“Needed water.”
I hand her my glass. She takes it and drinks, her throat working, a drop escaping down her chin. She wipes it with the back of her hand.
“You’re a bad liar,” she says.
“What makes you think I’m lying?”
“You’re standing in a dark kitchen at five in the morning, staring at your phone like it personally offended you. That’s not fine.”
I almost smile. “I’m checking emails. Work stuff.”
“Work stuff that can’t wait until morning?”
“No. It can’t.”
She doesn’t push. She sets the glass down and looks at me, and in the dim light from the window above the sink, her face is all soft edges and sleep-warm skin. My chest does something uncomfortable.
The thought I’ve been avoiding surfaces anyway. If no pack bond has successfully formed in this town in ten years—if whatever is affecting the Rift is also preventing Omegas from bonding—then where does that leave me? Leave us?
I came here to assess a problem, and instead I found a woman who makes me question everything I’ve been taught, and two other Alphas who feel less like rivals and more like something I don’t have a word for. And none of it matters if the thing that’s broken in this town won’t let any of us bond with her.
I push the thought away. Not now. Not at five in the morning in her kitchen when she’s standing in front of me in a T-shirt and bare feet, looking at me like she actually cares about the answer.
“Ready to go back to bed?” I ask.
She nods. I take the glass from the counter, set it in the sink, and follow her down the hall.
Back in the bedroom, the scene hasn’t changed much. Griffin has rolled onto his stomach, one arm hanging off the mattress. Damon has shifted, now turned on his side, facing the center of the bed. Caroline climbs in first, settling into the middle, and I follow, sliding in behind her.
She fits against me like she was made to be there. Her shoulders align with my chest, her hips cradle against mine, her hair smells like sleep and something floral. I wrap an arm around her waist and pull her closer.
She turns her head. Our faces are inches apart. I can see the freckles on her nose, the faint scar above her eyebrow, the way her lashes cast shadows on her cheeks in the thin light.
I kiss her. Soft. Just a press of my mouth against hers, unhurried, exploratory. She responds immediately, her lips parting, her hand coming up to rest on my jaw. I deepen the kiss, my tongue sliding against hers, tasting the remnants of the water she just drank.
Behind her, Griffin stirs. I feel him shift, the mattress dipping, and then his hand lands on her hip. Not possessive. Just present. Like he’s grounding himself to her.
Caroline breaks the kiss and turns her head the other way. Griffin is awake now, watching us with heavy-lidded eyes. She leans in and kisses him too, and something about the sight of it—her mouth on his, his hand tightening on her hip—makes my chest ache in a way that isn’t painful.
Damon reaches out, his fingers brushing Caroline's ankle.
We stay like that for a long moment, no one speaking. The only sound is breathing. Caroline’s is the shallowest, quickest. Griffin’s is deep and even. Damon’s matches mine, slow and measured.
Then Caroline reaches out. Her hand finds mine where it rests on her stomach, and she pulls it to her mouth and kissesmy knuckles. Griffin shifts closer and presses his lips to the back of her neck. She turns to him.
No one is rushing. No one is grabbing or grinding into her or chasing release. This isn’t the heat. This isn’t biology or pheromones or the frantic need that drove us for four days. This is something else. Something quieter. Something that feels like choosing.
Caroline turns back to me and kisses me again. Across from us, Griffin's mouth finds her shoulder. Damon shifts up from the foot of the bed, climbing onto the mattress until he's beside us. He braces himself over Caroline, one hand cupping her cheek as she turns toward him, and the four of us move together in a rhythm that doesn't have a name.
I don’t know what this is. I don’t know what to call it or where it’s going or whether any of it will survive when the sun comes up, and the world outside this bedroom demands answers we don’t have.
But in this moment, none of that matters.
I kiss her deeper, and she sighs into my mouth, and the room holds us like it doesn’t want to let go.
Rune of Breaking:
Chalk on stone. Chains fall when true will burns.
