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Right.
It is.
Or at least, I hope it’s fine.
But something is happening in Pacific City…something dark that will catch us all in its claws.
A new drug is out on the streets.
And this nightmare is just beginning.
Chapter one
Aisling
Eyelids heavy, I blink into the soft chaos of morning. Sheets tangle around our limbs—Gunnar, Oberon, and me—a human knot in a king-sized bed. Gunnar’s chest rises and falls against my back, his arm a band over my waist. Oberon, ever the early riser, is propped up on one elbow, scrolling through his phone with a frown that carves deep lines into his forehead.
“Bad news?” My voice is hoarse, the words scratch at my throat, still thick with sleep.
“Another attack, Echo Beach.” Oberon’s thumb pauses mid-swipe. “It’s getting out of hand.”
I turn to face him, the movement rousing Gunnar, who grumbles a sleepy protest but tightens his hold around me like he could ward off the world’s ugliness by sheer will.
“Details?” Gunnar’s voice comes out as a growl, eyes barely open but mind already racing.
“Too early for specifics. But it’s another alpha, hyped up on something nasty.” Oberon tosses the phone aside, its presence an unwelcome intruder in our sanctuary. “Sounds familiar.”
“Damn.” Gunnar’s curse is a whisper against the nape of my neck, his lips grazing skin.
Damn is damn right.
For the past month, it’s been nothing but violence and fear, a city tearing at the seams. And here we are, wrapped up in each other, trying to stitch together moments of peace while outside, the world bleeds.
“Can’t even catch a break,” I mutter, rolling out from under Gunnar’s arm. My feet hit the carpet, grounding me in the safety of our little refuge.
“Let’s not let it ruin the day.” Oberon swings his legs over the side of the bed, muscles tensing as he stands. “We deal with it when we have to.”
“Right.” I stand too, forcing a stretch into my limbs, trying to shake off the dread that clings tighter than the sheets. Sometimes I wish we could just stay in bed forever, ignoring the chaos in Pacific City…
…but the Eclipse is still out there.
The girls from Dreamland are still lost.
And a new drug that almost killed Oberon is out on the streets.
“Breakfast?” Gunnar suggests, voice clearer now, eyes locking onto mine in the mirror as I rake fingers through tangled hair. The purple at the ends of each strand is almost completely faded, leaving me with my natural silver-blonde. I feel like maybe I should dye it again—keep myself more hidden, safe.
“Sure.” The corners of my mouth lift, a reflex, but my stomach churns at the thought of food, of normalcy.
“Let’s keep it light.” Oberon slips on a pair of jeans, casual, like we’re not standing on a fault line ready to split wide open. “You okay?”
“Fine.” I lie.
Because what else can you say when every inch of you screams that fine is just another word for fucked?
Soon, we’re gathered around the counter, and the kitchen smells like coffee and sugar. Gunnar flips pancakes, his bare back a mural of ink and muscle under the. Oberon leans against the counter, watching us work. It feels downright domestic here in our little place—one we managed to rent ourselves in defiance of Vance’s orders, escaping his prying gaze.
“Fuck…another one,“ Oberon says without looking up. His finger taps the glass with a soft staccato. “This one closer to Celestial Hills. They’re getting bold.”
