Chapter 15: Ember

Chapter

Fifteen

EMBER

I bite back a curse as the gingerbread man's arm snaps off in my hand. This is the third cookie I've ruined in the last hour, and Mom's giving me that look again.

The one that says she knows something's up but is too polite to ask outright.

"Everything okay, sweetie?" she asks, her voice dripping with faux casualness. "You seem a little... distracted."

I force a smile, reaching for the icing to reattach the unfortunate cookie's limb. "I'm fine, Mom. Just a little tired, I guess."

That's the understatement of the century.

I'm exhausted, but not from lack of sleep.

No, I'm worn out from the constant mental gymnastics required to keep my composure every time I catch a whiff of mint or chocolate or wood smoke or caramel.

Which, in this small town during the holidays, is approximately every five seconds.

And the After Heat pill's side effects aren't helping.

But it was kind of a necessity after spending so long locked up with a pack. I'm still processing the fact that I have four alphas. I am so not ready to be a mom. The fact that the guys offered to go pick it up for me was admittedly a point earned in their favor.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I have to physically stop myself from reaching for it. I know who it is without looking. It's been three days of texts so evenly spaced out, I'm pretty sure they coordinated exactly how much they could text without overwhelming me. Each one sends a jolt of electricity through my body that has nothing to do with my data plan and everything to do with the four alphas who've turned my world upside down.

"Oh, before I forget," Mom says, pulling me from my thoughts. "I ran into Carter Thomas at the grocery store this morning. Such a nice boy. Did you know he and his friends are staying in town for the whole holiday season? Isn't that lovely?"

I nearly choke on the candy cane I've been absently sucking on. "Oh?" I manage, my voice an octave higher than usual. "That's... nice."

Thomas .

It hits me that I didn't even know his last name before.

Mom hums in agreement, a dreamy look in her eye that makes me want to crawl under the table and hide. "It is, isn't it? He's been here before, of course, but he usually just drops in to see his mother for a day or two and goes back to the city. It's so rare for successful young alphas like that to take such an interest in their hometown. I wonder what could be keeping them here?"

Before I can stammer out a response, the back door bursts open, and Taylor breezes in, her arms laden with shopping bags. "You will not believe who I just saw at the Christmas tree lot," she announces, kicking off her boots.

My stomach drops. Please, not again.

"Let me guess," I mutter. "Tall, dark, and hockey?"

Taylor's eyebrows shoot up. "How did you know?"

"I need some air," I blurt out, already heading for the door. "I'm gonna take a walk."

I ignore their confused calls as I shove my feet into my boots and grab my coat. The crisp winter air hits me like a slap to the face as I step outside, and I take a deep, steadying breath. The scent of pine and snow fills my lungs, but underneath it all, I can still detect those four distinct scents that have been haunting me for days.

They didn't mark me.

Not even close.

But I still feel them on me, like a warm blanket wrapped around my shoulders. And I'm not sure I want that to change, either.

As I walk down the snow-covered sidewalk, my mind drifts back to that night in the rink. The heat of their bodies, the tenderness in their touches, the way they looked at me like I was the most precious thing in the world... It's all seared into my memory, a constant replay that makes it impossible to focus on anything else.

I've never been so conflicted in my life.

Part of me wants to run straight into their arms, to let myself fall headfirst into this... whatever it is. But the rational part of my brain, the part that's been hurt before, that's worked so hard to build a life on my own terms, is screaming at me to be careful.

They're too good to be true.

They have to be.

Don't they?

A gust of wind carries a familiar scent, and I freeze mid-step. Wood smoke. Mason. My heart starts racing, and I look around wildly, half expecting to see him materialize out of thin air.

Instead, I spot him across the street, coming out of the hardware store with an armful of Christmas lights. He hasn't noticed me yet, and for a moment, I consider ducking into the nearest shop to avoid him.

But then he looks up, and our eyes lock.

The world narrows to just us, the bustle of holiday shoppers fading into background noise. Mason's face lights up with a smile that makes my knees weak, and before I can talk myself out of it, I'm crossing the street toward him.

"Hey," he says softly when I reach him, his voice sending a shiver down my spine that has nothing to do with the cold.

