She pats my knee. “You’re not broken. You’re bonded.”
“But all three of them?”
“You think it’s strange?”
“I think it’s... intense. And impossible to manage.”
“Poly-pack bonds exist. They’re rare. But they’re not impossible.”
I blink at her. “Is that what this is?”
“It sure looks like it. The way they orbit you. The way your scent’s changed. You’re still adjusting, but your body’s already chosen.”
I stare out at the street, overwhelmed and somehow thrilled. “How do I survive this without climbing one of them every ten minutes?”
“You give in a little. And then you learn to ride the rhythm.”
“That’s poetic.”
“Maybe. Or maybe I’m just tired of pretending it’s not normal to be deeply in love with more than one person.”
I turn to her. “Your husbands?”
“Of course. My bondmates are older now, but I’m still so stupidly in love it’s embarrassing. It takes time and effort to exist outside that bubble, but it does get easier to navigate, and girl, it is so worth it in the end.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes, Cora. You know you can talk to me just about anything. I was once in your position, so I get it, but you are not alone. They care about you. I care about you. This is intense and it’s new, but it’s good—and we can talk about it anytime.”
“I think I’d love that.”
She smiles and bumps my shoulder. “And until then, we’ll go dancing. Just us girls.”
I grin. “This weekend?”
“Hell yes. But if your Alphas show up and steal you away, I expect you to at least buy me a croissant.”
“Deal.”
We head back inside, and the scent of my bondmates hits me all over again. I’m undone by it. Every cell alert. Every breath shallow.
Grace leans in. “Yeah. You’re screwed.”
I laugh, cheeks burning. And I wouldn’t trade a second of it.
34
JULIAN
I’ve barely slept.
My head’s been full of her—of the way she looked curled against me, mouth swollen from how many times I kissed her. The scent of her still lingers, even after five showers, a hundred distractions, a thousand half-formed sentences typed into this damn proposal.
I’ve been in my office for hours, hunched over the draft, trying to find a way to spin this change in direction without lighting a match to everything our father expects of me.
Brielle has stayed quiet, mostly. I know she’s irritated. I know what she wants from me.
The way she moves around the office, tight-lipped and restless, scent flaring hot with frustration—Omega pheromones as loud as a scream.