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I don’t know where gamma fertility is supposed to fall on the A/B/O spectrum—Bridget never offered me the talk—but if my oven can’t turn on, it definitely can’t bake. Even if the Meadows pass me a fully loaded turkey baster and a handful of Bish’s anxiety meds, there’s no way I’m getting penetrated with their baby batter.
“Never trust a rutting alpha to remember protection.” Lisa pats my frozen fingers. “They’re driven to breed, and that first mating heat near guarantees a pregnancy.”
I take a serrated breath.
Air hitches in the cavern of my ribs, while my pheromones wail through the hollows.
If Meadows Pack were mine, I’d beg them to breed me.
But baby clothes live on the dark side of my vision board.
The side I would’ve kept blocked forever if not for this hellish conversation, testing my acting skills to the utter shit-limit.
“I have an implant,” I lie to kill the topic.
“What?” Dutch looms at the worst possible moment, baking me in smoky maple heat. “Why?”
Before I can choke an answer, Lisa tsks. “You know better. Simmer those instincts, and don’t even think about forcing her.”
“Mom! I’m not! I wouldn’t!” Dutch turns to me. “I didn’t mean it like that, Solly. Just… We’re already family. Why wait?”
Shiiiiitttttt.
I can’t breathe.
Can’t do this.
“No rush to build our home.” In ocean-soaked board shorts and bare skin, Reese drops onto the bench. His eyes narrow. “Less you’re planning on going somewhere?”
“No fucking way.” Dutch’s agitated growl scrapes like broken fingernails. “Can’t lose you, Sol—”
I smooth his popped arm veins. “You won’t lose me.”
You’ll find the real thing.
Dutch rubs my palm like a cat.
I soothe him until he climbs the bench, tangling our ankles and rubbing me in cuddly warmth.
Then, I’m afraid he’s soothing me.
“Meat’s ready,” Jin calls, kicking up a flurry of activity.
Dressed in a fresh, white shirt and sharp-pressed slacks, Bish rejoins us in time to help Dany unpack side dishes from the cooler.
Before I can join, Reese brushes my hand with callused finger pads. “I got you. What do you need?”
I want to say nothing.
Then Jin presents a platter of kebabs. The juicy scent leaves me fighting a wave of upchuck and canceling plans to do anything but clutch my stomach against the rise of lemon sludge. “Bring me some water? Please?”
Reese’s lip quirks. “Ask that sweet? I’ll give you anything you want.”
His cocoa-warm scent burns out the barbeque until he jumps to grab drinks. Then I’m left choking on the wrong kind of meat. My head spins dizzy three-sixties while my stomach wants to projectile-puke pea soup.
This is…very wrong.
More wrong than this morning.