"Hi," I breathe, suddenly at a loss for words. Up close, his scent is overwhelming, bringing back vivid memories of his hands on my skin, his lips on mine.

Mason shifts the lights in his arms, his expression growing concerned. "You okay? You look a little flushed."

I nod, probably too quickly to be convincing. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just... taking a walk. Clearing my head."

He nods, understanding in his eyes. "Want some company? I was just heading back to Carter's place to help with decorations, but I can take a detour."

I should say no.

I should stick to my plan of taking things slow, of giving myself time to process. But the thought of walking alone with Mason, of having a chance to talk without the others around, is too tempting to resist.

"Sure," I hear myself say. "That'd be nice."

We fall into step together, walking in comfortable silence for a few moments. I can feel the heat radiating off his body, even through our winter coats, and it takes every ounce of willpower I possess not to lean into him.

"So," Mason says finally, his tone carefully neutral. "How are you doing? Really?"

I consider deflecting, giving him the same polite non-answer I've been giving everyone else. But something in his voice, in the genuine concern in his eyes, makes me want to be honest.

"I'm... confused," I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. "Everything feels different now. Smells different. It's like my whole world has shifted, and I don't know how to find my footing again."

Mason nods, his expression thoughtful. "I know what you mean. It's been the same for us. Your scent... it's everywhere. In everything. It's driving us all a little crazy, to be honest."

The admission sends a thrill through me, equal parts excitement and terror. "I don't know what to do," I confess.

We've reached the town square, where a massive Christmas tree stands proudly in the center. Mason guides me to a nearby bench, brushing off the snow before we sit. The lights in his arms tangle as he sets them down, and I find myself laughing as we work to untangle them.

"You know," Mason says, his fingers brushing mine as we work, "we meant what we said before. About taking things at your pace. We're not going anywhere, Ember. We can figure this out together, whatever that looks like for you."

I look up at him, searching his face for any sign of deception. But all I see is sincerity, and that fierce protectiveness that makes my heart race.

"I believe you," I whisper, and I'm surprised to realize it's true. "I just... I need to know this isn't just about biology. That it's not just the heat talking."

Mason's hand stills on the lights, his gaze intense as he meets my eyes. "Ember, the heat might have brought us together, but it's not what's keeping us here. We want to know you—all of you. Your dreams, your fears, your taste in terrible Christmas movies."

I laugh despite myself, shoving his shoulder playfully. "Hey, 'Die Hard' is a classic."

"A girl after my own heart."

He grins, and for a moment, I can see a future where this is normal. Where teasing and laughter and casual touches are just part of our everyday life.

The thought both thrills and terrifies me.

Before I can respond, a familiar voice calls out, "Ember?"

My head snaps up at the sound of my father's voice, and for a moment, I'm frozen in place. Dad's walking toward us, his arms laden with board games, looking every bit the adorably nerdy professor he is. My heart races as I watch him approach, torn between the urge to bolt and the desire to stay right where I am, next to Mason.

"Hey, sweetie," Dad says, his eyes crinkling behind his glasses as he smiles at me. "I didn't expect to see you out and about. Who's your friend?"

I open my mouth to respond, but no words come out. How do I even begin to explain this? Oh, hey Dad, this is one of the four alpha hockey players I spent my heat with during the snowstorm.

Yeah, that'd go over well.

But before I can stammer out some half-baked explanation, Mason stands, extending his hand to my father with an easy confidence that makes my stomach flutter.

"Mason Holbrook, sir," he says, his voice warm and steady. "My teammates and I met Ember at the rink a few days ago."

I hold my breath, waiting for him to say more, but he doesn't. No mention of heats or mates or anything that would make my father's eyes bug out of his head. Relief washes over me, followed quickly by a wave of gratitude toward Mason.

He's giving me space.

Letting me decide how much to reveal, and when.

Dad, bless his oblivious heart, just nods and shakes Mason's hand. "Oh, that's right. Ember mentioned something about sharing the ice with some other athletes. You boys must be in town for some sort of tournament?"

I have to bite back a laugh. Dad's never had any interest in sports beyond the occasional game of chess. He probably wouldn't recognize a professional athlete if one tackled him on the street.

