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Chapter 16

Pepper Vines

By dinner, the house has developed a mood.

Theo has checked the new camera feeds seven times. The gate, the dock, and the east access glow in small squares on the monitor Roman configured, and the same feeds are open on Theo’s phone. Every time the east camera flickers from rain, his shoulders rise a fraction.

Ezra sits sideways on the couch with one bare foot tucked under him, pretending to sketch while making the same line over and over. His wrist fades when he forgets to keep his fingers near the mug of hot tea I insisted he hold.

I’m at the dining table with a plate of baked pasta, the route stone, Ezra’s printed photos, and a growing urge to become a pout-pout fish. My ability to cope feels thin after the day we’ve had.

Theo comes out of the kitchen with another glass of water and sets it beside me.

“I have one already,” I say.

“You’ve barely touched it, and you’ve been talking to yourself since dinner.”

“I’m under many forms of intellectual pressure.”

“You need to eat and take a breath.”

I make a noise that can only be interpreted as a no.

“Little rabbit.”

The endearment lands low in my belly because Theo says it as though he intends to do something about it. His voice is calm, but the alpha under it has weight. Warm weight. The kind that makes my omega want to stretch out and purr on a sun-kissed porch.

Unfortunately, I’m also highly annoyed.

I point my fork at him. “Do not ‘little rabbit’ me while performing nutritional surveillance.”

Ezra’s pencil stops.

Theo’s mouth shifts. “Nutritional surveillance?”

“I said what I said.”

“I warmed dinner.”

“You warmed dinner, filled my water, checked the cameras, checked the locks, checked the cameras again, stared at the east feed on your phone like you could intimidate it into behaving, and then gave me the look.”

“What look?”

“The one that says you’re one anxious thought away from wrapping us in blankets and tucking us in a drawer.”

Ezra lifts his pencil. “For the record, I would prefer a shelf.”

“You’re both proving my point.” I set down my fork harder than necessary. “I’m overwhelmed. You’re alpha protection-grumbling. Ezra is making tragic art noises or deflecting jokes. This pasta has done nothing wrong, and we are ruining its evening.”

Theo looks at my plate, then at Ezra, then at me. “What do you need?”

That stops my next complaint before it reaches my tongue. He asks it simply, without defensiveness, as if my needs matter more than the instinct already rising in him.

My throat tightens. “I need us to feel like us again.”

Ezra’s gaze softens.

Theo lowers himself into the chair beside me. “Tell me how.”