10. Jane

After exchanging a couple of heated glances with Law, Travis separates us and sends him home, putting the twins to work cleaning up the party mess. I try to help, but the big alpha steers me downstairs, ignoring Drew's grumbles about being a controlling asshole. I, for one, am happy to leave myself in Travis' hands as he leads me into his bedroom. Now the excitement is over, my head is starting to ache again, and my eyes feel as dry as the kitchen pantry.

Despite being in the basement, Travis' bedroom is spacious, with high ceilings and thick rugs on the stone floor. There's a long sofa against one wall and a battered writing desk against the other. In the center of the room is some well-used workout gear, including a weight bench and a huge punching bag anchored to the ceiling. The bed is Travis-sized, but the pillows look soft and cozy, and the navy comforter is neat and wrinkle-free. The room smells like alpha and pine needles, and I wonder if it's air freshener, Travis' scent, or the laundry powder he uses.

Not that it's any of your business , I remind myself as I trudge over to the sofa. But Travis gently nudges me towards his bed, peeling back the comforter and nodding for me to slip in. I blink at him, but my brain is too tired to resist. "I'll keep watch from the sofa," he tells me, grabbing the spare pillow and kicking off his boots. He's wearing a threadbare sweater, and he starts to peel it off before he reconsiders and leaves it in place.

The nightlight is on, giving the room a soft glow, and I watch as he gets settled. The sofa looked big until he stretches out on it, and I feel a stab of guilt that I've dislodged another guy from his bed. "We can swap if you're uncomfortable," I tell him, even as I dip my nose down to sniff more of that musky pine needle scent from his bedding. Mother Mercy. It's like I've dropped out of the sky and landed in a nest in an alpine forest.

"I'm good here," he murmurs. "Want me to put the nightlight out?"

I glance at the little lamp on the nightstand. I don't feel claustrophobic being in the basement, but I might panic if I wake up in a dark room. "Is it okay if we leave it on?"

Travis' dark gaze softens as he stares at me. "Sure. But you're safe here, okay? No one ever comes into my room but me."

I feel that same bubble in my chest as when he questioned how anyone could mistake me for a boy, but I force the feeling away. I know it's just because he's a dominant alpha, and he objects to the idea of someone being drugged and stuffed in a footlocker against their will.

"Travis?"

"Mm?"

"How did I get here? I mean the box ." My throat catches on the word, and I give a weak cough. "Did you collect it from someone?"

"It was dropped off by the college delivery service." There's a pause and then he adds grudgingly, "To the twins. It was meant for them."

Does that mean they know the colonel? Drew seemed pretty oblivious up in his room, but Avery strikes me as someone who doesn't act without having reliable information. How much do they know? And if it comes down to it, will they try to stop me from leaving?

Travis has rolled onto his side and is studying my face. "You remembering something about how you ended up in there?"

It's on the tip of my tongue to lie. Self-preservation tells me to play dumb for as long as I can, especially since I don't know where anyone's loyalty lies. But as I stare at Travis' scowling face, I hesitate. I have no intention of confessing – that wouldn't do either of us any favors – but I don't want to pretend that I'm more injured than I am. "I know I need to leave," I tell him quietly. "The man who put me in that box will come looking for me. It's just a matter of time."

Travis' jaw flexes in the dim light. He's clearly itching to ask more, but he just settles for a grunt. "Then we'll get you somewhere he can't find you."

The conviction in his voice is enough to lull me to sleep, but the sound of thudding fists pulls me from my dreams a moment later. I jerk upward, blinking at the vision in front of me. Travis is wearing faded gym shorts and a black tank, his big hands enclosed in a pair of old boxing gloves. They're thudding into the heavy bag hanging from the ceiling, the chain groaning with every punch. He's clearly been at it a while, since his tank is sticking to his back and sweat is dripping from his hairline. I watch, transfixed, as a trickle runs down his thick neck and soaks into the fabric. I must make a sound, because Travis pivots from the bag to look at me. "Sorry I woke you. I try to get a session in every morning before class."

"I don't mind." I've definitely woken up to worse sights. "Is it morning already?"

"Yeah, it's hard to tell with no windows." He scratches his cheek with the tip of his glove, then starts pulling them off. "You hungry? Avery usually gets up early on Mondays and makes eggs."

"I can go check," I murmur, thinking he probably wants a little privacy after sharing his room all night, but he's right on my heels as I head upstairs. His musky scent is about a hundred times stronger in the narrow passageway, and I stumble on a step.

