It might still do.

  I slip on the blue-and-white dress the PR firm sent me. Their aim is to make me as nonthreatening as possible and “ready for camera love.” But I don’t know. I tame my hair into something resembling cute but controlled to give the impression that I, too, am somewhat disciplined. But at the last second, I think fuck that, and just leave it down. There’s nothing tame about cotton-candy colored hair.

  Eloise stands in the doorway to her bedroom. I’ve been hogging her full-length mirror for an hour. “You sure you’re ready for this, Emery?”

  I chuckle. “Not even a little.” I tuck the RSVP into the dress’s pocket like it’s a talisman against evil. “But I miss them.”

  Her gaze softens. “The fact Bastion went door to door looking for you is promising. A bit extreme, but promising. The look of relief on his face when I said you were here and safe…”

  Eloise trails off. It doesn’t require words.

  Wyatt was the first to say that he loves me. In hindsight, the timing of that post going out and the details of that post don’t make sense.

  Eloise smirks. “They’re worth it, I think. If they’ve sorted things out with Charlotte.” Then her lips form a thin line. “The press is a different beast all together.”

  “I don’t care about the press.” But I know at least Ranier cares about legacy so, unfortunately, the press matters.

  “That’s my girl.” Eloise hugs me so hard I almost drop my phone.

  The car my pack sent is not a limo but it does have tinted windows and a beta driver in a suit that costs more than my rent. He doesn’t say a word to me, just holds the door and waits as I climb in. My hands are shaking, so I clutch my purse like it might float away.

  The icy river carves a path through the city as we glide through. The bridges twinkle with lights strung along them. The event is in the old Opera Hall, which means marble, velvet, and an army of people who know exactly how much power every other person in the room wields. I have a name, now. I have a place in this ecosystem, even if it’s at the bottom of the food chain.

  The driver deposits me at the curb and gestures toward the red carpet. There are already people watching. They snap pictures and record with phones. I paste on my best “I am definitely emotionally exhausted” smile and walk the length of the carpet, heels clicking like gunshots. At the doors, a woman in a headset checks my name and ushers me inside.

  The lobby is a light show, full of mirrors and crystal, and the noise hits me like a wall. I spot Wyatt first, standing by the drinks table, already in deep conversation with a clutch of beta influencers. His hair is gelled into submission, and he’s wearing a suit in the world’s worst shade of pale green. He looks up and sees me, and for a second, the air shifts—like there’s an invisible tether between us that just yanked tight. I want to run, or laugh, or maybe both, but instead I calmly make my way over.

  Wyatt breaks away from his group, grabs two glasses of champagne, and meets me by a beautiful painted mural of wolves. “Emery, I’m so sorry. And so happy to see you here.” He offers me a glass of champagne in a peace offering.

  I take it and offer him a small smile. “It’s okay.”

  “It’s not,” he corrects. “I’ll never forgive myself for letting that happen. But it’s done now. All of it.”

  My brow creases. “What do you mean?”

  Wyatt looks around. This is hardly the place for this personal a conversation. But he doesn’t back down. “Royals Anonymous is gone. Deleted. I spoke to Charlotte as well and she won’t be a problem anymore.” He chuckles dryly. “My phone’s out too. Drowning at the bottom of the river.”

  My eyes go wide. “What?”

  His smile turns charming now. “Yeah. I’m honestly losing it a bit with the withdrawal.”

  Sure enough, his hands are shaking.

  I reach out to hold his free hand steady. “Wyatt…” I’m not sure what to say. Thank you is impersonal to the personal choices he made. I’m sorry doesn’t feel right either.

  Wyatt shakes his head. “It’s better this way. It’s over. No more gossip, no more angry drafts, no more chance for our pack to get hacked or broken by outside forces.” Tears are welling in his eyes. “Emery, I’m so sorry I left that big a chance for our pack to get torn apart. I never should have started Royals Anonymous in the first place.”

  “If it’s gone now, that’s what matters.” I squeeze Wyatt’s hand. “Because I’m here. The pack wasn’t torn apart.”

  Hope lights his eyes. “You want us back?”

  I rock onto my tiptoes and kiss his cheek. “I was never gone. I just needed space.”

