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“Sure you do,” Drew insisted. “Remember last Christmas when you fell asleep on Logan during that holiday movie marathon? I have pictures.”

Logan shifted beside me, his thigh pressing more firmly against mine. “You were exhausted,” he said, his voice a low rumble that I could feel as much as hear. “You’d been up all night finishing that commission.”

“And then there was Cade’s birthday,” Drew continued, clearly enjoying himself. “When you dozed off in his lap during the fireworks.”

“I wasn’t in his lap,” I hissed, mortified. “I was leaning against his shoulder. Completely different.”

“Semantics.” Drew waved dismissively. “The point is, you’re a cuddler. It’s adorable.”

“Can we please just watch the movie?” I begged, sinking lower into the couch.

“Of course,” Drew said with false innocence. “Just making conversation.”

But gradually, as the movie progressed, I found myself relaxing despite my best efforts. The story was engaging, the action sequences impressive, and Drew’s running commentary provided enough distraction to keep me from dwelling on my predicament.

By the time we started the second movie, I’d unconsciously shifted position, my legs stretched out across Logan’s lap, my tail no longer tightly wound but draped loosely over my thighs.

I didn’t notice Logan’s hand on my ankle until his thumb began tracing small circles against my skin. The touch was so light it might have been accidental, but when I glanced at him, his eyes were fixed on the screen.

Halfway through the third movie, my eyelids grew heavy. The day’s emotional roller coaster had left me exhausted, and the warmth of the alphas surrounding me was like a sedative. I tried to fight it but eventually gave in, letting my head drop against the nearest solid surface.

Which happened to be Cade’s chest.

I should have moved. Should have sat up, apologized, maintained some semblance of dignity. Instead, I nuzzled closer, inhaling his scent, my fox ears twitching with contentment as I drifted off to sleep.

My last conscious thought was that I was so, so screwed.

But it felt so, so right.

Chapter 8

SINCLAIR BROTHERS

The moment Finn disappeared upstairs, Logan felt his shoulders drop from their tense position near his ears. The kid had no idea what he did to them—how his mere presence in a room cranked their alpha instincts to eleven while simultaneously testing their self-control to breaking point.

“So,” Cade said, turning to Drew with a deliberately casual tone that fooled exactly no one at the table. “These friends of yours. Tell us more about them.”

Drew, to his credit, looked only mildly suspicious at the sudden interest. “Jake and Tyler are Richardson wolves—both business majors like me. Sophia and Mia are Blackwood daughters.”

Blackwoods, Logan growled through their pack bond.Old blood. Traditional.

Too traditional, Keir agreed, his mental tone carrying memories of stilted pack gatherings where the Blackwoods had made their purist views abundantly clear.

“The Blackwoods have a… particular reputation,” Cade said carefully, watching Drew’s reaction. “Their stance on mixed bloodlines is well documented.”

Drew rolled his eyes. “You’re thinking of Lord Edmund and his generation. The younger ones aren’t like that—especially not Sophia and Mia. They practically live in human coffee shops and volunteer at animal shelters.”

“Rebellious little aristocrats?” Keir asked, his interest visibly piqued.

“More like practical ones.” Drew shrugged. “They know the old ways are dying out. Their pack is evolving, whether the elders like it or not.”

Logan wasn’t convinced. The Blackwoods had centuries of prejudice embedded in their bloodline. People didn’t change that easily, especially not wolves with their stubborn adherence to tradition.

We can’t risk them around Finn while he’s vulnerable, he insisted through the bond.

Agreed, Cade replied.But we need more information, not just assumptions.

“And they know about Finn?” Cade asked aloud. “About his… situation?”