5. Bellamy Really Is A Wet Noodle

Theodore shoved open the doors,stepping into the foyer.

She followed cautiously, staring up at the soaring ceiling stretching two stories above. There was a grand stone staircase branching off to either side of the mezzanine above, a balcony wrapping around the sides of the room, and a wrought iron and crystal chandelier commanding attention as it hung centre stage.

They stopped beneath the huge chandelier, and she craned her neck further, trying to take it all in. The layered drips of crystal reflected sunlight from the large circular skylight several floors above, filtering it between delicate iron chains and twisted iron filigree, sending those fractured beams all over the room, where they shimmered off the gold accents in the polished limestone.

The sight had her catching her breath.

“Isobel!”

She snapped her parted lips shut, her attention darting to one of the arches along the left side of the room, where a man had appeared.

“Cooper,” she said, sounding numb but feeling sick.

“I doubt you’ve had time to check your emails, so … surprise!” His jovial tone made her want to punch him. “Please don’t be upset with me ending our arrangement, but this was something I just couldn’t pass up, and I’m so excited to continue working with you, my love.” He had reached her and was reaching for her. Theodore smoothly stepped in front of her, clapping Cooper on the shoulder hard enough to make the man wince and cut his eyes up to the Alpha now looming over him.

“Aren’t you supposed to be staying off-camera?” Theodore asked, sounding good-natured. Teasing. “I’m so confused about these fancy new dorm managerrules.”

“Yes, well.” Cooper shrugged off Theodore’s hand and stepped away, straightening his button-down shirt. “I suppose I can slip into your room later—” He settled his eyes back on Isobel, letting her know that he was talking to her … talking about going into her room. “—while you’re unpacking, and give you a run-down then.”

“Now is fine.” She ripped off her sunglasses, shoving them into her hoodie pocket. “They aren’t going to want footage of me looking like this anyway.” She indicated her cap and facemask. “What … exactly is going on?”

“I resigned as your manager,” Cooper announced, his moustache twitching like he was holding back a grin. “I was offered the position of dorm manager for Dorm A. It’s a three-year contract, so you could say I’ll still be managing you in a sense.”

“I don’t understand.” She forced a smile. “Why do we need a dorm manager?”

“Oh, all the dorms have them now.” He waved a dismissive hand. “We coordinate events and liaise with the housekeeping, catering, and maintenance teams. I’ll be facilitating every Dorm A party and live event from now on, and I promise you—we have some exciting stuff planned.”

“Already?” she asked, the shock causing her brain to stall until she could think of nothing else to say. “You were still working for my father a week ago?”

“The officials have been pre-planning,” he said, like it should have been obvious. “I’ll be in charge of booking time at Ironside Row for you and distributing your popularity points onto debit cards for use at Market Street, so you make sure you stay on my good side.” He pointed at her, his smile finally breaking free, his moustache curving up, his beady eyes narrowing to slits.

“Well, good to see you.” The words tasted like acid on her tongue, and she glanced over his shoulder to the two men filling two of the four archways behind him.

“Professors,” she greeted, her tongue feeling thick.

Kalen and Mikel didn’t look like they were about to move from their framed spots, but both of them nodded at her silently. Their stares were guarded, their bodies just relaxed enough to make her think they weren’t relaxed at all.

Mikel carried his tension in a more obvious way—it seemed to line the severe planes of his face, and it emanated from his body in an impossible aura. Kalen was much better at hiding it. In his impeccable dark blue suit, with his fierce expression and unbothered air, he could have been on his way to a meeting with the director of Ironside, or he could have been staring down a waning Sigma who just happened to be his half-bonded mate. He gave nothing away.

“Is everyone here?” she asked as Cooper checked his phone, frowned, and made a hurried exit—through a door built into the wall at the back of the staircase. It was protected by a keypad and was practically invisible after Cooper vanished through it, the door sliding seamlessly back into place along the wall.

“Everyone is here,” Mikel affirmed, his slightly mismatched eyes fixed to her face. “I just messaged them on the dorm tablet—they should be down in a moment. They’re quite worked up over the fancy new dorm, so you may get an enthusiastic greeting. Brace yourself.”

“Illy!” The bellow came from the top of the stairs—her only warning before Cian was barrelling toward her in a blur of tattoo-patterned skin and golden hair unravelling in a silky flow from the bun it had been tied into.

