Chapter 29: Ivy

Chapter

Twenty-Nine

IVY

I wake with a start, my heart racing as I try to remember where I am. The soft silk sheets against my skin feel foreign, and for a moment, panic claws at my throat as I struggle to piece together how I got here.

Then it all comes flooding back.

Surhiira.

The palace.

The royal dinner.

I'm in the guest wing, surrounded by my alphas.

Their familiar scents wash over me, soothing my anxiety. Wraith's massive arm is draped protectively across my waist, his scarred face buried in my hair. Thane is pressed against my back, his steady breathing tickling my neck. Whiskey and Valek are sprawled out nearby, their limbs tangled together in a way that would be comical if it weren't so endearing that they're tolerating each other to that extent.

But someone's missing.

Plague.

He was here when we all fell into bed, exhausted from the events of the past few days.

Where did he go?

As I glance groggily around the room, a flicker of movement by the window catches my eye. Plague stands there, silhouetted against the pale light of dawn. He's already dressed in his white princely uniform, a matching scarf wrapped around the lower half of his face. As I watch, he turns slightly, and I see his sharp profile outlined by the soft glow of sunrise.

He looks... different.

Lighter somehow, like some of the weight he's been carrying has finally been lifted from his shoulders.

As if sensing my gaze, Plague turns fully toward me. His eyes crinkle a bit at the corners. He's smiling beneath that scarf. It's a soft, genuine expression I've rarely seen from him.

My heart does a little flip in my chest.

I carefully extricate myself from the tangle of limbs surrounding me, moving as quietly as I can to avoid waking the others. They shift and grumble and growl in their sleep, but thankfully, they don't fully wake up.

They need the rest after everything we've been through.

Plague holds out his hand as I approach, and I take it without hesitation. His skin is cool against mine as he pulls me close, wrapping an arm around my waist and resting his chin on my head. We stand there in comfortable silence, watching as the sun creeps higher over the impossible white spires of Surhiira.

I've never seen anything like it.

The pristine marble towers catch the light, gleaming like ice against the violet sky streaked with gold and orange. In the distance, I notice the bustle of markets coming to life, people moving with fluid grace through streets that look more like works of art than functional thoroughfares.

"It's beautiful," I breathe, unable to tear my eyes away from the view.

Plague hums in agreement, his chest vibrating against my back. "I'd almost forgotten," he murmurs. "I spent so long running from this place, I never stopped to appreciate its beauty."

I turn in his arms, looking up at him. There's a wistfulness in his eyes I've never seen before.

"Do you regret coming back?" I ask softly.

He's quiet for a long moment, considering. "No," he says finally. "I think... I think I needed to face this. To remember where I came from." His lips quirk in a small smile. "And to realize how much I've changed."

I lean up, pressing a gentle kiss to his jaw.

"We all have," I murmur.

His arm tightens around me, and I melt into his embrace. We stand there in comfortable silence, watching as the city below us comes to life. It's mesmerizing, seeing so many people going about their daily lives without fear. Without the constant threat of violence that hangs over every interaction in Reinmich.

"I want to show you the city," Plague says suddenly. "All of you. There's so much to see. So much I took for granted when I lived here."

I pull back slightly, searching his face. "Are you sure? I know being back here is... complicated for you."

"I'm sure," he says, nodding. "I want you to experience all the things I never appreciated." He pauses, a mischievous glint entering his eyes. "Besides, I think it's time we did some shopping. Get these alphas to look less like wild beasts, and send you on your first shopping spree. We'll need disguises for the Alpha's Alpha, anyway."

I can't help the excited flutter in my chest at the thought. I've never had new clothes before, let alone gone shopping. The idea of exploring this impossible city with my alphas, of experiencing something so wonderfully normal ... it's almost overwhelming.

"I'd like that," I say.

Behind us, I hear the rustle of sheets and a chorus of sleepy grumbles. The others are starting to wake up. Plague and I turn, watching with fond amusement as our alphas slowly come to life.

