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“Not soon,” Cade said firmly. “Now. Breakfast is getting cold, and you need to eat.”

Before I could protest, he stood up, taking me with him. One moment I was sitting on the bed, the next I was cradled against his chest like a child, my body pressed firmly against his. The contact sent another surge of heat through me, and I had to fight to keep my scent from broadcasting my arousal to both alphas.

“Put me down!” I yelped, pushing ineffectually against his chest. “I’m not five years old!”

“Could have fooled me,” Keir quipped, stepping aside to let us pass. As we moved past him, he reached out and flicked one of my ears, sending an electric shock straight to my core. “Especially with that fluffy tail. Very intimidating.”

“I hate you both,” I muttered, giving up the struggle as Cade carried me down the hallway toward the stairs. There was no point fighting—I’d learned years ago that when the Sinclairalphas decided to manhandle me, resistance was futile. What they didn’t know was how much their touch affected me, how each point of contact felt like it was burning through my skin.

“No, you don’t,” Keir said with infuriating confidence, falling into step beside us. “You love us.”

If only he knew how true that was—and how much it hurt.

The Sinclair mansion’s kitchen was a chef’s dream—all gleaming stainless steel and marble countertops, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Pacific. This morning, it was filled with the mouthwatering aromas of freshly baked bread, sizzling bacon, and something sweet I couldn’t quite identify.

Elena, our housekeeper and pack beta, was orchestrating the breakfast preparations with military precision, directing the two kitchen staff while simultaneously brewing coffee in what looked like a spacecraft disguised as an espresso machine.

“Finally!” Drew exclaimed when we entered, looking up from where he was sitting at the island. My three pets—Mochi, a pudgy Japanese Spitz who thought he was much larger than he actually was; Pixel, a one-eyed rescue tabby with attitude problems; and Boba, a French bulldog puppy I’d rescued last month—immediately abandoned their begging positions to rush toward me. “I thought I’d have to send a search party—” Drew broke off, his eyes widening at the sight of my extra appendages. “Dude. You’ve gone full Pokémon.”

“Shut up,” I growled, squirming until Cade finally set me down in one of the kitchen island chairs. My tail immediately wrapped around my waist, as if trying to hide itself.

“Aw, don’t be embarrassed.” Drew grinned, clearly enjoying my discomfort. “The ears are cute. Very on-brand for you.”

“I will end you,” I promised darkly.

“Not before breakfast,” Elena intervened, placing a plate in front of me that could have fed a small army. Fluffy scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, golden hash browns, fresh fruit, and whatappeared to be homemade cinnamon rolls dripping with icing. “You need to eat,niño(boy). You’re too skinny.”

She’d been saying that since I arrived at age eight, and no amount of food had ever changed her assessment. The fact that I was sitting there with fox ears and a tail didn’t seem to faze her in the slightest—but then, she’d been with the Sinclair Pack for decades. She’d seen weirder.

Logan entered the kitchen just as I was contemplating how to eat without drawing attention to myself. Unlike his brothers, who looked freshly showered and ready for a magazine photoshoot, Logan had clearly been up for hours. His dark-blond hair was damp with sweat, his gray t-shirt clinging to his muscular frame in a way that made my mouth go dry.

The moment he entered, his scent hit me like a physical force—ocean air and that distinctive alpha musk that seemed to be my own personal form of torture. My fox ears swiveled toward him without my permission, and I felt my body temperature rise several degrees.

He stopped short when he saw me, his sea-green eyes fixing on my ears, then my tail, which betrayed me by twitching nervously.

“Partial shift?” he asked, his voice gruff as he moved to the coffee machine.

“No, I’m trying out a new fashion statement,” I snapped, stabbing a piece of bacon with unnecessary force. “What do you think?”

Instead of rising to the bait, Logan just poured himself coffee, then came to stand behind my chair. His large hand settled on the back of my neck, warm and heavy and sending shivers down my spine.

“It suits you,” he said simply, his thumb brushing against the soft fur at the base of my ear.

I nearly choked on my bacon. The casual touch sent a wave of heat straight to my core, and I had to grip my fork tighter to keep from leaning back into his hand like a cat begging to be petted. What was happening? First Cade with the carrying and the ear scratches, now Logan with the… whatever this was? After last night’s display with their female companions, I’d expected them to maintain careful distance, not… this.

My pets, sensing my distress, crowded around my chair. Mochi jumped into my lap. Pixel wove between the chair legs, occasionally batting at my tail when it twitched. And Boba simply flopped at my feet with a dramatic sigh.

“They’re curious,” Keir explained unnecessarily, sliding into the chair beside me with a plate that rivaled mine in size. He sat close enough that our arms brushed, sending another jolt of awareness through me. “You smell different when you’re shifted.”

“Great,” I muttered, tossing a piece of bacon to Boba, who caught it with surprising dexterity for a dog shaped like a potato. “Even the pets know I’m a freak.”

“You’re not a freak,” all four of them said in unison, which was more disturbing than reassuring.

“Whatever,” I mumbled, focusing on my food to avoid meeting anyone’s eyes. The cinnamon roll was genuinely spectacular—soft, buttery layers wrapped around cinnamon and brown sugar, topped with cream cheese frosting that melted on my tongue. Despite my emotional turmoil, I couldn’t help the small moan of appreciation that escaped me.

The kitchen went suddenly, suspiciously quiet. I looked up to find all three brothers staring at me with identical expressions of intense focus, their scents shifting to something sharper, headier that made my fox ears twitch and my insides clench with want.

“What?” I asked, licking frosting from my lips self-consciously. “Do I have something on my face?”