She feels it, too.
“So, if I get this right,” she says lightly, but not quite steadily, “this family just… collects dangerously attractive alphas on a lakefront estate?”
I grin. “You say that like it’s a problem.”
Rhys shifts beside me. “She’s still drying off, Corwyn. Try not to flirt her into heat.”
I stiffen slightly. Not out of shame, but because he’s right. That edge is there now, curling beneath her scent. Early signs. The kind no alpha would miss, and no omega would admit to.
Lila crosses her arms, eyeing both of us with something that’s not quite wariness, but definitely a sense of “what have I walked into?”
“I didn’t realize the Carver brothers came as a matched set.”
“We don’t,” Rhys says, standing now. He’s taller than me, broader, built like he could bend steel without thinking about it. “We’re not even related by blood.”
“Though we’re all dashingly handsome, I assure you,” I interrupt. Rhys continues like I didn’t say anything.
“But you’re welcome here, and you’re safe. That’s all you need to worry about tonight.”
Rhys’ voice is soft, but firm. Commanding without trying.
Lila relaxes visibly, and something twists in my chest.
She’s not like anyone I’ve met. There’s sharpness in her, but softness too—like she’s built her edges to protect something glittering underneath. That combination is rare and, judging from the air between us, dangerous.
She looks back and forth between us again, then sighs and rubs a hand over her face. “Okay. I’ve officially had the strangest day of my life.”
I chuckle. “Give it time. You haven’t met Tyler yet.”
Her eyes widen slightly. “Wait. Tyler Tyler?”
“You know him?” Rhys asks, brow raised.
Lila opens her mouth. Then closes it.
There’s a flicker of something—uncertainty, maybe even anger. Just for a second.
“No,” she says finally, too quickly. “Just… heard the name.”
Rhys doesn’t press. But I catch it and file it away, because something just changed.
But right now, she’s tired. Flushed. Barefoot and brave and trying not to stare too long at either of us.
“Come sit,” I offer, motioning toward the sofa. “We won’t bite.”
“Speak for yourself,” Rhys mutters, already heading toward the kitchen.
Lila hesitates, then drops into the corner of the couch with a low sigh. Misty, who has apparently followed her from the guest room, hops up beside her and curls against her thigh like they’ve known each other for years.
“Of course you like the feral cat,” I say, grinning.
“She found me,” Lila mumbles, scratching behind Misty’s ear.
“She’s been here four years,” I reply. “I’ve never seen her choose anyone before.”
“She has excellent taste,” Lila says.
I chuckle again, but there’s something deeper under my amusement now. A sense that this place is more than just a storm shelter.