Whiskey is the first to sit up, his chestnut hair wild. He blinks blearily, squinting against the morning light. "What's goin' on?" he slurs. "We under attack?"

I can't help but laugh at that. "No attacks," I assure him. "Just a beautiful morning in Surhiira."

That seems to wake him up fully. He looks around, taking in our opulent surroundings with wide eyes before hauling himself out of bed and walking up to the window to join Plague and me.

"Holy fuckin' shit," he breathes. "What a sunrise."

"Language," Plague chides with a smirk.

Thane is next, rising with his usual strong, quiet grace. "You're up early," he remarks, his eyes softening as he looks me over. I probably look like a wreck with my hair all wild and untamed, but it's clear from the way he's looking at me, he doesn't agree.

I shrug, unable to keep the smile from my face. "Couldn't sleep. Too excited, I guess."

Valek stretches languidly, his feline grace in full bloom again now that he isn't so fucked up. "Excited for what, little omega?" he purrs. "Has the princess promised you some royal fun?"

"Shopping, actually," Plague says before I can respond. "I thought we could all use some new clothes. And there are some things I'd like Ivy to see."

That gets everyone's attention.

I guess none of us have ever really had the chance to just... buy things. To choose what we want to wear, what we want to surround ourselves with.

The next hour is a whirlwind of activity as we all get ready for the day. Attendants appear as if summoned by magic, helping us dress in silky white clothes that are far more comfortable than they look.

I can hardly believe my eyes as I take in our reflections in the ornate mirror. Gone are the battle-worn, bloodstained clothes we arrived in. In their place, we're all adorned in outfits that look like they belong in a fairy tale.

My dress is a masterpiece of flowing white silk that shimmers with every movement, catching the light like the surface of Surhiira's lake. After being with my pack, my curves have filled out a bit more, and this dress hugs each and every one of them. My wild auburn hair has been tamed into loose waves, adorned with tiny golden pins shaped like ibis feathers.

All five alphas are dressed in the same crisp white military uniform that emphasizes their builds, including Plague, which surprises me. Maybe it's because he doesn't want to be immediately recognized as the prince he is. Other than the fact Plague is wearing white gloves, the only difference between them is the geometric patterns on their scarves. Valek still has the one he found last night, the silver threads accentuating his eyes. Wraith is tense and uneasy in his formal clothing, but he still looks regal.

They all do.

Regal and heroic.

"We clean up good, huh?" Whiskey says, voicing what I'm sure we're all thinking.

I can't help but laugh.

"You look beautiful," Plague murmurs, his eyes roaming over me with unconcealed admiration. "As always."

My face heats up at his words. It feels strange to be standing here, dressed like I'm royalty myself. "So do you," I manage to reply. "All of you."

Thane clears his throat. "We should get going," he says gruffly, but I don't miss the way his gaze lingers on me. "The city awaits."

By the time we make it to the front entrance of the palace, I'm practically vibrating with excitement. The alphas seem to feed off my energy, their usual wariness giving way to what seems to be genuine enthusiasm as we follow Plague out to the courtyard.

When we step out into the bright Surhiiran morning, I have to blink against the dazzling light reflecting off all that white stone. The air is crisp and clean, carrying the scent of flowers I can't name and spices I've never tasted.

I'm going to have to change that.

Plague leads us down sweeping staircases and through bustling courtyards. I notice the way people stop and stare as we pass, their eyes widening in recognition as they catch sight of Plague in spite of his military uniform. Many bow deeply, murmuring "Your Highness" with clear reverence and confusion.

I can tell it makes Plague uncomfortable. His shoulders tense with each greeting, and he keeps his eyes fixed straight ahead. But he doesn't falter, doesn't try to hide. He just keeps moving forward, one hand resting protectively at the small of my back.

"You're going to have to make an announcement," Thane says to him in a wry tone. "They all think you're back from the dead."

"It feels like I am," Plague mutters.