"Something like that," Mason says smoothly, and I can hear the amusement in his voice. He's clearly picked up on my father's lack of sports knowledge and is playing along. "We're actually staying through the holidays."

"Oh, how lovely!" Dad exclaims, and I can see the wheels turning in his head. Here it comes. "You know, we're having our Christmas Eve dinner tomorrow night. Why don't you and your friends join us? Any friends of Ember's are always welcome."

And there it is. I should have seen this coming from a mile away. Dad's never met a stray he didn't want to adopt, whether it's a cat from the shelter or a lonely student with nowhere to go for the holidays. Of course he'd invite my... whatever Mason and the others are to me... to dinner without a second thought.

Mason's eyes find mine, silently asking permission. I know I could say no. I could make up some excuse about them being busy, or say it's too last minute.

But as I look at him…

I'm struck by how much I want to say yes.

How much I want to see him—all of them—again, even if the thought terrifies me.

"That would be nice," I mumble, surprising myself with the words. "If you guys aren't too busy, I mean."

The grin that spreads across Mason's face is like the sun coming out from behind a cloud. "We wouldn't miss it for the world," he says, and I can hear the genuine excitement in his voice.

As Dad chatters away about what time to arrive and what sides to bring, I find myself studying Mason. The way he effortlessly charms my father, asking questions about his work and the board games he's carrying. The way his eyes keep flicking back to me, as if checking to make sure I'm still okay with all of this.

And I realize, with a start, that I am okay with it. More than okay, even. The thought of getting to know Mason and the others outside of the heated frenzy of my unexpected heat is... appealing.

Intriguing, even.

And doing it surrounded by my family, in a setting where I can't just jump their bones?

That might actually be perfect.

"Well, I should get these games home before your mother sends out a search party," Dad says, adjusting his grip on the boxes. "It was wonderful to meet you, Mason. We'll see you boys tomorrow night!"

As he walks away, I'm struck by a sudden wave of affection for my father. For his easy acceptance, his unquestioning welcome of a stranger into our family traditions. It's so quintessentially him that it makes my chest ache with love.

I probably should have known something was up when even he hated Jake.

It hits me just now that I haven't thought about Jake at all lately.

Huh.

"Your dad seems great," Mason says softly, drawing my attention back to him. "I can see where you get your kindness from."

I snort, rolling my eyes even as warmth spreads through my chest at his words. "Please. I'm not kind. I'm prickly and difficult and?—"

"Ember," he cuts me off, his voice gentle but firm. "You're one of the kindest people I've ever met. And for the record… cacti are my favorite plants. They always have the sweetest blooms."

Warmth spreads across my cheeks that rivals my heat.

Is that really how he sees me?

How they all see me?

It's so at odds with how I've thought of myself lately.

Guarded, closed-off, unwilling to let anyone in.

But maybe... maybe that's not all I am. It's certainly not who I was before I got my heart battered and bashed in like a four-season old hockey puck.

It's funny, but being around them…

It's the first time I'm starting to remember who I was before everything changed.

"I should probably let you get going," Mason says, breaking the moment. "I've got a bunch of lights to hang, and it's clear you have a rousing game of Monopoly to play."

"You joke, but Monopoly is actually a blood sport in the Westbrook family home," I say dryly.

Mason chuckles. "Well, let's hope you survive till tomorrow night."

He leans down and captures my lips in a kiss that takes my breath away, as sweet and comparatively innocent as it is compared to everything we did the other day. But there's still a spark in it that sends a surge of heat up my spine and leaves me wanting more.

"Don't worry about that," I breathe, looking up at him. "I always win."

Mason flashes me an utterly devastating grin. "I'm sure you do, Cotton Candy. I'm sure you do."

As I watch him walk away, his arms full of tangled Christmas lights, I'm struck by a realization. For the first time since this whole crazy situation began, I'm actually looking forward to something. To seeing Mason and the others again, to introducing them to my family, to maybe letting myself explore whatever this is between us.

It's terrifying.

It's exhilarating.

And as I turn to head home, I can't quite keep the smile off my face.

Tomorrow is going to be... interesting, to say the least.