He landed before her and swept her into a tight hug, his nose pressing to her neck, a small, almost imperceptible sound grating from his throat. His arms wrapped so far around her that his fingers dug into her stomach. He made her feel tiny.

“Have you all grown?” she managed to choke out as soon as he set her down, holding her back at arms-length, his fingers curling around her shoulders.

He had several new tattoos, including a very complex and complicated weave of designs that climbed up his neck. He also now had a thin black piercing in his left brow, and a black ring hooked into the side of his lower lip.

“Probably.” He shrugged, his grin coy. “You look terrible, doll.”

“Thanks.” She tried to elbow him, but he dodged out of the way and slid behind her, grabbing her up again and sticking her arms to her sides.

“It’s giving sibling energy,” Moses said dryly, his expression deadpan as he descended the stairs, his stormy eyes dark with scepticism as he eyed Cian and Isobel.

“You shut your mouth,” Cian snapped at the other Alpha, though his tone was light. “You can’t be the official surrogate of your sibling.”

“I’m pretty sure Bellamy is her official surrogate, isn’t that right, Carter?” Moses reached the bottom of the staircase and leaned back against the marble post at the end of the handrail, crossing his arms and arching a brow at her.

She couldn’t help the grin that tugged at her, a sense of strange relief spreading through her at the casual, sarcastic way Moses had greeted her. It was just so … him. And … she supposed she had missed him.

His lips twitched in response to her wobbly smile. He pushed off the post and stalked towards her. Cian released her, moving to whisper something to Theodore.

Moses pulled her into a quick, almost gruff hug, before stepping back and flicking off her hood. “Ah,” he said, tugging the bill of her cap. “Another layer.”

She brushed his hand away and he moved to join Theodore and Cian’s conversation, leaving her to face the three men who were descending the stairs after him.

Elijah and Gabriel took each step in unison, Niko a step ahead of them. They were all wearing workout shorts and active shirts, sneakers on their feet. She felt a slow flush descending over her features and nervously tugged at her face mask to make sure her reaction was concealed. Usually, Elijah and Gabriel liked to dance in loose-fitting clothing, like sweats and overlarge shirts, so they must have been preparing for a different kind of physical activity. She was finding it hard to look into any of their faces with so many muscles on show, and the way they were taking the stairs two at a time had a lot of those muscles twitching and bunching. The workout pants were just tight enough to show off perfectly sculpted thighs, and Niko’s shirt bounced as he leapt down the last two steps, flashing her a few inches of a delicious stack of abdominal muscle.

She swallowed, flicking her gaze between them.

“Puppy.” Gabriel yanked her facemask down, tucking it beneath her chin. “Morning.”

“Morning,” she squeaked. She had grown so much in confidence since befriending the Alphas, but suddenly, after so long away from them, she was devolving into the timid Sigma of her first year.

She blamed the workout clothes. Bellamy often wore them when he visited the gym in her father’s building, but he never looked like that. Bellamy just looked like a normal guy, not like the kind of guy who made normal guys cry themselves to sleep every night.

“How was your flight?” Niko came to stand beside Gabriel, the beautiful meld of his greenish-brown eyes striking as he grinned at her. “Need some help unpacking? These two hate it when I work out with them anyway. Makes them feel so inferior.”

“She needs time with a real surrogate,” Elijah stated calmly, his frosty eyes categorising her features with an almost calculating glint flashing in the cold depths before he blinked it away, his fingers lighting beneath her chin, tilting her face up further for his inspection. “After all that time with Bellamy, you must be suffering,” he murmured. “You’re used to being surrounded by our energy. You basically went decaf for summer break.”

She shuddered. “I could never.”

His lips curled into a half-smile, his hand dropping back to his side. “No … so you should organise to spend some time with one of your surrogates before you unpack.”

He wasn’t telling her—he was giving her an opening to do what she needed and explaining it for the cameras at the same time. Minimising it. Making it no big deal.

“She already has,” a gravelled voice declared—not from the stairs, this time, but from behind her.

She began to turn. “Hey?—”

Oscar had reached her before she had even managed to turn fully, and he swooped down and tossed her over his shoulder before she could even get a good look at his face.