I give him a sympathetic smile.

We reach what must be the main shopping district, and I'm immediately overwhelmed by the sheer variety of goods on display. Stalls and shops line the streets, offering everything from intricate jewelry to exotic fruits in every shape, color, and texture imaginable. The scents of cooking food and fragrant oils mingle in the air, making my mouth water.

I stop in front of a fruit cart, my eyes immediately drawn to a fruit about the size of my fist. It has a thick, leathery rind in deep burgundy. The crown-like protrusion at its top draws my eye, nature's own attempt at royal decoration.

"What's that one?" I ask, pointing to it.

"That is a pomegranate," Plague replies. "Our national fruit."

"Would you like to try one?" Thane asks from my other side. "They're very good. They were my favorite fruit growing up."

Wraith nods in agreement.

"They're juicy," Valek adds. "Like eating blood pods."

"Probably the way you eat them," Whiskey says to him with a snort.

Plague is already reaching for his coin purse.

"No need to pay," the middle-aged vendor says quickly, materializing out of nowhere and grabbing the pomegranate with the richest coloring. His eyes are wide as saucers as he shoves the pomegranate into Plague's hands. Then another, and another, until Plague's arms are comically full. "Not for the prince."

"Let me," Plague says to the vendor with a weary sigh. He comes off a bit more menacingly than I'm sure he intends, and the vendor looks like he's about to shit a brick.

Fortunately, Whiskey notices right away. "Sorry, bro," he says to the vendor, patting the bewildered man's back. He hits him hard enough to make him stumble. "He doesn't intend to come off as a frigid asshole. It's just the way he is."

The vendor's eyes go wide as he stares at Whiskey, then Plague.

"It would make me happy," Plague says stiffly, forcing a smile. He puts the pomegranates in his arms back in the cart, all except for the best one, and gets out his coin purse. He pulls out a few gilded coins with the ibis embossed on them and hands them to the vendor. "I'm sorry I frightened you. You have nothing to fear from the royal family."

The vendor doesn't look so sure, but he doesn't complain about the coins. As we turn away from the fruit stand, I glance back and see him holding them up into the sun, marveling at how they catch the light.

"How interesting," Valek remarks to Plague as we walk away. "Is your family not quite as benevolent as they seem?"

Plague gives Valek an uncomfortable sideways glance. "My father wasn't. And Azarel has always been on the… serious side. But he was never cruel. Not unless something's changed since I've been gone." He turns back to me, drawing the dagger from his belt. "Here. You cut it into sections, like so?—"

"Nah, my way's faster," says Whiskey, grabbing the pomegranate from Plague. He tears it open with his bare hands, the whole fruit splitting into multiple sections. Red juice pours out and onto his hands as Plague gives him a judgmental grimace. Especially when some of the juice sprays onto Whiskey's previously pristine white jacket.

"That works, too, I suppose," Plague says dryly.

"Watch out. It'll stain the fuck out of your dress," Whiskey says, handing me a juicy section of fruit. The flesh is pale yellow and weblike, dotted with seeds the brightest red color I've ever seen. I can see why Valek compared them to blood.

I go to take a bite out of it like it's an apple slice and Whiskey barks a laugh. "Not like that," he says. "That yellow shit's bitter. You don't wanna eat that. Just eat the seeds. Like this." He plucks one from the webbed flesh and tosses it into the air, catching it in his mouth.

"Show-off," Plague mutters.

Whiskey flashes him a grin. "You love it."

I pluck one of the gleaming seeds and pop it into my mouth through my beaded veil. The burst of flavor is shocking. Sweet and tart at once, complex in a way I didn't know fruit could be. The seeds crunch pleasantly between my teeth.

"Oh, wow," I mumble, reaching for another. "This is..."

"Good?" Whiskey asks, handing sections out to the rest of the alphas before tearing a handful of seeds free from his own all at once.

"Amazing," I correct him, savoring each little explosion of flavor.

