I wonder what kind of house she used to live in.
Cliff gets out first. He rounds the hood and opens my door, which is something he only does when he's trying to be tender. I let him.
Elowen climbs out of the back seat slowly, clutching the plastic bag of scent-blockers against her chest like a shield. She stands in the driveway, looking up at the house with an expression I can't quite read. Overwhelmed, maybe. Or simply tired.
"Adam." Cliff's voice is low, just for me. "Will yougive Elowen the tour, then help her apply the blockers?" He squeezes the back of my neck. "I need to make some calls before Angelica shows up."
I know what he's doing. He's giving me something to focus on besides the noise in my head. And he's right, because this is what betas do.
We care for the pack.
We tend. We organize. We make sure everyone is fed and comfortable and settled. And if there's an omega in the house, the beta is the one who cares for her.
But the thought of standing in a bathroom with this woman, smoothing scent-blocker onto skin that my pack alpha marked with his teeth less than twenty-four hours ago, makes something in my gut twist hard enough that I have to swallow against it.
"I can do it myself," Elowen says quickly. She must have seen the hesitation on my face. “Really.” She smiles at me then Cliff. “I've been applying this stuff for three years. I don't need help."
Give her a chance.
I force a smile. It's not my best, but it's there.
"I'd love to help," I say.
Cliff leans in and kisses me. Soft and brief, his lips warm against mine. When he pulls back, he taps my jaw with his knuckle.
"Take your meds," he says.
"I know."
He holds my gaze for one more second, then turns and walks inside, already pulling his phone from his pocket.
I look at Elowen.
And she looks at me.
We stand in the driveway for an awkward beat, twopeople who have absolutely no idea how to be around each other.
"Okay." I clap my hands together once, forcing every ounce of brightness I can find into my voice. It sounds almost convincing.Almost. "Tour."
The front door opens into a wide foyer with dark hardwood floors that run through the entire first level, and a staircase that leads upstairs.
To the left is the living room. Big sectional couch, stone fireplace, built-in shelves on either side. The TV is mounted above the mantle, and there are blankets folded over every arm of the couch because I tend to run cold.
To the right is the kitchen. It’s open concept with granite countertops and an island in the center with four barstools.
Raff picked the appliances. Everything is stainless steel and slightly more expensive than it needs to be. The fridge has a water dispenser that I use all the time, and an ice maker that nobody uses.
At the back of the kitchen is a hallway that leads to a dining room we never eat in, a spacious study, at-home-gym, and a back door that leads to a deck overlooking a fenced yard.
"It's beautiful," Elowen says quietly. She's holding the plastic bag tighter.
"Thank you," I say. "We’ve only been here for a few years,"
Upstairs, I walk her down the hall. Five bedrooms and three bathrooms, all on the same floor.
"This is Raff's." I nod toward a closed door on my right. His room is the sparsest. A bed, a dresser, and weights in the corner. He sleeps there maybe once a week when he needs space.
"Perrin's." The door across from Raff’s. Also closed. I know what's behind it. Books stacked on every surface, clothes on the floor, a guitar he's been learning for two years and still can't play.