“Hey!” She thumped his back, but she was so weak he likely didn’t even feel it.

“Hey back at you, rabbit.” He was taking the steps two at a time, making her head spin dizzily. He turned when he was at the half landing where the steps branched off to either side, spinning around to face the others. “I’m on Sigma surrogate duty.”

“Well, that’s that sorted.” Elijah’s dry reply held the tiniest inflection of humour and relief—just enough to tell her that he was acting because if he had responded naturally, it would have been without inflection whatsoever.

“Did you draw the short straw?” she teased, keeping her voice light and casual—like she was friends with the most terrifying Alpha on academy grounds, instead of half-bonded to him and more relieved than she had ever been in her life to see him. She was trying and failing to prop herself up as Oscar strode across the mezzanine and into one of the rooms lining the balcony.

“You guessed it,” he said, just as light and casual as her, even though he was kicking the door to the room closed behind him.

Cameras in here, too, then.

He slid her down his body but didn’t set her on her feet, instead spinning to sit her on the surface of a dresser. She jolted with the shock of it, throwing out her hands against the polished wooden surface to steady herself as he wavered a few inches from her knees, his fingers trailing down the thin material covering her thighs, drifting away as he reached her knees, his hands clenching before he shoved them into his pockets.

“You want to shower before you nap?” He took half a step away from her, the dark pools of his eyes heating as they swept down over her, before turning away.

He seemed on edge. Evasive, almost.

The increased level of surveillance must be making him uncomfortable.

“Y-yeah,” she croaked, clearing her throat. “Wow … this room is nice.” She could have been sitting in a broom closet for all she noticed.

Too awkward.

She tried again, casting her eyes around and taking in no details. “How … um … how was your break?”

“It was a lot more interesting than yours,” he returned, his expression twitching. “Bellamy really is a wet noodle, isn’t he?”

Oscar turned and strode across the room before she could reply, pushing open a heavy door and revealing a glimpse of a marble-coated bathroom, stacked with boxes. “You can’t shower until we’ve unpacked this shit.”

He stalked back to her, and she quickly held out her hand when she saw the intent in his eyes. “You don’t have to carry me everywhere. I’m jetlagged and I need a nap. I’m not dying.”

She ended the false statement with a light laugh, but her breath caught at the end and his head shook, just barely. Just an inch to either side.

“Surrogates are supposed to spoil their … people,” he said gruffly, gathering her into his arms. “I’m worried about how you survived with the wet noodle. You’re supposed to be one of us, a Sigma-Alpha, so you need to be strong.”

He carried her into the bathroom, set her on the marble counter, kicked the door shut and was suddenly pushing her legs apart and tugging her right up against his body.

No cameras in here, then.

“Let’s play some music while we unpack,” he said, yanking his phone out of his pocket and stabbing his thumb at the screen a few times before tossing it onto one of the boxes by the door.

And then he was pressing tightly against her again, whipping off her facemask. He gripped the neck of her hoodie and ripped it apart, his strength sending a tendril of fear down her spine, which in turn made her stomach burn with desire. The sunglasses tumbled from her pocket and into the sink with all his rough handling.

It was something Oscar seemed to be particularly skilled in—simultaneously scaring and arousing her.

“Sorry,” he rasped, tearing the hoodie the rest of the way off and tossing it to the ground. His hands pushed beneath her loose shirt, settling around her naked waist, his fingers digging in, his forehead dropping to hers.

He had his eyes closed, his body vibrating with tension.

“Are you ok—” she started to ask, but his eyes suddenly flew open, and his mouth crashed down on hers.

He pulled back almost instantly, licking his lips, staring at her mouth. “I should have asked.” His words were the lowest growl.

“You have my permission not to ask,” she reassured him.

He tilted his head, a dark curl falling into his eyes, the pupils blown out. “You don’t want me to be gentle with you? Aren’t you sick? Weak?”

“Desperate,” she countered, heat flooding into her cheeks. She didn’t have the luxury of feeling shy. She was desperate. Her entire body arched toward him, a sob building up in her throat at how close he was, how much his scent dug into her pores, and how much he wasn’t touching her.

His chest rumbled, his head lowering again to hover his mouth over hers. “Desperate girls beg.”

Lust was making her stupid, convincing her that the darkness in him was everything she needed.