When he touches my waist to steady me, I jolt, and he pulls away with a curse. "Shit, I'm all sweaty. We only have one bathroom," he explains, pointing upwards. "But I can wait if you want to have the first shower."

I'd kill to get clean, but I imagine there's quite a line in the morning with a bunch of alphas all having to share. "Maybe after breakfast," I tell him, pushing open the basement door to the smell of scorched eggs and burned toast. Drew is standing in the kitchen, looking forlorn as he rubs a bare foot on his shin. He's wearing a crumpled shirt over wrinkled trousers, the tail half untucked. "Aves had an early lab, so I'm on breakfast duty."

"Fuck me," Travis mutters, pushing past him to look at the stove. He picks up a pot and glares at the scrambled mess in the bottom. "What did you do to the eggs? There's shell in them. And that milk… it's curdled."

"Not my fault they give us shit groceries," Drew grumbles, then looks back at me with a grimace. "Maybe we can scratch the black bits off the toast."

I give him a sympathetic smile and inspect the offerings on the bench. The milk is definitely off, and there are only three eggs left in the carton. I pull the fridge open and peer inside. There's not a lot to choose from, but I spy a hunk of old cheese, a couple of tomatoes, a red pepper, and a shriveled onion .

"We mostly just have frozen stuff," Travis mutters, watching over my shoulder.

"Frozen can work," I tell him and open the freezer compartment, which is heavily stocked with TV dinners. I wrestle out a bag of hash browns and wave him off. "Go have your shower and I'll throw this together."

"You sure?" He shoots Drew a scowl. "We should be feeding you, not the other way around."

The sentiment warms me almost as much as his scowl. "I'm a service omega, remember? I don't mind whipping something up."

He shrugs and heads towards the bathroom, while Drew leans on the counter and watches me. He's freshly scrubbed, so I know he's had a shower, but his eyes look sleepy as he watches me putter around.

"Grab a skillet," I tell him, pointing out the correct pan when he stares blankly at me. "Watch what I'm doing, and then you'll be able to make this when I'm not around."

Drew hums, stepping up close enough that I can smell his alpha scent. It's a bit like being served a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice in an iron goblet. "Or we could just keep you," he murmurs. "Free room and board in exchange for us not starving to death."

I pause, wondering if there's a veiled threat in his lighthearted words. "I can't stay," I tell him, watching his gaze drop to my hands. "You know why."

He gives a small nod. "Yeah, I'm just kidding. Not about the starving part, though."

"Then watch closely." I chop the vegetables and toss them in the pan with a little oil. While it's sizzling, I break up the hash browns and grate the cheese. Drew watches everything with avid interest, like he's never seen anyone throw a skillet breakfast together before. "You don't have a service omega at home? I thought all you college alphas had country mansions, packed with people to service your every whim."

Drew flushes red. "No, nothing like that."

I'm curious about his home life, but I know better than to probe. Who am I to pick at someone's secrets? "Well, this isn't anything fancy, but it's filling." I remove the cooked vegetables and add the crumbled hash browns to the pan. When they're done, I put it all together, sprinkle over the cheese, and crack the three remaining eggs on top. It goes into the oven, and Drew helps me clean up while we wait.

"So how do you think today is going to go?" I ask, unable to hide my nerves .

"You'll have one of us in each of your classes…" His voice drifts off as he shovels the spoiled eggs into the trash. "Which could be a bad thing, come to think of it."

I'm about to ask him what he means when Law appears in the doorway, a black garment bag over his arm. His gaze darts around the room before settling on me, and I feel my toes curl at the heat in his stare. He's wearing the college uniform, and with his silver-gold hair and moss green eyes, he looks like he's just stepped out of a recruitment poster. Assuming they recruit students from the fairy realm in a romance book, that is.

"How did you sleep?" he asks, draping the bag over the sofa and striding towards us. He ignores all concepts of personal space as he plants himself in front of me, his thumbs lifting to gently sweep under my eyes. "You look tired. Did Travis make you sleep on the couch?"

"No, he gave me his bed." Law lifts a silky brow, and I shake my head. "He slept on the couch, I mean."

"Well, you can come to my place tonight if you want. I have two king beds to choose from."

Travis thumps down the stairs, wearing nothing but a threadbare towel. I take in flashing dark eyes and acres and acres of hard, damp muscle… "Not happening." He jabs a meaty finger at Law. "Eat my eggs, and you're dead."

He's gone again in a thundering charge down the basement steps, but I'm still frozen over the skillet I've pulled from the oven, my eyes glued to the Travis-sized hole in the air. Drew waves a hand in front of my face and I drop the pan on the counter, my face flushed. "Damn," he murmurs, "she likes the beast."

