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My heart clenched.
She hesitated. “I probably shouldn’t have told you that.”
“No,” I said. “It’s all right. I suspected that was part of the mix. And the fact that he talked to you about it is...good. He should be able to talk about his feelings. His past.”
“He and Emiel both think that they can never mate because of the psychic bond.” She sounded miserable. “Because of their trauma, and how it would affect their partners. Is that true?”
Throat tight, I took a moment to give the question the attention it deserved. “There’s a ridiculous lack of scientific research on alphomic mate bonds. I suspect it depends entirely on the individuals involved, though. Being bonded... you learn over time how to control it. It’s not like living in the other person’s head twenty-four, seven.”
She gave a little nod.
“Doyouwant a mated pack?” she asked. “After losing Julie, I mean.”
“Only if it’s the right pack,” I said without thought, and then caught myself. “Sorry, that was glib. Not fair to ask you about the future and then skirt the issue.”
She poked me in the side. “Damn straight.”
“Yes,” I said, surprised at how hard it was to get the word out. “The answer is yes. But... only if it’s a pack made up of other people who also want the same thing.”
And there it was. Byron. Luca. Emiel. One who’d never shown the slightest interest in a mate bond. One who thought he was unworthy, and one who thought he was incapable.
Mia nodded. “It’s not like you could mate one person if the other people you care about aren’t on board. That’s the opposite of a pack.”
She had me there. Neatly turning the issue on its head, and leaving me with even fewer answers than I’d had when I started the conversation.
“No,” I said. “You’re right. It’s only a pack if the decision ismadeas a pack.”
And the likelihood of that happening anytime soon felt like it was approximately zero.
The uncomfortable topic of discussion meant that neither of us felt inclined to lounge around in my bed afterward. I resisted the urge to try and dress Mia in one of my robes, or maybe a shirt—my instincts clamoring unhelpfully that she needed to be wearing something with my scent on it.
Instead, we both showered, and I cleaned up the appealing mess Mia had left on the kitchen counter, because I suspected it would bother her if the others came in and caught the scent of what we’d done. Plus, it was unhygienic—and would have been evenmoreunhygienic if I’d given into temptation and cleaned it up with my tongue.
By the time the others arrived home, everything was normal. Mia had whipped up a five-star dinner from odds and ends languishing in the refrigerator and pantry—stress cooking, she’d muttered as she measured and stirred.
The others were clearly a bit freaked out that I’d left the Hope Project without warning in the middle of a workday, but concern turned to sympathy and righteous indignation when I related the details of Tony’s parents showing up outside my office.
“Kid’s never gonna get justice,” Emiel rumbled, his attention firmly fixed on his half-eaten plate of food.
“No,” Luca agreed grimly. “Probably not.”
“At least he got away,” Byron said. “Staying under the radar is the best thing for him, if you ask me.”
I wish I shared his optimism.
After dinner, I retreated back to my room, intent on getting at least some of the work done that I should have finished that afternoon. I was seated at my desk, composing an email to a disgruntled donor, when my door swung sharply inward. It was an unexpected thing to happen, and I was still on edge from my conversation with Mr. and Mrs. Scalise. I shot up from my chair, hands flat on the desk.
An angry blond alpha stormed in, his scent sharp with emotion.
I barely recognized the bristling figure. Every trace of the languid, unruffled playboy who’d enjoyed Mia’s dinner an hour ago had vanished. Byron stalked forward and mirrored me, the desk the only thing separating us.
“What thefuck, Zalen?” he snarled.
I stared at him blankly for a tense moment, replaying the last few hours in my head. I’d cleaned up the kitchen. Mia and I hadn’t...
Oh.
A helpful mental picture formed—me, helping myself to Byron’s condom stash in the throes of my sad fuckboi horniness. Settling Mia on his couch while I searched, naked from the waist down, as slick dripped from her hot pussy.