  Wyatt pulls me in for a tight hug. His warm embrace and scent relax my nerves until I’m purring. I relax into it and even purr a little. But the moment passes and we’re reminded we’re at a very public event.

  I pull back and glance around the room. “Are Bastion and Ranier here, too?”

  Wyatt nods and then points up at the balcony. “Bastion’s up there pouting and looking for you. Ranier’s… tied up with something Council-related with his father.”

  My mood sours at the mention of Ranier’s father. The one person here who might really have it out for me. “I’m sure he’s enjoying that.”

  Wyatt barks a laugh. “Oh yeah. Immensely.”

  The crowd shifts, and suddenly I’m surrounded—people wanting a word, a handshake, or a piece of the new omega in town. Wyatt is similarly whisked away. The crowd watches all of me, but their eyes regularly dart to my neck, checking for bite marks like it’s an awards tally. They ask about the shelter down the road, about the Council, and about “life with three such illustrious alphas.” I give the answers I practiced in the mirror: short and sweet, with just enough humor to make them underestimate me.

  It’s exhausting. After twenty minutes, I duck out to the restroom, which is painted a shade of pink so violent I almost get a migraine. I stand at the sink, breathing slow, hands braced on the marble. I look at my reflection and try to see what they see. But I don’t. I see me. The me with Everhart alpha bite marks that prove I belong without any doubt.

  The door swings open. I expect another influencer, or maybe one of the PR ladies with a powder puff. Instead, it’s Bastion in a perfectly tailored suit. He glances around and then, finding the bathroom empty except for me, locks the door behind him.

  Bastion doesn’t say hi. He just stands there, staring at me he’s afraid I might bolt again. Which is fair.

  Someone has to start talking or we’ll stay here silent for hours. “Hey.”

  “Hey.” His voice is a wreck—husky, a little raw. I supposed it’s been a long night for all of us. “How are you holding up?”

  I shrug, which is a feat given the dress’s construction. “Ask me after round two of interviews.”

  Bastion tries to smile, but it doesn’t quite land. “You look good, by the way. Better than them.”

  I chuckle a little. “I’m not sure I believe that. The other omegas are gorgeous.”

  “I wouldn’t know. I’ve only been looking at you.”

  My heart flutters. “Bastion⁠—”

  “When are you coming back?” Bastion asks. His eyes watch my every move. He is afraid I’ll bolt or break. If he was watching me with Wyatt, I think the answer is pretty obvious.

  “Tonight, with you all. If you’ll have me.”

  “Have you?” Bastion echoes with wide eyes. “Emery, you’re all we’ve ever wanted. I know we didn’t exactly show that at first, but it’s true.”

  I shake my head. “You did. Not on Selection Day, but after. This was all a giant misunderstanding. I’m sorry for just leaving.”

  Bastion wraps his arms around me. “Do not apologize. I wouldn’t want to be in the same house as us either in that moment.” He smooths down my hair and kisses the top of my head. His whole body relaxes as he takes me in. “I love you, Emery.”

  “I love you all, too,” I murmur into his shoulder.

  We both draw back at the same time and then he kisses me. It’s slow and passionate.

  I don’t even realize I’m crying until Bastion pulls back, cradling my chin and wiping the tears from under my eyes with the pad of his thumb. His lips brush my cheek before finding mine again—so gentle, so careful. I taste salt and champagne and something woody. I taste longing left to ripen. His hands slide down my arms and rest at my waist, thumbs tracing circles through the thin fabric, grounding me.

  He deepens the kiss, tongue flicking over my lip, asking permission. I grant it gladly, melting into him, my body humming with a nervous energy that’s more relief than fear. For a moment, we’re the only two people in the world. Not omega and alpha, not runaway and rejected, just us. His hair, always short but never quite tame, tickles my jaw as he holds me closer. A tremor runs through him, and I wonder if he’s as overwhelmed as I am. Maybe more. Maybe enough to finally say what we both need to hear.

  “Emery,” he murmurs, voice shredded and thick, “I thought I’d lost you.”

  “You didn’t,” I whisper into the space between our lips. “You never did.”