I realize he's talking about Travis, and my flush deepens to a burn. "It's just heat from the oven," I fib, grabbing four plates off the drying rack. I pause with my hand over the fifth. "Is Cutter going to want some breakfast?"

"He prefers eating the hearts out of low-flying birds," Law grins, leaning an elbow on the counter. "Haven't you seen all the tiny bones scattered around?"

"Don't be a dick," Drew snaps, grabbing a couple of the filled plates and carrying them over to the rickety table. The wooden top is badly scarred, none of the chairs match, and one of the table legs is being held together by duct tape. I grew up with this kind of make-do furniture, but from what I've seen, most of the students at Sentinel Academy really are elite alphas with country mansions .

But again, it's not really my place to comment on how these guys live. Instead, I take a seat next to Drew right as Travis comes upstairs, his hair still wet and his tie hanging loose around his neck. Law is just about to slip into the seat on my other side, but Travis gives him a killer look, and he raises his hands in surrender and goes to make himself a coffee. The espresso machine is the only thing in the house that looks like it's less than a decade old, and I pull a happy face as Law sets a cup in front of me.

"I didn't think omegas liked caffeine," Drew says as I take a fervent gulp.

He's right. Most omegas can't process any kind of stimulant. But then, I'm not your average omega. "We cheat sometimes," I tell him with a shrug.

"Then you're in the right house," Law grins, earning another murderous glance from Travis. He's already cleared most of his plate, but when he catches me watching him, he wipes his mouth with a thumb and nods. "This is really good, Jane. I didn't even know we had potatoes."

"Hash browns," I tell him. "I grew up on a commune, and we lived off one-dish casseroles."

"You weren't born on the estate, then?" Drew asks, and I duck over my coffee cup while my brain spins. "I thought most service omegas were lifers. You know, your mom, your grandma, all working for the same family."

I nod, realizing my slip up. "I was born on a commune, but my dad remarried and we moved to the estate." The lie tastes like ash in my mouth and I stand up, taking my plate to the sink.

Behind my back I can hear Travis hiss, "Fucking stop with the generalizations, asshole. You obviously know shit about omegas."

Drew grumbles something back, but they're interrupted by a fist thudding against the front door. Travis is out of his chair in a flash, his butter knife clenched like a weapon, but Drew waves him down. "It's just Avery's buddy with the ankle monitor. Sit, beast. I'll go sort it out."

Travis makes a stabbing motion in his direction and Drew scampers away with a cheeky grin. Law just rolls his eyes at the near-maiming and grabs the garment bag off the sofa. When he unzips it, he presents me with a pristine college uniform. "This is for you, Jack ."

I lift my brows at the name, but as I stare at the smart blazer and neatly pressed trousers, I realize what he means. For however long I stay here, I'll be spending my day dressed as a guy. My heart starts to beat faster, and my hands feel clammy. It's not like I've ever been super feminine, but I can't see how I'll fool anyone who looks at me very hard.

"I've also got you some shower gel. It's a descenter, so it should disguise your natural perfume."

"Thanks, Law." I take the bottle and the bag and head upstairs, not really surprised to find the bathroom is small and outdated. There's a tiny shower over a tub, and I have no idea how Travis managed to contort himself under the spray. But thinking about a wet, scowling Travis only makes me flush hotter, so I wash up quickly, slathering myself in Law's descenter gel. It smells better than I thought it would, like fresh laundry or a whiff of hot bread. But I can't help grimacing at the feel of my shaven skull under my fingertips. The only upside I can see is that my hair will be dry before I make it back downstairs.

There's a towel waiting on the counter, and I smile as I pat myself dry. It's soft and pink and definitely doesn't go with the rest of the austere furnishings. It's too steamy to dress in the bathroom, so I wrap myself in the damp towel and carry the garment bag into Drew's room. I quickly pull out the uniform, surprised to find a pair of cotton panties and a chest binder tucked in the bottom. Law seems to have thought of everything, including getting my size just about perfect, but I still get a shock when I turn to stare at myself in the mirror.

The uniform is charcoal pants and a red blazer, with a white shirt and a red tie. The jacket has gold buttons to match the gold piping on the sleeves and down the sides of the pants. It's smart, and probably the most expensive outfit I've ever worn, but dressed like this I look… like a pale, fragile, bald version of myself. My gray eyes are huge and stark under my dark brows, and my lips are plump and red. Could I pass for a feminine boy? I can't really tell, not when my heart is beating hard enough to rip through the chest binder.