“Good Alphas make me.” The words were almost a whine, her hands tangling in his shirt. She knew what she was asking for, but she didn’t really know. She just wanted to push him, to get as much from him as she could. There was some incredibly fucked-up part of her that recognised the man between her thighs as an Alpha and sensed, on an instinctual level, that only his Alpha aggression would temper the need bubbling in her blood.

A definite growl reverberated through his body this time. He expelled a harsh breath, his lips moving to her ear. “I swore to them I could do this without tearing into you.”

“No,” she whimpered, trying to move against him. “Tear into me.”

“Carter.” Her name was a sharp warning, his hand flashing to her neck, peeling her off his body and pressing her back to the mirror. “I really need you to not talk like that while I’m this close to the edge.”

She tried to pull his hand away, but his eyes darkened, his grip tightening. Her stomach swooped low, her thighs pressing against his hips. His nostrils flared, like he could smell how damp she was growing.

“I’m supposed to be rubbing your fucking temples and telling you about how this place is recording every goddamn breath we take.”

“I’m not stupid,” she huffed. “I noticed.”

“I’m supposed to be checking if you’re okay with Cooper.”

She immediately released his wrist, but instead of backing off her, his stare only grew more intense, his jaw flexing.

“Scrap that,” he grunted. “You don’t get to think about that corpse when I have my hands on you.” His palm slid to the back of her neck, and he hauled her mouth back to his.

His kiss was hungry, impatient, and angry. He didn’t touch her like she was fading away and might crumble at the slightest pressure from his fingertips. He touched her like she was a clay silhouette, tough enough to withstand his firm pressing, kneading, and moulding. His tongue was a vicious thrust into her mouth, both of his hands gripping her head, forcing her into the angle he needed.

As soon as his punishing kiss had her squirming again, he pulled back, breathing ragged. He hauled her off the counter with one arm, his free hand tearing her tights and panties down her legs, and then he was setting her back onto the counter, gathering the hem of her shirt and pushing it up to bare her stomach.

“First of all,” his voice was a low, grating sound, “there are cameras everywhere except the closets, the bathrooms, Kalen’s office and room, and Mikel’s office and room. And when I say cameras, I mean cameras and microphones. They’re capturing every angle, every conversation.” He tugged at his fly and suddenly she was staring at his cock. A dark caramel colour, smooth and long, with a wide mushroom head. He fisted it, and it throbbed, the veins growing thick. “I need it wet, baby.”

The sudden switch of topics had her head spinning.

His fingers were at her chin, coaxing her forward, pulling her into a trance. She had gone months feeling empty and disconnected, sapped of colour and life, and part of that had been a side effect of being parted from her incomplete bonds, but part of it was just … them, and who she was when she was with them.

With Oscar, she could be reckless. She could explore her boundaries and play with the darkly bubbling desire that she barely dared to think about in her more sensible moments. Amongst the Alphas, there always seemed to be someone she could trust, someone who would support her, someone who would protect her, someone who was thinking about her best interests, and someone who was challenging her to do better and to be a better version of herself. They formed a safety net around her that allowed her to explore herself and the world around her in a way she never had before.

Being away from them, she hadn’t changed or reverted to that shy, timid, terrified version of herself, but she had become hollow, deprived of feeling or sensation.

Perhaps that was the bond magic at work, dulling her senses when her mates weren’t around, or perhaps it was simple Alpha magnetism. Maybe it was just them. Or maybe it was the way they mixed with her.

Whatever it was, having it again was making her dizzy and heady, her skin tingling all over. Oscar was barely even brushing her chin with his fingertips, but she followed the suggestion of his touch as he pulled her head down like a magnet, until she was bent at the waist and his dick was anointed with her shaky breaths. He brushed her lips with his thumbs, and she opened them, allowing him to push in, the thick head of his erection making her mouth stretch.

If they keep growing …

Fucking hell.

She was going to die a virgin or die in the process of losing it.

Oscar groaned softly and pushed himself in further. “Get it as wet as you can, Sigma.”

She wiggled her tongue until it was flat along the underside of his steely flesh, turning her eyes up to blink at him as tears gathered in the corners of her lashes from the strain of opening her throat to him.

