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I step outside Sage House, a changed alpha. The same thought I’ve battled with over the past few months spears through my brain like a bright, unbearable light.
I know nothing.
And everyone knows it now. They know the delivery isn’t coming. They know I failed. They know how much I fucking hate Rill. They know he’s stronger than all of us put together, which is evidence in itself that we’re all doomed.
We’re all going to die.
When Wyatt threw me out of the dining room, hissing an order to “cool off” in my ear, I felt as though I was on the verge of bursting into piercing shards, destroying everything in my path.
Then I saw Hetty standing in the moonlight.
But she was with someone.
She’s alone now. Barefoot and defiant under a towering poplar tree, the hazy light from the windows makes her appear like a dreamy version of herself. Her soft, luminescent skin contrasts with her sooty, accusing eyes, making them appear as indigo as the night sky.
She doesn’t back away when I reach her but holds her ground, her pink lips set in a firm, disapproving line as her eyes scan me.
There’s a whisper of a foreign scent. It’s spicy and salty, clouding the air around her.
An alpha’s scent.
“Who’s out here with you?” I growl, moving closer to her until she has no choice but to back up against the tree.
“Do you see anyone else?” she asks flippantly, her pulse thumping fiercely at her neck. Her head scarf is loose, and fine strands of hair frame her face and stick to her neck.
I blink, surprised at the contempt threading her voice. “I can smell him.”
She crosses her arms over her chest and says nothing.
I groan, fed up as I pull at my tie. Everything’s so tight—like some great strength is wringing all the blood from my heart, leaving me short of breath and uncomfortable. Finally, I pull my tie off and throw it to the ground, sneering at it like it’s offended me somehow.
I pause when I see Hetty staring at me with fiery, brazen eyes, and just like that day in her tiny basement bedroom, I’m engulfed in her flames.
“What does it matter if I was out here with anyone, Noah?” she asks calmly, but I can see through the façade. She’s sweating, too, and her scent is richer. The sweet vanilla is permeated with something heady and salty.
Now I feel dreamy—my eyelids become heavy as I stare down at her upturned face. “Because I’m your alpha,” I mutter darkly, “and I forbid it.”
“Do you?” she whispers as she reaches up to rest a hand on my shoulder. She does it confidently, like she has every right. I know what she’s doing—touching me after I told her not to, waiting for me to push her away.
But I don’t. Instead, I move closer to her, lowering my hands to frame the gentle flare of her hips.
Her breath trips as her eyes travel over me—from my sweaty brow to my rumpled shirt. All the blood wrung from my heart rushes downward and settles in my core, leaving me hot and hard.
“What happened to you anyway?” she asks huskily. “Is the dinner over?”
I swallow a sigh. “It was over before it started.”
“What happened?” she repeats, her voice low and commanding as she reaches up to lay her fingers on my sore neck.
Her fingers were hot and heavy on my hand the other day in the study. But now, on my bruised flesh, they’re cool like ointment. I can’t help but lean into her.
“I punched Rill,” I admit, my voice rough, “and he used his power—his pressure—on me.” As soon as my fist made contact with his face, he threw me against the wall with the invisible force that simmers in his body, holding me there by my neck until he was confident that I wouldn’t come at him again. “It kicked my ass,” I tell her simply.
Her lips part. She’s not used to me using such crass language, but it’s as if all the decorum has been beaten out of me by the past hour.
“Why did you punch him?” she asks, her voice catching in her throat.
I inch forward, not stopping until we’re pressed flush against each other. Her hand is still resting on my neck, and her fingers flutter nervously when I move a hand to rest on her neck, too, leaving my other hand on her hip.
