Page 24 of Reckless Consequences

His lips curve in a ghost of his usual smile, eyes drifting closed briefly before reopening with visible effort. “The booster?” The question holds layers of meaning—did it work, how did I get it, what did it cost us.

“Worked,” I say, squeezing his hand. “Mona’s a psychotic genius.”

“Obviously,” he murmurs, unknowingly echoing Mona’s favorite response.

His free hand lifts, trembling slightly with weakness, to touch the mark on my neck. The contact sends a jolt through me, my body responding with immediate heat. His fingers trace the indentations with delicate precision, mapping the shape of Theo’s claim.

“You’re changing,” he observes, nostrils flaring slightly as he catches my scent. “Not just physically. Your scent...it’s evolved.”

I nod, having noticed the shift myself. My usual citrus and ozone has deepened into something more complex, with notes that respond differently to each pack member. Near Theo, the citrus brightens to something almost sweet; around Jinx, the ozone crackles with electric intensity; with Ryker, a grounding undertone emerges like earth after rain. And now, with Finn, a clarity cuts through it all, making everything sharper, more focused.

“The virus,” I explain, though Finn has likely already figured it out. “It’s changing my designation markers. Rewriting me.”

His mind visibly works through implications, connections forming behind those blue eyes despite his weakened state. “Fascinating,” he murmurs, fingers still resting against my pulse point. “The pack bond feels...different. Stronger.” His eyes widen slightly. “I can feel you. All of you.”

Movement from the nest saves me from having to respond to the wonder in his voice. Jinx appears first, moving with predatory grace as he approaches, naked and unconcerned with the fact. His hair stands in wild disarray, evidence of sleep and yesterday’s activities, but his eyes are sharp with awareness as they track between Finn and me.

His hand finds the nape of my neck, thumb brushing over Theo’s claim mark with possessive interest that sends heat pooling between my thighs. “Look who’s rejoining the land of the living,” he says, voice roughened by sleep but carrying unmistakable relief.

Finn’s gaze shifts to Jinx, something passing between them that needs no words—pack recognition, bond acknowledgment. The moment feels sacred somehow, a connection reforming after nearly being severed.

“You’ve been busy,” Finn observes, eyes taking in the evidence visible on my skin—Theo’s bite, bruises from Jinx’s fingers, the subtle redness where Ryker’s stubble scraped sensitive areas.

Jinx’s grin is pure wickedness. “You have no idea,” he says, leaning down to press his lips to the top of my head, the casual affection at odds with the hunger in his eyes. “But we saved the best parts for when you could join.”

My body responds to his words with immediate heat. Before I can respond, another voice cuts through the moment.

“Finn.” Theo’s voice, edged with renewed heat symptoms, pulls our attention. He stands at the edge of the nest, skin flushed with returning fever, pupils already beginning to dilate. Ryker supports him with one arm around his waist, his own eyes darkening in response to the Omega’s escalating pheromones.

Theo sways slightly, his body visibly fighting between the need to run to Finn and the biological imperative of his heat. The sight of him—barefoot and beautiful, wearing nothing but one of Ryker’s shirts that falls to mid-thigh—makes my heart stutter.

“Can you move him?” Ryker asks, quickly assessing Finn’s condition. “He needs contact with all pack members. The nest would be better for his recovery than the medical corner.”

I look to Finn, needing his consent before we move him. He nods slightly—permission, acceptance, anticipation. With careful coordination, Jinx and I transfer him to the nest, arranging medical equipment to maintain monitoring while integrating him into the pack space.

Once settled, Theo immediately breaks from Ryker’s hold, dropping to his knees beside Finn with graceful urgency. He inhales deeply at Finn’s neck where his scent is strongest, a small sound of satisfaction escaping him. “Missed you,” he murmurs—I feared for you, I need you, you belong with us.

Finn’s arm wraps around Theo with surprising strength for someone so recently at death’s door, pulling the Omega closer until their foreheads touch. “Missed you too, piccolo.”

The Italian endearment, usually Theo’s designation for the pack, sounds perfect in Finn’s tone—a borrowed intimacy that makes something in my chest ache with tenderness. I find myself reaching for both of them, unable to resist the pull of their connection.

“Your fever’s building again,” Finn observes, his free hand finding Theo’s flushed cheek. The Omega leans into the touch with shameless need, eyes heavy-lidded and darkening rapidly. “How long between waves?”

“Too long,” Theo answers before anyone else can, his voice already taking on the husky quality that signals rising heat. His hand finds mine, grip urgent with need. “Need you close. All of you.”

The next wave builds before our eyes—Theo’s skin flushing deeper, pupils expanding until only a thin ring of brown remains, his breathing quickening. The scent of slick fills the air, honey-sweet and maddening, triggering responses in all of us regardless of designation. I feel my own body responding—core clenching, skin hypersensitive beneath Ryker’s borrowed shirt, the claiming bite on my neck throbbing with my quickening pulse.

“Need...” Theo gasps, the word trailing into a whimper as his body arches, seeking contact, seeking relief. “Please.”

My body moves without conscious thought, drawn to him by forces stronger than logic. Jinx is already there, supporting Theo from behind, his larger frame cradling the Omega with protective possession. Ryker moves with precision, positioning himself where he can monitor Finn’s condition while maintaining physical contact with the rest of us.

I help Finn adjust his position, arranging pillows to support his back so he can sit upright against the nest wall. His hands shake slightly with lingering weakness, but his eyes burn with intensity.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” I murmur, concern warring with the heat building in my veins. “You’re still recovering.”

His gaze locks with mine, those blue eyes seeing through my defenses to the vulnerability beneath. “I’m not the one who might find it too much,” he counters, one hand rising to trace the shadows beneath my eyes—evidence of yesterday’s intensity, of nights keeping vigil by his bedside. “Yesterday was intense for you. Are you sure you’re ready for more?”

The question hits me in unexpected places—that he would think of my well-being while still recovering himself, that he would offer me an out. The care behind the words makes my throat tight.

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