His thumbs stroked along the corners of her eyes, catching her tears, and he throbbed inside her mouth, his eyes growing impossibly dark, transforming him into that severe, cold, wrathful visage that stalked through the shadows of the Ironside Show, terrorising people with the suggestion of his presence alone.

He brought his thumb to his mouth, licking the tear he had captured and pushing suddenly to the back of her throat, making her choke on him as he stared down at her calmly.

She blinked a stream of tears free, and he tried to force himself deeper, strangely fixated by the salty droplets racing down her cheeks, and then suddenly he pulled out, lifting her up and pressing her back to the mirror with a hand on her chest. He pulled her legs up, cinching her thighs together and holding them locked with one of his hands, the span of his grip managing to capture her legs together just above her knees.

“Don’t try to tease me again, and I’ll make sure I leave this bathroom with your claim all over me. Nod for me, baby.”

She bobbed her head up and down, still locked in her overwhelmed feelings, drowned out by an ocean of sensations. She could feel the crackle of energy in the air, enough to raise the hairs on her arms. She could smell him. His aroused scent was a sweet, subtle poison. It hung in the air like a cloud of nectar, reminding her of honeysuckle and warm sugar melting on the tongue. It threatened to lull her into a daze, to lay her down and close her eyes, and do wicked things to her as she dreamed.

There was nothing comforting about it.

“We’re supposed to be treating you like a little dorm sister that we protect and love in a platonic way,” Oscar snarled, feeding his cock between her tightly pressed thighs, right against where she was damp and throbbing and wishing to be filled—but he only thrust against her, enjoying the slide of her slickened flesh. “We wanted to wait until you were better and could stay awake long enough to discuss everything, but with the increased surveillance—” He grunted, squeezing her thigh. “Are you paying attention, Carter?”

She was staring at the head of his cock as it pushed between her thighs, pressing into the soft skin of her stomach. He rolled back and dug into her skin again, leaving a drop of stickiness against her stomach.

“Uh,” she managed. “Ye—” The word choked off on a whine, which had his jaw clenching. She tried again, recalling Moses’ joke from earlier, now realising how deliberate it was. “Uh, sibling energy?”

“Yeah, something like that.” Oscar sounded distracted now, one hand still cinching her legs together above her knee, the other gripping her thigh so tightly she was sure he was forming bruises.

“Like this?” she asked, a small giggle falling out of her throat.

“Not like this.” He slapped the side of her thigh lightly. “Fuck … if they find out this is how I settled your bond, there’s going to be a fight.”

“Y-you love … fighting.” Her hips rolled up, seeking more friction as she neared orgasm.

“Do I sound disappointed?” He reached for her shirt, using it to haul her off the mirror.

She steadied herself against the counter, and he pulled the shirt over her head, his eyes lingering on her bra. She wanted to be confident and sure of herself, to whip it off and watch him lose control, but she was unsure. He was just placating the bond, wasn’t he? This wasn’t the passionate collision of two lovers coming together after months apart, desperate to taste and feel each other again.

This was … a type of claiming.

This wasn’t normal.

“Stop overthinking it.” He hooked a finger into her bra and drew her closer before switching his grip to her chin and lifting her face to his. He tasted her shaky exhale as the new angle dug the head of his cock right against where she needed it most.

He kissed her sweetly, keeping her anchored there, his hard flesh grinding, grinding, until her head was spinning and her body was spiralling, hooked into a trembling release that had a sob building in the back of her throat.

His grip on her leg wavered and her thighs broke apart, hooking around his hips. He took hold of his erection, stroking it as she fell back, her eyes dragging down to his hand.

“You’re covering me,” his tone was husky, wavering at the point of control. “Is this enough?”

She bit her lip, watching as his dusky skin was covered with her glistening essence. Something inside her purred, pleased with the sight, her lungs expanding as she deliberately drank deep of their combined perfume—something she could only experience when her scent mixed closely with one or more of theirs.

Her head bobbed, her eyes wide, her blood singing. Yes, that was enough. That was what she wanted to see.

He licked his lower lip, a distinctly male satisfaction briefly burning in his eyes before he began to tuck himself away. Despite the pleased rumble emanating from his throat, she could also feel the slightest spark of emotion spiking against her chest, too subtle for her to label.

