Page 44 of Strays
Perhaps most remarkably, Prime bonding generates near-perfect pheromonal synchrony within the pack. In typical aegis, maintaining emotional equilibrium and cohesion often requires conscious pheromonal modulation — for example, producing soothing compounds during high-stress situations.
In contrast, Prime-bonded packs develop a pheromonal profile that is inherently stabilizing, continuously reinforcing neuroemotional balance without deliberate effort. As a result, cohesion, emotional stability, and operational readiness remain remarkably resilient, even under extreme external stressors.
In short, a Prime nyra represents the most potent biological accelerant known within the gregalis system.
CHAPTER TEN
Secrets
Jo giggles, clearly pleased with my reaction. She turns the phone more toward me. “Look at the street. Look at those trees. Isn’t it gorgeous?”
The whole neighborhood looks like something out of a movie. It’s the kind of place that never once crossed my mind as somewhere I’d live.
The best home I ever had was my fathers’ place back in Gavin, Indiana. They were Tier-Two aegis and worked at homicides: decent rank, steady hours. We weren’t rich, but we were doing okay. The house had space, even with all of us packed inside. By the time I left, Lydia already had four kids: three aegis — John, Colt, and Carl — and Maddie. Nine of us under one roof.
Before today, I used to think that house was nice. But now, seeing the places Jo’s showing me, I realize it was just practical. We had a front porch, but no one ever sat on it. Gavin’s the kind of city where even the good streets have a few boarded-up windows, maybe a house left empty with the lawn going wild.
After Gavin, I spent the next several years in the Strays Program at the Neuropsychology Research Institute of West Kempton University. In a couple of months, our little pack house 144 felt more like home than my dad’s place ever did.
But it wasn’t a real home. It was a sterile square covered in washable tile, walls included. Inside, we had our nest, a table, a couch, a TV, and a gaming console. Outside, a sad little square of grass. You couldn’t forget you were in a research compound, because no matter where you looked, all you saw were identical pack houses. Row after row. Every lawn the same. Every inch measured.
Once we left, officially a pack, Shane was seventeen. Jay and I were eighteen. We went straight into MAB basic training. Two years in the barracks. Just a long rectangular building, with rows of small nests, one per pack.
Then our assignment: Greenster PD. When we signed the lease for our apartment downtown, we were excited. But over time, reality set in. The building smelled like piss; the walls were thin, and the apartment was falling apart.
What Jo’s showing me now looks like another world. She keeps swiping, showing me other listings from the same neighborhood. A white house with green shutters and a swing hanging from a tree. A smaller red-brick place with ivy creeping up one side. Every single one looks amazing.
“We’d stick out,” I say before I can stop myself.
Jo glances at me. “Why? A family of officers and a doctor sounds respectable enough to live in a nice neighborhood.”
She watches my face, sees the disbelief, and chuckles. “And if we do stick out, who cares? The important thing is living somewhere safe and beautiful. Don’t you want to live in a place like that?”
I swallow hard, because the truth is, yeah, I do. I want this for us.
She smiles at me and keeps scrolling through the listings, eyes lighting up at each new one.
It’s been nearly twenty-four hours since she last ate, and I want to take her out for breakfast, but she insists on waiting until Shane and Jay wake up so we can all go together.
My patience is nowhere near as good as hers, though. I head to the nest and shake both of them until they groan awake. Jo protests and half-heartedly scolds me when she sees what I’m doing, but she’s laughing too.
I rush everybody along, anxious to get some food into her. She’s already changed out of her dress into jeans and a T-shirt, and throws a jacket over it, but my brothers and I are still in yesterday’s clothes.
Fifteen minutes later, we’ve changed and are on our way to the cafeteria.
When we step inside, I feel a surge of satisfaction: her scent makes it unmistakable she’s bonded. Unlike yesterday, no one dares to stare. We eat almost completely ignored.
Jo is relaxed now, eyes gleaming as she shows Shane and Jay the houses she’d shown me earlier. She pulls up Google Maps, showing us how close Milestone is to both Bridgeport and Great Sky, and even drops into Street View to proudly show off the hospital where she works, Joseph Monson. The place looks huge, one of those blocky buildings with long rows of identical windows and a wide, glass-fronted entrance.
After breakfast, we head back to the housing unit, pack up our things, and load them into the truck. In the garage, Jo spots her little silver Corolla parked next to our truck and lets out a squeak.
“Jesus. I think this thing eats small cars for breakfast,” she mutters.
Shane chuckles. “It does. Especially little ones like yours.”
Before we leave, we stop by the administrative building to check out. I hand over the housing unit’s keys to the front desk officer and sign the forms, but he asks me to wait. When he returns, he hands me a brown paper envelope.
Inside is our bonding certificate.