"Easy with the white fabric," Plague grumbles, holding the pomegranate in his hands like the bright red juice might set his white gloves on fire.

I don't have to see Valek's mouth to know he's smirking. The glint in his eyes is unmistakable even before he tugs his scarf down to take an unnecessarily vicious bite out of his section of pomegranate, bitter flesh and all. "Give up, princess," he purrs, the juice staining his lips like he's a vampire that just bit out a victim's throat. "We're all wild beasts, even you. That's why we make you so uncomfortable."

Plague shoots Valek an irritated glare. "I liked you better when you weren't trying to be deep."

I bite back a laugh, popping a few more seeds into my mouth. Wraith does the same thing, his massive hands surprisingly careful as he plucks one out and slips it behind his scarf. Then again, it shouldn't be much of a surprise considering how much control he had when we had that first encounter.

The memory makes my face heat up all over again.

Valek gives a dark chuckle and turns to me. "In Vrissia, we have a story about the pomegranate. An omega eats six seeds in the underworld and becomes the queen of the dead." He grins wickedly. "Perhaps you'll become the queen of something too, yes?"

I roll my eyes at him, but can't help smiling. The way the juice stains my fingers red does feel somehow decadent, almost dangerous. Like I'm indulging in something forbidden.

"I would have to be the king, and that isn't happening," Plague says pointedly before eating a few seeds himself. Much to my relief. Surhiira is incredible, but I couldn't keep up the queen act for long.

The omega of a prince, though?

That might be different.

The sweet-tart flavor of pomegranate still lingers on my tongue as we make our way deeper into the bustling market district. My eyes dart from stall to stall, trying to take in the dizzying array of colors and textures on display. I've never seen so many beautiful things in one place before.

Once we finish our shared pomegranate and get rid of the bitter shell, and Whiskey washes his hands in a fountain at Plague's insistent urging, we head to a shop with intricate golden filigree framing the windows. Everyone here seems to speak the same common language we do, but the writing above the door is nothing I recognize at all.

As we enter through the front door, a bell chimes softly, announcing our arrival. An attendant glides over, her white robes whispering against the polished floor. Her eyes widen as she takes in our group, lingering on Plague for a moment in clear shock before she composes herself with a deep bow.

"Welcome, honored guests," she says, her voice wavering slightly. "How may I assist you today?"

Plague steps forward, his posture regal. "We're in need of new attire," he says smoothly. "Something that would help us blend in with scummy partygoers at a masquerade ball."

She looks shocked at his words. Guess being around the Ghosts for so long has messed up his otherwise princely vocabulary. "Of course, Your High?—"

"Just sir will do," Plague interrupts gently.

"Leather would be good," Whiskey adds. "Do you even have that shit here?"

The attendant's smile falters behind her veil. "We have everything you could possibly imagine," she croaks.

"Great," says Whiskey, heading in already.

As we move through the shop, I can't help but run my fingers over the fabrics we pass. Silks so fine they feel like water. Velvets so plush, I want to bury my face in them. My omega instincts are kicking into overdrive, and I'm not even in heat right now.

The attendant leads us to a more secluded area of the shop, separated by gauzy curtains. "Perhaps we could start with some options for the gentlemen?" she suggests, gesturing to a rack of clothing.

Whiskey grins, elbowing Plague. "That black dress with the feathers on the shoulders would look nice on you."

I bite my lip to keep from laughing as Plague's face flushes red. His eyes narrow dangerously like he's about to throttle Whiskey. "Shut the fuck up."

"Aw, come on," Whiskey teases. "It'd go with your whole bird getup."

"It's not a bird," Plague grits out. "It's a plague doctor. That's why my name is Plague."

Whiskey cocks his head. "Sorry, uh, what's a plague doctor ?"

Plague stares at him for a second before waving him off. "Never mind," he mutters, walking further into the shop as Whiskey follows him like an overgrown golden retriever, trying in vain to get him to explain.

