Chapter Forty-Five

Eve

"Talk about short notice," Riley mutters, carrying fresh sheets out of the linen cupboard.

Given that Thorn's is the only bedroom on the ground floor, Baxter decided we'd clear it out for my sister. Thorn took a few minutes to gather his things, saying nothing, and chuffed at my appreciative kiss. So I guess he's okay with it?

Or as okay as any of them can be.

Lucille's expression remains impassive as Red and Marcus lug in her bags. "Where do you want them?" Marcus grunts.

She turns her nose up like she's about to ignore him, so I answer instead, "Thorn's old room, please."

They wander off, casting Lucille sour looks.

"Lucie—" I start, then, at her sharp look, correct myself, "Lucille. I–I know it's scary being somewhere new, and so far away from the city, but my alphas are only trying to help." So quit giving them the cold shoulder .

"Don't patronize me," she returns.

Before I can backtrack, she storms off to her new room, nudging past Red, Riley, and Marcus on their way out. The door shuts firmly behind her.

I flinch. Okay. That stung.

Riley growls under her breath. "You okay, omega?"

"I don't care if she's a dick to us," Red says, "but if she talks that way to you again, I'll—"

"Red." I squeeze his hand. "Please? She's just settling in. She'll … warm up."

All three of my alphas stare at me, not buying it. But Red laces his fingers through mine, so at least I know it's not me they're upset with.

***

My alphas were right to doubt me.

Lucille does not warm up.

Apart from dinner time, we barely even see her. She must get up to shower, or stretch, or some thing, sometime, but I've never heard water running. Never so much as scented her during the day.

"She moves around at night," Thorn assures me when I bring it up. "Waits until we're all asleep."

I scowl. "Why?" And how does he know that ?

He just shrugs, and Red steps in with a leer. "Probably to avoid the big scary Maddox alphas."

He jokes, but it might not be that far off. Lucille doesn't know my alphas like I do. She only knows the story she's been fed by Pack Carson—big, scary rogues. Outcasts, and for good reason.

I decide enough is enough. We need to sit down and talk this out, so there's no doubt left in her mind just how amazing my alphas—the parents to my pup—can be.

Marcus arms me with fresh-baked croissants and a kiss on the cheek before I march myself to Lucille's door. There's no light coming through the crack at the bottom … could she still be asleep?

Tentatively, I knock. "Lucille?"

She doesn't answer for a good few seconds. Then, faintly, " Wait ." The door opens just enough to reveal her glare. "What?"

Don't be a coward, Eve, I tell myself. It doesn't matter that I've been intimidated by my oldest sister as long as I've been alive. Things are different now. Carson has betrayed us both, and the only thing left to do is support each other. Lucille is not a god—she's just another omega, like me.

Though she might actually slap me if I said so .

"Brought you breakfast." I hold up the plate. "I–I thought maybe we could talk?"

"Not hungry."

Really, I should've seen this coming—I know better than anyone that a dropped omega doesn't have much of an appetite.

Then she says, "But talking's fine."

"Oh. G–great. Would—I mean, does now work, or—?"

"No." Her lip twitches like I've said something distasteful. "I need to shower."

I just stand there, somewhat dazed, as Lucille disappears back into her room, reappearing with a change of clothes. She shoulders past me, though somehow even that crude gesture is full of grace.

Pack Bishop were idiots to let you go, I think to myself for the hundredth time.

A snarl from one of my alphas distracts me. I turn to see Thorn at the end of the hall. Lucille does her best to square up to him, but she's at every disadvantage, her body shrinking against his dark, hulking frame.

"Touch her again," he warns in a voice that even scares me, "and I'll throw you out myself."

Lucille glowers, but I don't miss the shudder rolling down her spine.

"Alpha," I sigh as she slams the bathroom door behind her, "you scared her."

Thorn strides up to me, his eyes raking my body for injury. "Good."

"Maybe you hadn't realized, but she's scared of you enough as it is. No need to go overboard."

"Pregnant mate." He gestures to my stomach. "Omega pup." His lip curls. "She got off lightly."

There's no getting through to him. If it's even possible, all of my alphas have undergone another spike in protective impulses. Maybe it's because we have a visitor at the den—probably the first in years. Or maybe, as Thorn graciously pointed out …

I rub my stomach with my free hand, trying to sooth the little pup inside. They still haven't moved, but I can tell they're uneasy.

Little omega pup.

Suddenly Thorn's hand is on my face. "You're pale."

I nuzzle into his palm. "I'm okay."

He takes the croissant from my plate, breaking off a piece. I don't even try to argue as he feeds it to me—god knows Lucille didn't want any.

While she's showering, I get set up in the living room. Marcus pre-prepared some sweet treats (when he had time to make them, I have no idea) and Red carries out a jug of lemonade (which is apparently ‘too heavy' for pregnant omegas). I doubt Lucille will touch either, but maybe she'll appreciate the gesture.

If she's finally ready to talk, then let's talk. Properly.

An hour goes by. I try to read my book, but like always, the pup disagrees, making my eyes heavy.

"Omega." Riley wanders out from the office, idly scanning for Lucille. "You seem sleepy. Want me to take you up to your nest?"

I shake my head. "Need to talk to Lucille first."

"She hasn't come out yet?"

I bite the inside of my lip, looking away.

Riley scowls. She power-walks across the living room, headed straight for Lucille's bedroom, when I all but chirp, "Wait! Don't."

My alpha stares at me incredulously. "But she—"

"I know. She … takes a while to get ready. Always has." I smile. "It's fine, I don't mind."

Riley grumbles something that sounds like "I do " under her breath.

I manage to placate her, asking if she'll carry the jug of lemonade back into the fridge. It's dripping all over the coffee table—big, tepid beads. She returns to the office shortly after, but I know she'll be keeping an ear out.

Another hour passes. Should I go and check on Lucille? No … she wouldn't like that. Besides, this is probably a test to see how long she can keep me hanging before I break—either by siccing one of my alphas on her, or giving up altogether.

My head lolls, sleep heavy in my eyes.

A big hand on my shoulder startles me all the way awake. Baxter is staring down at me with a blend of curiosity and concern. "What're you still doing down here, little one? Isn't it time for your mid-morning nap?"

I blush. "I'm not a pup."

"You're carrying a pup," he reminds me.

He's got a point. But if I go upstairs now, I might miss Lucille altogether.

"Omega," Baxter says, lower. "How long have you been sitting here?"

I avoid his eye. "Not too long."

" Omega. "

There it is—that head alpha voice no-one can say no to. I sigh. "An hour. Maybe two."

"For Lucille?"

I nod wearily.

Even if I could stop him, I'm too embarrassed to try. He storms down the hall and pounds his fist against Lucille's door so hard I'm sure the whole den can hear it.

I don't hear her open the door, nor do I hear the words they exchange.

But in true head alpha fashion, Baxter gets the job done, briskly escorting Lucille to my side. Her white-blonde hair is still damp. The bags under her eyes are more discolored than I recall.

"Alright," Baxter announces. "Enough is enough. Lucille—" he gestures to a spot on the couch, "get comfortable." Then he locks eyes with me, his gaze so stern, so certain, that I feel secure for the first time all morning.

He says, "It's time we had a talk."