Page 94 of Citius

“You,” Joaquin said, staring down the bigger alpha, the intensity of his gaze verging on a challenge, “can shut the fuck up. You opted out of our business a long time ago. We’re pack. You’re not. Just like you wanted.”

“But he’s been here before—across the hall.” Despite the scorn in his icy glare,Wyatt kept his distance from the more dominant trio of alphas in the living room. “Haven’t you?”

Cal chuckled, the sound almost unsettlingly mellow, belying the tension in his clenched fists. “Someone’s been playing detective.”

“Did you really think we wouldn’t notice?” Wyatt asked in a cutting tone, his sour pheromones doubling in intensity.

“What?” I blurted out, looking between them, my confusion mounting. “Notice what?”

“Yes,Charles, please enlighten us.” Joaquin leaned back, crossing one leg over the other, flicking the foot propped on his knee like the warning rattle of a cobra.

Why couldn’t I understand what they were talking about? Why couldn’t this pack ever have a straightforward conversation? What did any of this have to do with Cal? And why was I always the last to know?

My chest tightened, breaths turning into ragged gasps, black spots creeping into the corner of my vision.

Joaquin flinched as my panic surged through the bond. “It’s okay, Ipromise.” His voice softened, carrying the faintest whisper of a purr, and his thumb stroked over my bite mark again, but the gesture was less effective this time. “We’re just letting off a little steam—”

“A little?” Cal scoffed.

“Stop with the theatrics.” Owen’s voice cut the rising tension like a cold knife. “It appears the occupants of unit 601 are Morgan and Kelsey Van Daal.”

“Did you already know?” Joaquin asked archly.

“I had my suspicions.” What a classic Owen non-answer. He turned his attention to Cal and Wyatt. “Explain.”

“Could’ve figured it out ages ago,” Wyatt grumbled, hands somehow buried even deeper inside his pockets, kicking at the stair tread. “If any of you ever bothered to get the mail.”

“The mail?” Joaquin’s incredulous expression would have been comical if not for the anger shading his eyes.

I blinked, mirroring his disbelief. “All our bills are paperless.”

Owen’s eyelids flickered, the barest crack in his otherwise impassive mask. For anyone else, it would’ve been an eye roll. The man was trying—and failing—to spare our feelings.

“A proper answer, please.”

“The mailboxes are labeled. Van Daal isn’t a common surname…” Wyatt’s voice trailed off as Owen leveled him with a stony glare. His head sank between his massive shoulders like a kicked dog. “I recognized this place from photos Morgan posted online. I also know the guy you bought it from—her best friend. They go way back.Allthe way back. I didn’t think it matteredbecause, as far as I knew, none of you knew Morgan. Or any of her siblings, for that matter.”

I still didn’t understand. “But why didn’t you say anything when we were planning the housewarming?”

“I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it,” Wyatt said, eyes fixed on the ground, his posture deflating the longer he spoke.

“But why?” I pressed, frustration bleeding into my voice. I needed a better answer.

Wyatt hesitated, then mumbled, “Reasons.”

“Didn’t want to drag us into your romantic mess, huh?” Joaquin asked with a dark edge to his voice.

“What’sthatsupposed to mean?” Wyatt’s jaw tensed, inflating his muscled neck.

Blood pounded in my ears. The room suddenly felt too small to contain four alphas. What was going on?

“You see, babe,” Joaquin drawled, flashing his toothiest, mosttroublesome smile. “Wyatt once had a date lined up with the legendary Miss Montreal—”

“Shut up!” Wyatt’s pheromones exploded, flooding the room with a suffocating wave of boxwood. It was like being trapped in a closet with three dozen rage-scented candles burning too hot and fast.

His fury prompted an equally intense response from my mate, Joaquin’s heavily spiced scent rolling over me like a protective shield. I might have drowned without it.

“HedumpedMiss Montreal,” Joaquin continued, his demeanor maddeningly casual, undeterred by the boxwood bomb detonating eight feet away. “And has regretted it ever since. Screwed him right up. Didn’t it?”

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