I trail my fingers over a rack of shimmering fabrics, marveling at how they seem to change color with every movement. The silks and velvets are so fine, so delicate. Nothing like the coarse, practical clothes I'm used to.

Part of me still can't believe this is real.

"What about this one?" Whiskey holds up a gauzy white dress that leaves little to the imagination. He's apparently given up on learning about plague doctors today.

I roll my eyes, fighting back a smile. "I don't think that'll help us blend in at a high-class party."

"Who says we're trying to blend in?" Valek purrs, appearing at my elbow with a leather corset that makes my eyes widen. "I say we make an entrance they'll never forget."

Thane pinches the bridge of his nose, clearly exasperated. "The point is to not draw attention to ourselves. We're trying to infiltrate, not start a riot."

"You're never any fun," Valek mutters, but he puts the corset back with a dramatic sigh.

As we move deeper into the shop, the reality of our situation starts to sink in. We're not just shopping for fun. We're preparing for a dangerous mission. The weight of it settles in my chest, a strange contrast to the lightness I've been feeling today.

"We need to decide on our approach," Thane says, his deep voice cutting through my thoughts. "Given the nature of the Alpha's Alpha, our best bet is to play into their expectations. Ivy will pose as the omega of a powerful pack. It'll give us the access we need without raising suspicion."

My stomach does a little flip at his words. It's not far from the truth, really, but the idea of deliberately putting myself on display makes me nervous. I've spent so long trying to stay hidden, to blend into the background.

Now I'll be at the center of attention.

And I'll be surrounded by alphas.

Like a piece of meat walking willingly into the lion's den.

"You okay with that, wildcat?" Whiskey asks, his usual teasing tone softened.

"I can handle it," I mutter. "Besides, it's not like I'll be alone, right?"

The low growl that rumbles through all five alphas makes me feel a little bit better about the situation right away.

"We'll be right there with you," Thane says, his dark eyes intense. "Every step of the way."

"No one will lay a finger on you," Valek adds.

Wraith nods in silent agreement. The way he shifts closer, his massive frame radiating aggressively protective energy, says more than words ever could.

Their possessive reactions should probably scare me. Once, it would have. But now, surrounded by these alphas who've proven time and again that they'd die for me—that they'd kill for me—I feel safe.

Cherished.

Loved.

"Okay," I say, my voice steadier than I feel. "Let's find me something suitably… omega-ish."

The next hour is a whirlwind of silk and lace, beads and embroidery. The attendants bring out outfit after outfit, each more elaborate than the last. It's overwhelming, but exhilarating too. I've never had so many choices before.

"Oh, this one's perfect," Whiskey says, holding up a deep crimson gown with a plunging neckline and a slit up to the thigh. "You'll look smoking hot in this, Ivy."

Before I can respond, Plague steps between us, his eyes narrowed. "Absolutely not. It's too revealing."

"That's kind of the point, isn't it?" Whiskey argues. "High-class omegas are usually shown off, right?"

"Not our omega," Plague mutters.

"How about a compromise?" I suggest, holding up a midnight blue gown with silver accents. The neckline is still low, but not too scandalous, and there are strategic cutouts that hint at skin without revealing too much. "This one's sexy, but still elegant."

The alphas exchange glances, a silent conversation passing between them. Finally, Thane nods. "It's suitable. But you'll need something to cover up with, just in case."

We find a matching wrap that drapes elegantly over my shoulders, easy to remove if needed but providing an extra layer of modesty. As I slip behind a curtain to try it on, I can hear the alphas muttering among themselves.

"We'll need to be on high alert," Thane says. "There will be alphas from all over. Powerful ones, used to getting what they want."

"Let them try," Valek growls, his usual playful tone replaced by something darker. "I'd love an excuse to spill some blue blood."

"We're not there to start a fight," Plague reminds them, but there's an edge to his voice that wasn't there before. "But if anyone so much as looks at her wrong..."

"They're dead," Whiskey finishes. "Simple as that."

Wraith growls low in agreement.