She caught his wrist. “Is it enough for you?” She hadn’t asked any of them how the separation had affected them—not because she didn’t care, but because until the moment she felt Kilian and Theodore surrounding her, it had felt like she was treading water, every molecule in her body focussed unwaveringly on just being okay and making her way back to them.

“This isn’t about me,” Oscar said, gently removing her grip on him and securing himself back into his pants.

“The bond is about all of us,” she countered, slipping to the edge of the counter, strength flooding into her body and brightening her vision. She wanted to reach out to him, but his body language was suddenly closed off, a shutter falling over his expression, his jaw clenched so tightly it made her wince.

“I can’t …” He considered her, a dark spiral of emotion twisting in the shadows of his eyes. “I don’t want to hurt you. Not when you’re so desperate from the bond that I can’t tell if you’ll regret this later or not.”

She nodded, chewing on her lip. “Okay.” She would have preferred to continue now, with the heady feeling of being attention-lavished by one of her mates making her usual sensibilities and hang-ups flee the room, but not if it made him uncomfortable.

His lips twitched like he might smirk at her. “Okay. Let’s unpack some of this shit and get you in the shower. Kalen wants to have a group meeting as soon as you’re strong enough.”

She hopped off the counter on wobbly legs, shooting out a hand to steady herself. Oscar shook his head, gripping her hips and hoisting her back up again, sitting her right on the edge.

“You just tell me where to put things,” he ordered, lingering like he didn’t know how to step away again.

She frowned. “Sorry, I thought … I felt better. It was just a head rush.”

“Last time you deprived the bond and then overloaded it with affection, you passed out. We need to get you into bed. You should feel better in a bit.”

“Oscar?”

“Mm?” he grunted, lifting his fingertips from her bare hips, one at a time, like he was forcibly removing each one.

“Er, I kind of need my clothes back.”

“My instinct is to say no.” He pressed those retreating fingertips back down again, digging them in stubbornly. “I’m not cut out for this delicate nonsense.” His head lowered, his sharp teeth nipping at her bottom lip. “They’re testing me.”

“Did you pass?” she whispered.

He groaned, pushing back from her. “For now,” he spat, spinning and fishing her clothes from the floor. He pushed them into her lap and then fell back against the wall, cupping himself through his pants, a look of pain on his face as he stared at her.

“Hurry.” He delivered the word like a warning. “Do you need help? For the love of god, just say no.”

She didn’t answer him at all, instead slipping off the counter again to rapidly dress. Her hoodie was ruined, but she fished out the jewel from the pocket, curling her fist protectively around it, shivering slightly at the warmth it shot up her arm.

“Sit,” Oscar ordered, pointing to the counter again.

She slid back onto it, glancing down at her jewel and freezing, opening her fingers from their protective clasp. It was no longer red, but a pale, rose-tinged gold.

“It changed,” she muttered as Oscar drew close again, realising what she was holding.

He touched the warm, smooth surface, blunt fingertips tracing the faceted sides. “When did it change?”

“I don’t know … sometime after I landed in Paris, I guess?”

“Better take a picture and send it to the others.”

She fished her phone from the pocket of her tights and took a picture of the blushing jewel in her palm, sending it to the group chat.

Isobel: It changed colour. I think it’s a little warmer too.

She tilted her head, watching Oscar tear open a box and begin piling things into the cupboard beneath the sink. It was awkward to carry on after what they had just done—especially with the thickness still outlined in his pants, making him grimace as he knelt to stack products on the lower shelf.

“The hell kind of shampoo is this?” he grumbled. “Damn jars are tiny and there are a hundred of them. What happened to putting shampoo in bottles?” He squinted at one of the labels. “Russian amber?” One of his dark brows inched up, and he speared a look at her.

She held up her hands in supplication, keeping the gem anchored to her palm with her thumb. “I didn’t pack any of this stuff. I didn’t choose that.”

His stare dug into her before lowering again. He flicked the jar over, his other brow twitching up at the price sticker on the bottom. “A hundred and sixty?” He held the jar between his thumb and pointer finger, pinching it to make it look minuscule. He tossed it into the cupboard and then started on the second row of jars. These ones were gold.

“Imperial gold masque?” he asked. “Is this still for your hair?”

She fiddled with the jewel in her lap, a laugh threatening to form no matter how hard she bit her lip.

