I say, Idris shooting me a warning glare.
I just sigh as Callie’s mouth softens with a pleased little curve she tries to hide by pulling the sweater over her head.
She disappears down the stairs as Idris chucks a small bottle at my head.
I twist it around to see the label. Rutilex.
“I hate how these make me feel,” I grumble, even as I pop open the bottle and take two.
The rut stabilizers will keep me from falling into a full rut. However, it won’t curb the initial need or desire. And everyone around me will know exactly how much I want to stick my cock in—
“Sloane, get your ass out of bed. Think about fucking Garrett if you need to but keep your pants on.”
I snort but agree. The worst thing I could do is fall into a full rut while being introduced to our new Omega. The center would never let us hear the end of it and we’d only traumatize poor Theo forever. Blowing out a heavy sigh, I push myself toward the edge of the bed and head to the shower.
Breakfast is quick, toast and eggs and haphazardly poured coffee, Callie rushing through stuffing her face as I try not to drag her into my chest for more kisses. The only reason I don’t is Idris’ warning growls, all but telling me to keep it in my pants.
By the time we get upstairs, I stop trying to hide how on edge I am... again. Callie keeps glancing back at me as my scent deepens, my purr rattling through my chest even as she directs me to open the windows.
“Alpha? Sloane...”
“I’m fine,” I push out, my voice a few octaves deeper than usual as I flick open the first window. “The Rutilex is just working through my system.” Heat bleeds through me before disappearing completely, a sort of haze pushing itself between me and the world.
It’s the part I don’t like, the sort of detachment from my instincts.
Time passes in a blur as I agree to dragging the linens and pillows to the washroom on the main level. I’m on my second trip, bringing new linens to the room when I hear Callie’s exasperated voice. Idris is just inside the room, leaning back against the wall.
“Callie, it really doesn’t matter...”
“It does!” She spins and places her hands on her hips, the freckles across her nose almost blending into the blush on her face. “It’s better by the window here. There’s more natural light. Alpha, you don’t get it.” Her nose scrunches up, Idris just shaking his head.
I shift forward, Idris glancing back at me and reaching for the basket. His fingers brush mine around the handle, and his gaze holds for a second. “Stay with us,” he says quietly.
“I am.” This time, it’s true enough.
Callie kneels on the edge of the mattress with the fitted sheet bunched in both hands, hair slipping loose from the knot on top of her head.
She has one corner hooked, one knee planted in the middle of the bed, and the kind of concentration on her face that makes me want to laugh and kiss her at the same time.
“Oh my God, this bed is shaped wrong,” she says, yanking the elastic toward the far corner and getting absolutely nowhere.
Idris looks up from the laundry basket, his mouth already threatening to soften. “It’s the same mattress that’s always been in here, Callie.”
She lets out a frustrated little grunt and drops forward onto both hands, the sheet snapping loose again under her palm.
“God, I hate fitted sheets.” The complaint comes out so sincere that I lose the fight with my laugh, and then she’s glaring over her shoulder at me like I’ve betrayed her while her own mouth starts twitching.
“Let me,” I say, stepping in before she can start the fight again. I catch the loose corner and pull it down over the mattress, but my other hand lands at her waist because she’s right there, and I’m still too close to rut to pretend I don’t need the touch.
My thumb moves once through the soft fabric of her sweater before slipping beneath it to run across her skin, Callie letting out a small gasp as she leans into me. The moment is ruined by a low sound that rolls out of Idris.
Callie freezes for half a second, then looks between us with her cheeks pinking. “Fuck, right. I can’t think when he’s like this,” she says, but there’s no real warning in it. She pulls from me, walking around the other side to pull the fitted sheet.
I open my mouth to throw out a retort when Idris comes close behind me and presses two fingers beneath my jaw, turning my head just enough that I have to meet his eyes.
His black tea and rain scent sharpens, mixing with the warmer drag of Callie’s sweetness, and my body answers so fast I know he feels it before I can hide it.
“Pillowcases,” Idris says, his voice low enough to scrape.
I take the pillowcase Callie shoves at my chest, and she laughs when I obey too quickly.
I manage one corner before getting distracted by the way she leans across the mattress, and Idris takes the pillow from me with a look that says he expected nothing better.
Callie laughs harder when I reach for her instead, batting my hand away before pointing me toward the next pillow.
We’ve been at it for almost an hour by the time the room starts looking like a guest room again instead of evidence.
The windows are open, the clean linens are on, the lamp still gives the corner a gentle glow, and Callie has won the argument about keeping the plant near the sill because she says rooms feel better when something alive is waiting in them.
I’m steadier than I was when I woke up, but only because Idris keeps catching the back of my neck when my hands linger too long, and because Callie’s laughter gives the heat somewhere softer to go.