I keep my voice steady. “Probably.”
She still doesn’t look at me. “Yours. Declan’s. Knox’s.” She says their names with a tinge of disgust I know cannot be the full truth of her feelings. I’ve seen the way she looks at them.
But there it is, nonetheless. Not a confession. Not surrender. But a start. A fragile trust. In us. In this fake little pack we’ve formed. In Ava-speak, that’s basically a love letter.
My chest goes tight, but I don’t make a big deal of it. I don’t tease. I don’t smirk. I just nod.
“We will take care of you,” I say. “No matter what.”
“Em,” Ava huffs, checking herself out of our chat. “What you’re doing to that poor thing is a war crime.”
With the easy laugh of someone who didn’t hear our conversation, Emily passes over her torch and custard.
Ava raises the fire like a white flag and caramelizes the custard, the sugar crackling into a perfect golden crust.
Emily looks up, her eyes light. “That smells amazing.”
“Thank you.”
Emily gives her a broad smile before gathering up the dirty pot and utensils.
As Emily turns toward the sink, Ava rolls her eyes and sets her perfect crème brûlée ramekin down with a softclink. “God help me, I’m going to end up feral, lust drugged, and locked in a room with two overhorny alphas.”
“Not locked,” I say quickly. “Just supervised. Attentively. With snacks.”
“Great,” she mutters. “Can’t wait.”
But she doesn’t sound angry anymore. She sounds resigned. Maybe even a little relieved.
“I want Emily there, too,” she adds, cheeks flushed but not from the torch. “If I’m going feral, I want someone there who knows how to talk to me without smelling like testosterone and on the verge of a rut.”
“I am sure she has impeccable crisis snacks.” I try to play it off, as if this confession isn’t a big deal. “I am certain she will also bring the handcuffs if desired.”
“Don’t tempt me,” Ava replies, too fast, then freezes as her own words hit her.
I grin happily but say nothing. Her cheeks are still pink. Her voice is firm, but I can hear the tiniest shake under it. She’s scared. She’s brave. And she’s trusting us to help her through what’s coming.
All of us.
39
EMILY
The second the suite door shuts behind us, Ava moves like she’s storming a battlefield, all tight lines and hard purpose. Like a general about to announce a war plan with Lucas and me right on her heels.
No snapping at the alphas for their attention. No dramatic sigh. No lead-in. “I’ll accept your help.”
Declan is standing near the balcony like he’s waiting to be interrogated by Homeland Security. Knox is slouched on the edge of the couch, flipping a bottle of water between his hands like he’s seconds from launching it into orbit. Lucas is beside me, weirdly still, which is how I know he’s trying very hard not to say the wrong thing.
And me?
I’m pretending not to be the overly-innocent beta in a room full of high-octane alpha energy, and my complicated history, and my precarious future. Thank God for Lucas. My beta buddy. I’d say the air is thick, but let’s be real, this is pre-heat tension. It’s practicallyviscous.
Gunner sits up with zero concern for the mood shift, tail wagging like he just came back from the world's most excitingwalk. He trots over to the couch and plops himself down at Knox’s feet. Declan doesn’t even look surprise, giving a resigned roll of his eyes before his focus shifts back to our trio by the doorway.
Declan straightens. “Ava?—”
She raises one hand, sharp as a butcher’s knife. “I’m not doing this twice, so everyone shut up and listen.”
