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Cass has been visibly calmer since his rut. When he walks into the kitchen, I note with pride that his posture is loose and his face is calm. Our eyes meet, and his spark—half heat and half worry.
“Butterfly. You’re stressed. Is D being annoying?”
Damon sputters before shooting Cassian a middle finger. “Fuck off, I was just checking on our girl!”
With a sad half-smile, I point to the line on our calendar. Damon leans over my shoulder, his brow creasing and his lips moving while he stares at the words.
I’ve begun to suspect he has trouble reading. When I first noticed the way he tenses up whenever Cassian and I discuss books, I thought he just really hated them. Then, one afternoon, he showed me his overflowing Audible library and mentioned two audiobooks he burned through during conditioning that week.
Now, as he visibly sounds out the three words I’ve typed in, my heart gives a pang. If he struggles, I wonder why he’s never told me.
Do the others know?
Cassian doesn’t seem to notice. He flicks a glance at the screen before scowling and dropping onto the stool next to me, all grumbly. “Stupid fucking away games. Hate this shit.”
When he senses Damon and I both smirking at him, he rolls his shoulders back and meets my eyes, muttering, “I don’t like leaving you.”
I reach over and touch his stubbled cheek. “I’ll be okay, Bear. Smith will…”
Sit at the kitchen table, watching my every move. Bring me coffee and pat my head every morning. Disappear to a five-to-eight appointment mysteriously labeled, “Smith—Meeting” every night and come back smelling ever-so-slightly like another omega…
“…look after me.”
Damon and Cassian exchange a look. They’ve clearly talked about this. D opens his mouth, hesitating slightly. “Pretty girl, if you don’t want to be home alone with him, we can make another plan.”
Cassian nods. “Maybe you could”—He grits his teeth— “go and stay with Meg.”
It means a lot that they’re willing to even suggest that. I know the thought of me, alone, in a house with other alphas—even happily bonded ones—makes them both crazy. They’re only offering it as an option to make sure I’m comfortable while they’re on the road.
“Her heat ended two days ago,” I say, laughing lightly to hide my anxiety at the thought. “They’re probably all still asleep.”
Yesterday, she sent me twelve “sword-cross” emoji followed by the “mind-blown” one and twenty-eight water droplets.
Which, I suspect, were not meant to indicate actual water.
So that will be a fun phone call.
I replied with a string of question marks, but they’re still unread. I would bet money on her being crashed out for the rest of the weekend.
Damon’s hot, bare chest slides against my back. He drops his lips to the place beside the strap of my dress, skimming his mouth there with a rumbly growl.
“I can’t wait for your heat, sweetness. I bet we can go waaaaaaay longer than Meg’s alphas. Football players are pussies. They’re not even allowed to fight with their fists.”
Cassian grunts his agreement, the corner of his mouth flinching up. “Pussies,” he agrees. “They probably take breaks, too. So many fucking breaks in football.”
Oh Lord. I have a feeling that, when the Pierson pack and the Ash pack actually meet, Meg and I might be in for some serious…
Well...
Dick measuring.
Even so, a pang of longing echoes through me. I would really love for all of us to get together. Normally, in these circumstances, it’s up to the leader of the newer, less-established pack to reach out to the more established pack’s alpha. That means Smith would have to call Ronan.
But that’s just tradition. I can do it myself, I suppose. No one would really care, aside from me.
Cass glances down at the calendar on the iPad in front of me and raises his brow. “Looks like we’ll find out next month.”
I follow his thick, pointed finger to a Sunday. The event marked there isn’t one I added. We all have our own colors, and this block is red, indicating that Smith added it.
