Page 63 of Savage Surrender

Tristan’s phone sits face down on the counter.

“Tell me something good,” I say.

Tristan turns the phone over, then face down again. “There’s nothing on the island or at the three places from the pharmacy card.”

“Let’s have Mason check,” Weller says. “If the hold routes through Barrett Pharmaceuticals, it will be sitting in their system with a signature attached.”

“Sent five minutes ago.”

“We need real food,” Freddie says. “There’s a seafood place by the marina. I could have them⁠—”

“No delivery.” Weller’s tone closes the question. “Nothing comes to this house and no one meets a driver at the end of that lane. I’ll pick something up myself.”

My omega has no notes on any of this. She’s busy taking inventory: we need more blankets, more plants, a few house trees, definitely more food... but the way four alphas are filling our new house with their scent is distracting enough to make me forget all of it.

I definitely do not trust myself right now.

“You better not get me pregnant,” I say, and all eyes are on me. “Because the last thing I want or need right now is a litter of children.”

Freddie looks up from the supply list. “That would be kind of cute.”

“I will stab you. Not joking.”

“Understood.” He writes at the bottom of the page. “No adorable babies.”

“If you can’t find suppressants, buy condoms.”

Owen’s expression turns openly hostile, and the dark possessive edge in his scent reaches me in my next breath.

“Yes,” Weller says. “We need to do the math on how many a full heat requires.”

Owen mutters something about not being able to get close enough.

“If you can’t handle it,” I tell him, “I guess you won’t be invited to participate.”

Tristan’s gaze lifts to mine, cool blue gone hot enough to make the ache between my legs clench. “Might be easier to agree to before you’re begging.”

“I don’t care if I’m chasing you around the house, pleading and crying and pulling on your legs. If you get me pregnant, I’ll personally remove your dick. Creatively.”

His mouth curves. “That would be cruel, sweetheart.”

I bare my teeth and snap them once.

Tristan’s smile only deepens.

“Condoms,” Weller says, and Freddie underlines the word with the miserable focus of a man signing a death certificate. “Heat strength with knot support.”

A latex-covered knot sounds highly unappetizing.

The sundresses Freddie bought are still inside one of the bags. I peel off the cover-up and swimsuit, wash the salt and sweat from my skin, then choose the light yellow dress with thin straps that falls right above my knees. The seam of my underwear presses against me for less than five seconds before I take them off. Everything down there is too sensitive, swollen enough that soft cotton feels rough, and air seems like the kinder option. Shoes seem equally unnecessary.

I take the champagne from the kitchen, hug the cold bottle to my chest, and back toward the deck door.

“You all look like you need a break,” I tell them.

Weller stands. “Bianca, wait⁠—”

I open the door and the wind catches my dress. “Come get me.”