"Yes. We go scorched earth if it goes south," Thane says gravely. "The only thing that makes it safer at all for Ivy is that they tend to ignore omegas at these events."

"Guess that's why it's not called the Alpha's Omega," Whiskey says with a snort.

I should probably be nervous after what I just overheard. But as I step out from behind the curtain, watching their eyes widen as they take in my appearance, all I feel is a rush of power.

"Well?" I ask, doing a little twirl. "What do you think?"

For a moment, none of them speak. Then Whiskey lets out a low whistle. "Damn, wildcat."

"You look..." Plague starts, then trails off, seemingly at a loss for words.

"Like a queen," Thane finishes, his voice rough.

Wraith signs to me pointedly. Our queen.

Valek is struck unusually speechless.

With my outfit settled, we turn our attention to the alphas' attire. They need to look the part of powerful, wealthy pack leaders, which means trading in their usual tactical gear for something more refined.

Plague, of course, looks right at home in the finery. He chooses a tailored black suit with subtle gold accents that complement his royal bearing. Thane opts for a deep charcoal ensemble that emphasizes his broad shoulders and commanding presence.

Whiskey bitches the whole time, but even he can't deny how good he looks in the navy blue tuxedo we pick out for him. Valek, predictably, goes for something flashier—a white suit with silver embroidery that matches his hair and eyes.

But it's Wraith who surprises me the most. When he emerges from the dressing room in a perfectly fitted black suit, his massive frame somehow even more imposing in the formal wear and matching scarf, my breath catches in my throat. He looks... regal. Dangerous in an entirely different way than usual.

"This is a masquerade ball, right?" Whiskey asks. "So we'll need masks, too?"

"They're over here," says Plague, gesturing to the shelves on a far wall. Dozens of intricate masks cover the wall from one end to the other, ranging from simple black masks to elaborate full-face creations adorned with jewels, feathers, and precious metals. Some are expensive enough to be housed in glass cases.

I've always been drawn to masks, but I've never seen anything like these in person. The idea of actually wearing one, of transforming myself into someone else for a night, is admittedly kind of thrilling in spite of the nature of the mission and the level of danger the pack is going to be in.

"Pick whichever mask catches your eye," Plague murmurs, his breath warm against my ear. "Price is no object, of course."

I glance at him, startled. It's easy to forget sometimes that he's actual royalty, that money means nothing to him, and the realization is a little jarring. But then I catch the soft look in his eyes, the way he's drinking in my excitement, and it stops mattering.

Whiskey, predictably, dives right in. He makes a beeline for a section of more dramatic masks, holding up one after another with glee with zero regard to fragility. "Check this one out," he calls, donning a dark red mask with black obsidian gems adorned with curving horns. It leaves his lower face uncovered. "How do I look?"

"Like a bull in a china shop," Valek drawls, but there's amusement dancing in his silver eyes. "Fitting, really."

Whiskey's grin widens beneath the mask. "Perfect. I'll take it."

Thane approaches the masks with his usual methodical focus. He selects a stark white mask that covers his eyes and the bridge of his nose. It's simple, elegant, a striking contrast against his dark hair and strong features.

"Not picking a skull?" Whiskey asks, clearly surprised.

"That would be too obvious," Thane says flatly, glancing pointedly at Whiskey's eye-catching mask.

Valek, true to form, goes for the most dramatic option available. He emerges from behind a display wearing a mask shaped like the face of a venomous snake, all iridescent scales and gleaming fangs.

"Subtle," Plague mutters, already wearing a black mask adorned with a smattering of tiny shimmering gems the same inky shade as his hair.

As Wraith combs over the masks, checking them out without touching them as if he's afraid he'll break something, I turn my attention back to the wall of masks, feeling a little bit overwhelmed by the choices. By the time he selects a full face jet black wolf mask that covers his scars, I'm already back to square one, trying to find something that suits me.

That's when I see it.