  He grins then—mischievous, bashful, and so achingly vulnerable. “Don’t go again,” he says, as if it’s a favor, not a command. I nod, unable to promise out loud except with the way I touch his face, the way I lean into his next kiss.

  But reality crashes back to us when someone tries to the door handle. A woman’s voice yells, “Hey, open up!”

  We part, laughing, and I shout, “One moment!” Then, quieter to Bastion, “We should get back to it. We’ll be missed after long, and I want to find Ranier.”

  Bastion nods and pulls me toward the door. “He’ll be at the tree outside. Let’s go.”

  We hurry out the door and ignore the stares of several women waiting. Let them think what they may. After the last twenty-four hours, I’m not sure I care anymore as long as I’m with my alphas.

  Bastion and I hurry outside to the city square where the massive holiday tree stands three stories high, decked with lights and ornaments from top to bottom. We’re nearly assaulted with waves of questions and photographs, and eventually meet up with Wyatt before finally seeing Ranier in the middle of a local news interview. He’s flanked by his father and three Council reps. I’m not sure what they’re talking about, but Ranier’s body language is clear: he’d rather be anywhere but right there. Somewhere, I’m sure our PR rep is losing their mind.

  We approach Ranier and his father as the interview ends. His father leaves before we reach them, which I’m thankful for. But Ranier’s tight-lipped face doesn’t relax when he sees me. He’s unsure what to expect.

  Ranier’s never unsure.

  We only have a few moments before we’re ushered into the night’s finale of events, so I walk right up to Ranier and grab his hand and rock onto my tiptoes to whisper in his ear. “You could look less like you’re about to die at the sight of me.”

  Ranier breaks. He doesn’t say a word but reaches out like I’m standing at the edge of a cliff and draws me in close. He sniffs my hair and melts against me. “Emery.”

  I look up at him. Our blue eyes meet and, for the first time that I can remember, tears well in his. I smile warmly. “It’s okay.”

  Ranier tilts his head. His gaze darts over my shoulder and then back to me. I know exactly who he’s looking at. “My father sees this as the end.”

  “Do you?”

  There’s the tiniest hint of a pause before he shakes his head. “No, this is the beginning. I need time to deal with my father. It can’t happen here. But Everhart Pack is your home if you’ll have us. My father is the only loose end. I promise.”

  If you’ll have us.

  I won’t pretend the hurt from yesterday doesn’t still ache in a dull sort of way. And I’m sure the same is true for each of my alphas given how nasty my words were. But if the blog post is gone and everything else is resolved, forgiveness is key. Communication.

  I blink. Unconditional love. Not given freely, but earned.

  Unconditional love is the promise of forgiveness and trying again, of communication rather than letting things fester.

  This is what my parents wanted for me. This is what they were afraid I’d lose by surrendering to the world of designations and packs.

  But I didn’t lose it at all. I learned it alongside my parents’ love for me, for letting me go after what I wanted even when they had reservations. And in Eloise, who’s always stuck by my side.

  And now in my pack, who I will return it to in kind.

  I nod and then reach out for Wyatt and Bastion who have hovered in close. I draw my pack into a tight hug and kiss each of them in turn without a single care for cameras or press. Or Ranier’s father and the Council.

  “Of course,” I say when we draw back. I tilt my head so at least two of their alpha marks are showing. “I’m an Everhart, after all.”

  My alphas beam. Camera flashes go off and there are more than a few cheers—and some boos. I ignore them and turn my focus to the event unfolding around us.

  Our PR handler hands us all ornaments and, alongside the other packs, we add more ornaments to the trees. Behind us there are buses filled with donations for location shelters and schools. The moment eventually ends and we’re thrown to the sharks.

  The press is in a feeding frenzy. They ask about the future of Everhart Pack, about unity, about whether the rumors are true that I’m leaving for another house. Ranier fields the questions with a politician’s grace, while I stick to the script and try not to let my voice shake. But the script is the truth: I am staying. And that makes it easy.

  The other packs are watching. The other omegas are watching. I see the way they look at me—some with pity, some with envy, but most with the calculated disinterest of people who know you’ll be gone soon.

