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I nod like I understand. “What about sun water? What’s that?”
“A drink … a damn good one.” He whistles slowly. “I miss it.”
“Oh,” I say inanely. “Well, the blood moon is pretty.”
There are a couple beats of silence as I stare up at the sky, trying to control my breathing and wondering how I’m going to get out of this. Finally, I stretch my head to the side to get a look at the kitchen window again. Maybe it will be easier to get away if I can see it…
But I can’t see the window, only his face hovering above mine.
“Moon’s not the only pretty thing out here,” he says quietly, brushing my cheeks lightly with the back of his calloused fingers.
A heady panic ignites in my gut and spreads through my limbs, setting off some sort of vague, foreign alarm inside me.
“I should get back to the kitchen,” I say, my bare feet stumbling painfully over the tree’s roots. I almost fall until he catches me by the arm.
“Careful,” he soothes. “Why are you so clumsy?”
“I’m not, usually,” I laugh uncomfortably, trying to pull my arm free. But he’s holding me too tight—I can’t get away.
The vague alarm from earlier is louder than the siren used by the Goldenrod Fire Brigade now, rhythmically pounding through my body and sending a clear you’re in trouble message.
“Please let go of me,” I plead. My ghost is disappointed in how weak I sound, but he’s so much bigger than me, and stronger. There’s nothing for it.
“Tell me something, Hetty,” he says in a low voice, his fingers tightening painfully. “Why do you smell like heat?”
“Wha—No.” Fruitlessly, I pull my arm again. “I don’t. Betas don’t go into heat.”
He shakes his head slowly, his eyes darting over my face. “You’re no beta.”
“Of course, I am.” I snap, my patience crumbling. “Now, let go of me.”
He snarls a bit at my tone but doesn’t have time to respond as the dining room doors fly open, and a large alpha wearing a black suit barrels onto the lawn.
We both stand perfectly still as the alpha grunts, swears, and staggers forward. Pulling at his hair, his head falls back as he releases a loud, tortured groan at the sky.
It’s Noah, I realize, my heart jumping to my throat.
I barely feel Cass release me and only vaguely sense him backing into the darkness. And I forget about him completely when Noah’s face jolts up, his eyes clashing with mine.
“Hetty!” he calls as he begins to storm across the grass. Even in the darkness, I can tell he’s not himself—he’s messy. His clothes are wrinkled, and his short hair is spiked up in a million different directions. He looks out of control and upset.
Good, my ghost hisses in my ear. He deserves it after keeping you locked away.
He does deserve it, I think, straightening my spine and swallowing a surge of anger. Maybe it was the interaction with Cass, but I don’t feel like keeping my eyes downcast and simpering at Noah’s feet.
I’m so sick of being pushed around by these alphas—like what I want doesn’t matter. Like I don’t matter.
Don’t back down. You’re angry. Show him.
And as he charges forward, my fear from seconds ago fades to nothing, and my inhibitions disintegrate.
I let my ghost take over.
17
Worth It
Noah