I should just try to make a run for it. No one is going to believe my disguise, and then I'll be marched straight back to the colonel to be shot at dawn…

"Hey, can I come in?" I look up from my spiraling panic to find Drew peeking around the door. When he sees me slumped on the edge of his bed, he comes inside, his brow furrowed with worry. "You okay, Jane?"

"Sorry." I force myself back to my feet, even though I wish with every fiber of my being I could crawl under his comforter and hide there all day. "I just remembered I'm a really bad actress. I mean, who's going to believe I'm Jack Cutter? "

Drew bites his lip as he looks me over. "Damn, you do look really pretty…"

Warmth spreads through my bound chest, but I force myself to roll my eyes at him and he chuckles as he goes to his dresser. "I think there's only one thing for it." He roots around for a moment, then comes back over with a pair of white socks rolled up in his hand. He taps my nose with his clenched knuckles. "You need to man up, Jack."

I take the socks from him and frown. "But I'm already wearing a pair."

He smirks as he looks down at my shiny black shoes. "Yeah, but these ones aren't for your feet."

It takes me a moment to realize where he wants me to stuff them. "Oh. Oh! But aren't they a little on the small side?"

I mean, they're ankle socks, for Mercy's sake.

His smirk grows as he rocks back on his heels. "You pack more than that, and you won't be able to beat them off with a stick, Pretty Jack."

I laugh, too overwhelmed by the insanity of it all to feel embarrassed. "Okay, but if I have to go to the bathroom, I'm using a stall."

His grin fades a little as he holds up the ankle monitor. "Ready to put this on?"

I nod, even though the idea of wearing it makes my heart lurch. Drew must sense my anxiety, because he squeezes my hand before he drops to his knees and lifts the cuff of my trousers. "It will look and act like a normal tracker, but Aves told me it's on a false loop. He's programmed the system to show you either in your scheduled classes or back here, so you don't have to worry. You're not going to raise any flags, I promise."

"But you guys all wear the real thing?" I steady myself on his shoulder as he straps it on, and he tilts his head back to study me. "I'm not prying. I just don't want to say the wrong thing and blow my cover."

"Yeah, I get that," he says as he pats the monitor and rises back to his full height. He's tucked it against my sock – the one on my foot – so it won't rub, but it feels heavy and conspicuous. Is that so the guys never forget they're under constant surveillance?

Drew grimaces and rubs the back of his neck, looking defeated. "In a nutshell, we're not just students here, Jane. We're under house arrest, I guess you could say. For me and Aves, it's because of our dad. There's a whole story I can tell you, but it's not a happy one. Travis, though, would probably punch me in the face for telling you anything, so let's just say he's here because of some stuff with his older brothers. And Cutter… well, he's kind of in a class all of his own. But since you're meant to be related, you should know he's considered a little dangerous, and a lot unstable. Most students give us a wide berth, but Cutter is the campus bogeyman."

I bite my lip, well aware he's giving me a very trimmed down version of the truth. "And will Cutter be mad that I'm impersonating his cousin?"

He tilts his head back like he's looking for answers on the ceiling, then gives a small shrug. "I haven't seen him in a couple of months, so I doubt he'll ever find out."

There doesn't seem much to say after that, so I follow Drew back downstairs. I remember to adjust my scent level as we reach the living room and the guys look me over, Travis' brows pulling into a frown as Law gives a low, soft whistle. "Now that's how you're supposed to wear the uniform."

I look around at them and shake my head. "I feel like I'm in the kids' section of the college catalog."

"That's just because you haven't stuffed your jock," Drew tells me with a grin, pointing at the socks still balled up in my hand. "But the shower gel definitely worked. I could still smell your perfume in my room, but it's fainter down here."

I blush at the flare of interest in Law's eyes, but Travis steps forward to take a close-up sniff. "You could pass for a beta," he says, then cups my shoulders, his big palms sending wisps of heat through the thick fabric of my blazer. "But if anyone guesses what you are, don't engage with them. Just run, and come find me right away."

"Okay." My voice comes out on a squeak, and I clear my throat, embarrassed. "But I'm going to stay close to you guys, right?"

"Yep," Law tells me, turning me to face him. He has a student ID card he clips to my lapel, and a paper printout, folded into a neat square. When he hands it to me, I find it's a class schedule, my name – Jack Cutter – typed at the top. "And your first class is with me, you lucky duck."

Drew blows a raspberry as he steps up on my other side. "Anatomy. Which you're basically flunking."

Law screws up his nose, but then plucks the socks out of my hand and tosses them at Drew's face. "At least I know you're supposed to put these on your feet."