  How wrong they’ll be.

  After the photos and some more handshakes, the tree is lit and everyone in the crowd cheers. Later, our pack heads to the same car and returns to Everhart Manor together for the first time since I left.

  The drive back to Everhart Manor is a blur—city lights flickering past, faintly audible Christmas music playing through the limo’s speakers, Bastion’s hand never leaving mine. Wyatt sits to my left, quiet but resolute, and Ranier stares out the window as if memorizing the route home from scratch. The air is heavy with exhaustion and relief, the tense truce of the day holding us together now that all the speeches and staged smiles are done. For the first time since Omega Selection Day, no one is pretending. There’s just an unspoken agreement as we cross the threshold into the manor: no more running, no more hiding, and absolutely no more letting anyone else decide what we are.

  We ascend the staircase together, our shoes leaving a trail of snow-melt in the entryway, my body sandwiched between three giant, weary alphas who walk like they just returned from a war. Maybe, in a way, we have. We pass through the kitchen but before I can get too far, I’m swept away by my three alphas into a tight embrace.

  The moment we step inside, we are transformed—Everhart Pack, together, at last. To an outsider, it would look graceless with the way we clutch at each other, how all the composure from the event melts away into something raw and unguarded.

  Bastion kisses the bridge of my nose, my cheekbones, and then the delicate arch of my jaw, tracing the outline of my face like he’s re-learning every inch of me. Wyatt’s hands are gentle but urgent, cupping the back of my head, thumb stroking my temple. His lips finding mine and then drift to my earlobe, feather-soft and reverent. Ranier’s arms wrap fully around me, pinning me between his chest and the others. He bows his head and buries his face in my hair. He just breathes me in. There’s a tremor in his shoulders, a hitch in his breath, as if the simple act of having us all under one roof again is enough to undo him completely.

  I can taste their relief on my tongue, the bitter and the sweet. Their bodies crowd around me in bristling, desperate happiness, as though they fear I might disappear if they leave even an inch of air between us.

  Bastion presses his forehead to mine, his voice low and trembling. “You’re home.”

  There’s a simplicity to it that nearly breaks me. He says it like a truth that could rewrite all the lies we told ourselves and all the stories that kept us apart.

  We quickly become a warm tangle of four bodies in the kitchen, coats half off, shoes forgotten and melting snow puddling around our feet. Wyatt’s laugh is unsteady, muffled into my hair as his hands dip beneath the hem of my blue dress. His reaching fingers anchor me in the reality of this.

  They want me, all of me. Even the bruised and angry parts. And I want them, royal chaos and all.

  The sweetness of reunion tips suddenly into hunger. A primal, inexorable tug that draws us closer and closer. Ranier’s lips find the hollow below my ear. His breath shudders. Bastion’s hands slide up my ribs, cautious and unhurried, but his touch is fire. Wyatt pulls me flush to his chest and for a dizzy second I am suspended between three gravitational forces, impossibly weightless and impossibly claimed. Their scents—smoke and pine, ocean and honey, apples and salt—swirl around me, a dizzying fugue.

  No words are needed. There’s only the orchestration of bodies, all four of us learning a new shape, the shape of together and forgiven and home.

  Ranier’s fingers trace my jaw. “I thought you’d never come back,” he whispers, voice breaking on the word never, like the possibility hurt him more than he can say.

  “I’ll always come home to you,” I promise. The house or pack or just the three of them—it’s all the same.

  They kiss my lips and cheeks and every available inch of bare skin they can find. I sigh, relieved. Ready to surrender to this. To us. To everything we can and will be.

  Wyatt kisses my neck, his breath hot and frantic, while Bastion wraps himself around my waist from behind, his hands sliding under the hem of my dress where Wyatt left off. Ranier holds me by the chin and keeps kissing me like he’s trying to memorize my taste.

  They manhandle me up onto the island counter, scattering forks and spatulas. The ceramic clatter is drowned by the sounds I make when Bastion bites my earlobe and Wyatt nips my shoulder through the cotton. Ranier takes hold of the dress from where Bastion’s hands are and together they rip it off of me. My breasts spill free and my alphas’ eyes go wide.