A white rabbit mask, its tall ears adorned with delicate gold filigree. The eyes are framed by swirling crimson designs that remind me of flames. Without thinking, I reach for it. The inside is lined with soft velvet, and it fits perfectly, as if it was made for me.

I turn to face the others, suddenly shy. "What do you think?"

For a moment, they all just stare. Then Whiskey lets out a low whistle. "You're gonna start a full-blown riot looking like that."

It's impossible to help preening a little at the hunger I see in all their eyes. Even Wraith, who's been unusually quiet throughout this whole process, is watching me with an intensity that makes my skin tingle, his blue eyes burning behind the smooth, angular features of his wolf mask.

I turn back to the mirror, adjusting the rabbit mask slightly. The crisp white and red markings around the eyes really do bring out the fire in my hair, making it look like living flame in the soft light of the shop.

For a moment, I barely recognize myself.

This is fun.

It's dangerous and it shouldn't be, but it's fun.

"What's next?" I ask, removing the mask with a little bit of reluctance and facing my alphas again. I should probably be tired after everything that's happened, but right now, I feel like I could go all day.

"There's a shop across the street that specializes in omega goods," Plague replies once he finds his voice again. "I thought you might like to take a look."

My heart skips a beat at the suggestion. I've never shopped for myself before, let alone for things specifically designed for omegas. I think back to the lavish supplies the alphas brought me to make a nest back at the Chateau, and how I chose to forego them for the rough, rudimentary materials I was used to.

But somehow, it feels different now.

Everything does.

After bagging our disguises, we file out of the store and I glance over at the shops across the street. I spot the omega shop immediately. It's incredibly obvious with the gilded omega symbol above the doors. The storefront is a work of art in itself, all gleaming white marble and intricate gold filigree. Gauzy curtains drift in the breeze, offering glimpses of the treasures within.

Fabrics, pillows, decorations…

Thane's deep voice rumbles from behind me. "You okay, little one?"

I glance up at him, swallowing hard. "It's just... a lot."

What I don't say, what I don't quite trust myself to put into words, is that it feels so surreal. In the world I know, omegas are window dressings, not customers. This place doesn't just look like a supply store alphas can go to in order to pick things up to meet their pets' basic needs.

It's clearly made for omegas.

It seems like such a silly, trivial distinction, but it stirs a strange feeling in my chest I don't quite understand myself.

His dark eyes soften with understanding. "We don't have to go in if you're not comfortable."

But Whiskey's already bounding ahead, his enthusiasm infectious. "C'mon, wildcat! Let's see what fancy shit they've got in there."

Before I can protest, he's ushering me through the door, the others following close behind.

The shop is a treasure trove of omega comforts. Plush fabrics in every color imaginable drape from the walls and spill from ornate baskets. Delicate glass bottles filled with scented oils catch the light, sending rainbow prisms dancing across the floor. And everywhere I look, there are pillows and blankets and soft things that make my fingers itch to touch.

"Welcome. How may I assist you today?" the beta shopkeeper asks, her gaze lingering on me with obvious curiosity.

Plague steps forward, his princely bearing on full display. "We're looking for nesting materials," he says smoothly. "The finest you have available."

Nesting materials?

The beta's eyes widen, flickering between Plague and me. Understanding dawns in her expression, followed quickly by excitement. "Of course, Your Highness. We have an excellent selection. Please, follow me."

She leads us deeper into the shop, to a section filled with the most luxurious fabrics I've ever seen. Silks and velvets are piled high, each more tempting than the last.

"Feel free to touch," the beta encourages. "It's the best way to find what speaks to you."

I hesitate, glancing at my alphas for reassurance. They nod encouragingly, and that's all it takes for the floodgates to open. I plunge my hands into the nearest pile of fabric, a soft purr escaping me before I can stop it.

It's like touching a cloud.

"Holy shit," I breathe, forgetting myself for a moment.

Whiskey laughs. "A woman after my own heart."