Oscar was rambling.

“Oh, this one has literal gold dust in it,” he said, now openly scowling at the new batch of product he had uncovered. “Elixir of Opulence,” he drawled sarcastically. “Radiant diamond infusion face mask. With cactus extract and powdered diamond.” He snorted. “Just when I think I’ve seen it all. What’s next? A crystal dildo?”

He glanced up from the box, catching her eye, his expression uncomfortably blank, terrifyingly without any hint as to whether that was supposed to be a dig or not. She was sure he had gone through her bag the year before and had seen—or more accurately smelt—the crystal Cian and Moses had used … with her? On her? In her?

“That’s … absurd,” she said, when he just continued to stare at her, waiting for a response.

He narrowed his eyes. “Right.” Spinning, he opened the door to the bathroom and threw a few of the emptied boxes into the other room, giving the cameras a brief glimpse of him surrounded by boxes and crouched before her bathroom cabinet before he slammed the door again.

“Did you guys get any side effects from the bond?” she asked, holding out her hands when he opened a box full of makeup and skincare products.

He passed the smaller box into her hands. “Extreme restlessness, an increase in aggression and aggressive behaviour, and general moodiness.” He said it all in a robotic, droning voice before poking his dark head out from the cupboard and giving her a bored look. “At least that’s what Elijah and Gabriel put in their report.”

“They wrote a report?” She fought back another chuckle but ultimately failed, and the sound of amusement spilled free.

“They sure fucking did, and they’ll be writing one on your experience over the summer as soon as they get the details out of you,” Oscar groused, shoving back from the cabinet as he finished with the products.

He began piling a small selection of them into the shower, and Isobel let her eyes wander for the first time since entering the bathroom. The floor was the same polished limestone as the rest of the dorm, but there were several thick, white circular rugs edged in cotton filigree, creating beautiful patterns against the stone. The sink was a delicate porcelain bowl, the faucet curved into the shape of a swan’s neck, brushed in gold, the taps made of glass. Small porcelain vases were set into the wall on either side of the mirror, housing delicate crystal flowers.

There was a claw-foot porcelain tub resting beneath a window—which thankfully had etched glass, impossible to see anything more than mottled colour through. She really should have checked that earlier, preferably before Oscar began to strip her.

There seemed to be a large shower alcove, but she couldn’t really see into it, since it was mostly tucked away behind marble walls, with only the entrance visible, where alcove shelving housed rows of fluffy, terracotta-coloured bath linen.

“Everything’s ready,” Oscar announced, striding to the door and snatching up his phone. “We’ll discuss this in the group meeting, but … we think it’s best if you keep the same public surrogates. Me, Cian, and Kilian. For now.”

“And later?” she asked, wondering at the inflection in his tone.

“We’ll claim that our schedules were so busy we were forced to add more surrogates into the mix to ease up the pressure on the current surrogates.”

“Why do it that way?”

Oscar shrugged like he didn’t care either way. “Public approval. We need everyone to love you, not want to tear your hair out.”

Or her light out.

“Right. That makes sense.”

“So …” His fist tightened on the crystal doorknob. “Cian or Kilian?”

“Huh?” she blinked at him.

“After you shower. You need someone to nap with you. On camera.”

“Oh.” She felt fire flaming up her neck and into her cheeks. “Ah …”

A small shudder travelled over his body like he was visibly shedding a violent feeling—odd, because she hadn’t felt anything from him. “Forget I asked.” He bared his teeth. Maybe he was trying to smile. “I’ll let them fight over it. I’m going to leave now.”

He looked like he was about to crush that door handle into crystal dust. Another tremor seemed to ripple over him.

“As soon as you say goodbye,” he tacked on, a demand suddenly blooming in his eyes.

She approached him hesitantly, her fingers shaking as she reached for his shirt. When he didn’t move or even so much as twitch, she flattened her palm to his hard stomach, using his body to anchor herself.

“Thank you for helping me,” she whispered, pressing her cheek to his chest, his oleander scent so strong that she released a ragged breath of relief, her eyes fluttering closed. His fingers threaded in her hair, flexing against the back of her head.

“Welcome,” he grunted, back to his monosyllabic self. “Shower, rabbit.” He peeled away from her, turning off the music on his phone and slipping from the bathroom.