Chapter Forty

Marcus

They're all smiling. Even Thorn.

His earlier broodiness about having to leave the den and visit Almo's Depot of all places has vanished, replaced by shrewd adoration. Watching Eve like his life depends on it.

Watching him , I realize that's the face of an alpha who's discovered his true calling.

I thought my true calling was medicine. Not as a doctor, as my parents so desperately wanted, but a nurse—someone who could enjoy the intimate, everyday connections with their patients. Who made people feel safe, when they were at their most vulnerable.

But if I can't even do that for my omega, what the hell am I good for?

They're almost finished constructing the crib in Baxter's room. Between Riley's and Baxter's expertise, no-more hands are needed, but Red can't help himself from trying.

"Ah!" Riley snaps. "Red—other screwdriver. No— other other screwdriver."

"Maybe try giving me the actual names, and I'll find them," he snaps back.

"If you knew the names, I would."

"Who says I don't?"

"Please," she scoffs. "You wouldn't know a spanner if it hit you in the ass."

Baxter rumbles with benign disapproval, casting his gaze between them. Eve just giggles.

"No-one's hitting you in the ass, alpha," she says to Red. "I promise."

I honestly don't know what makes him happier—that she called him ‘alpha', or talked about his ass, but either way, he's grinning like an idiot.

The sight of it, of all of it, is enough to warm my heart. But with that warmth comes an unsettled twinge, like something's out of place. It's been that way for weeks now—maybe even since before Eve's ligament scare.

"We did it!" Red suddenly exclaims, admiring the fully constructed crib at the foot of Baxter's bed.

" We ?" Riley returns.

He flashes her a crude gesture and she swings him into a headlock, ruffling his hair until he submits in fits of laughter.

Somehow Thorn floats in at exactly the right moment, steering Eve away from the chaos. She coos over the crib, running her fingers along its polished wooden edges, her eyes wide and sparkling. "It's beautiful," she sniffles.

Baxter purrs deep in his chest. "And this is just the first step, omega."

"What's next?" I push myself to ask, realizing it's been a while since I last spoke.

Eve cocks her head. "Toys?"

"And, you know," Riley says, "maybe some interior design." She gives Red a meaningful nudge.

"Hell yes," he lights right up. "We're talking new wallpaper, carpets, lighting, the whole nine yards. I'm gonna make this room so goddamn cute."

"And then so goddamn pup-proofed," Thorn mutters under this breath. Baxter rumbles with agreement.

As I stand there, basking in their enthusiasm, my heart gives that familiar twinge, and I finally realize what it is that's so out of place.

Me.

***

Hi, Mom. It's Marcus.

I know it's been a while, but I thought you might want to talk.

Let me know.

That was it. I figured, given Riley's okay-ish experience with her parents, I had the green light to try my hand with mine.

So far it's been nothing but more silence.

Really, I should've known better. Pinning my hopes on two absent parents while I'm already feeling ostracized from my current pack … not a smart move. No wonder my inner alpha has been aching.

I have the day off work—normally a blessing, given how much I'd rather be spending my time with Eve. But at this rate, I'm just going to end up meal-prepping for hours, alone, or—somehow, worse—with Eve fidgeting in her kitchen nest.

Look what you've done, my inner alpha snarls. She can't even stand to be alone with you.

And yet, she takes every opportunity to spend time with me. It's awkward, considering how little we actually speak, but she's here, and I'm here, and doesn't that mean we're going to be okay?

I'm rummaging through the pantry, seeing what I can make with the ingredients at my disposal, when Baxter enters the kitchen.

"Morning," he says. "You were up early."

"Hm?" I turn. "Oh, yeah. I wanted to get in a quick run." And to get out of the nest before my packmates jumped Eve's bones. Another fun after-effect of being Maddox's resident cockblock—I've lost the right to join in the action.

"A run." Baxter frowns. "That's not like you."

"No, it is not," I laugh tersely. Normally I leave the hardcore work-outs to my packmates; preferring a life of yoga, aerobics, and the occasional Pilates. "Guess I was feeling restless."

He hesitates, his hand on the fridge door. "How restless?"

"Enough to put myself through that cardio nightmare, at least." I lay some spices out on the bench and flash him an uneasy smirk. "Don't worry—it won't happen again."

He doesn't return my smile. For god's sake, Marcus, my inner alpha groans, now you're making your head alpha uncomfortable.

"You seem tense," he notes. "Is it your alpha?"

I just about stop in my tracks. I know Baxter's my head alpha, but does that also make him a mind reader?

"Um …" I swallow. "I'm not sure."

I'm worried he'll think I'm being needlessly withholding, but he seems neither pleased nor displeased by this answer. Instead, he rounds the kitchen bench and wordlessly asks for my hand. I give it to him, surprised to feel his fingers on my wrist, checking my pulse.

Something shifts in his stony expression, if just for a moment.

He says, "I think you'd better take it easy today."

I pull back, my body hardening with defensiveness. "I'm feeling okay."

"Good. Now go feel ‘okay' in bed."

It's not an order—not yet—but I'm not sure how he'll react if I refuse him again. My inner alpha is spinning. Head alpha angry at you? Head alpha worried? Talk back. No. Submit. No. Show your teeth—he's not the boss of you!

I have to stop and remind myself— That's exactly what he is. If my head alpha is telling me to go to bed, order or not, that's where I'm going.

No-one intercepts me on my way up the stairs. Instinctively, I turn left, heading for Eve's nest. That's when I hear the voices of my packmates filtering through—warm and adoring. My gut twists like I'm about to be sick, but at the same time … there's something lower. Hotter.

Something that makes my cock stand straight to attention.

Cursing under my breath, I hurry into my bedroom and shut the door.

"No," I whisper, glaring down at the tent in my pants. "Please, not now."

My pocket buzzes. I reach for it quickly, desperate for any distraction. The words on the screen make my heart plummet.

MOM

There is nothing to talk about.

Regards, Belinda

Belinda. Not ‘Mom'. Belinda.

I sink to the floor, feeling sick, and dizzy, and sweating uncontrollably. Feeling rage I barely recognize as my own. Feeling my alpha, and nothing, and no-one else.

Completely alone as I descend into rut.