Plague's pale blue gaze softens. "If you end up wanting to stay here after all this is over," he says softly, "I can have whatever you like delivered to the palace. I'm sure they can do a custom order as well."

"Of course," the beta says immediately.

I run my fingers over a bolt of shimmering silver fabric, marveling at how it seems to flow like liquid moonlight between my fingers. The urge to gather it up, to wrap myself in its softness, is almost too much.

Maybe it's just the stress from everything that's happened, but I feel like I'm about to start building a damn nest right here in the shop.

"What do you think of this one?" Whiskey's voice breaks through my reverie. He's holding up a thick, plush blanket with woolly fibers in a deep forest green. "Looks like moss, doesn't it? Thought it might make you feel... I dunno, at home or some shit."

The lump that forms in my throat catches me off guard. I reach out, running my hand over the soft material. It does remind me of the forest, of the brief moments of peace I found in the wilderness with my mom.

I wonder what she'd think of this place.

"It's perfect," I manage to say, my voice rough. "Thank you."

Whiskey's grin is soft and genuine. He tosses the blanket into a basket the shopkeeper brings over, then moves on to inspect a pile of silk pillowcases with surprising intensity.

One by one, the alphas join in. Thane gravitates toward rich, dark colors—deep burgundies and midnight blues that make me think of the night sky. Valek has an eye for delicate, intricate patterns with sharp edges. He keeps bringing me gossamer-thin fabrics covered in swirling designs that catch the light.

Wraith seems overwhelmed by all the choices. But he watches me carefully, noting which textures I linger on, which colors draw my eye. When he finally makes his sole selection—a huge, impossibly soft faux fur throw in a rich sapphire color—I realize it's the same shade as his eyes. But I'm pretty sure he's never willingly looked into a mirror, so there's no way he would know that.

Plague moves through the shop with quiet purpose, occasionally murmuring to the shopkeeper about custom orders and delivery schedules. But I don't miss the way his gaze keeps drifting back to me, warm and adoring.

As I run my hands over a bolt of buttery-soft leather, my mind wanders. I can almost see it. A future here, in this impossible city of white stone and golden light. A life where I'm not constantly looking over my shoulder, where I don't have to fight for every scrap of comfort.

A life where I can build a real home.

"Are you alright, little omega?" Valek's voice is uncharacteristically gentle. When I look up, I'm surprised to see genuine concern in those usually sharp eyes.

I nod, not trusting my voice. How can I explain how I'm feeling? The hope and the fear, the longing and the doubt, all tangled up so tightly I can't tell where one ends and the other begins?

But Valek just nods, like he understands.

Maybe he does.

We're all broken in our own ways, after all.

"Here," he says, pressing a silk blanket into my hands. It's a deep, rich midnight black, shot through with threads of silver that catch the light. "For when you need a reminder that even the darkest night has stars."

I clutch the fabric to my chest, overwhelmed by the gesture. By all of it. The kindness, the care, the sheer normalcy of shopping for bedding with my pack.

My family.

"Thank you," I murmur, and I mean it for so much more than just the silk. I'm still planning on having the talk to end all talks with him when we have a moment alone, but for now, it can wait.

Valek's smile is softer than I've ever seen it, the corners of his lips peeking out above his scarf. He reaches out, like he wants to touch me, then thinks better of it. Instead, he just nods and drifts away to terrorize another display of throw pillows.

I turn back to the mountain of fabrics we've accumulated, running my fingers over each piece. The forest green of Whiskey's blanket. The midnight blue of Thane's silk. The sapphire of Wraith's faux fur. The shimmering black night of Valek's blanket.

And there, nestled in the center, a swath of pure white silk adorned with delicate golden embroidery.

Plague's contribution.

It reminds me of Surhiira itself, of the pristine beauty of this place that could be our home.

Our home.

Is that what I want?

To stay here and put down roots when all this is over?

I pick up a small throw pillow, running my fingers over the embroidered words stitched in gold thread.

Home is where the pack is.

And I add it to our basket with a smile.