My stomach turns. My whole body feels sick.
The phone crackles where it lies on the floor. I think the call’s cut out, but then Brayden’s voice slides through the speaker, low and intimate, like he’s crouched right beside me.
“I’m coming for you, Skyla.” His voice is distant. “We’ll be together soon. And now that our bond has taken hold, I’ll always be able to find you.”
My lungs seize. The world tilts sideways.
“Wherever you go. Whatever you do,” he continues, voice dropping into something reverent, almost joyful. “You’re mine. And I’ll kill anyone who tries to stop me.”
The line goes dead.
And then it hits.
A rush of something hot and vile floods my mind—so sudden it knocks the air out of me. It’shim.His joy, his anger, his awful, possessivewantbleeding through my head like oil on water. My body convulses with it, my breath catching on a strangled sound that isn’t entirely mine.
I slap my hands over my ears, but I can’t stop it.
It’s inside my head.
And I canfeelhim smiling.
In the Garage
Alex
The faint thudof weights hitting the mat echoes through the garage. Dust drifts lazily in the slant of afternoon light, cutting through the air. It smells like metal and detergent in here—sharp, clean, and weirdly sterile—despite the wide-open garage door and the faint breeze rolling in from the street.
Dakota’s moving a few dumbbells around, reorganizing the rack like anyone actually gives a shit about symmetry. His shirt’s damp with sweat, tufts of hair sticking to his temples. Then he grabs the tiny twenty-pound weights and starts dusting them, and for some reason, that’s what finally breaks me.
“The whole house-beta thing really hit you hard, huh?” I lean against the workbench, crossing my arms.
Dakota pauses mid-lift, frowning over his shoulder. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
I point at the rag in his hand. “It means you clean now. I’ve lived with you for a year, man, and I’ve never once seenyou wipe down a surface. Hell, the only reason your room was ever clean was because Tadeo threatened to torch it—with you still in it.”
Dakota barks out a laugh and tosses the rag at me. “Screw you, I’ve always been tidy.”
“Yeah, sure,” I say, throwing it back. He catches it easily with one hand. “You’ve always been tidy. Even though your dirty socks were in the fruit bowl a few months ago.”
“They were clean,” Dakota snaps back. “And it’s not like I’m going crazy or anything—I’m just dusting.”
“The weights,” I stress, gesturing to the rack. “In the garage. Where dirt literally lives. Next thing I know, you’ll tell me you alphabetized the spices.”
He shrugs, a sheepish grin tugging at his mouth. “Maybe I did.”
That makes me stop. “You did not.”
“Sky likes it that way,” he says simply, and goes back to lining up the weights like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
I can’t help laughing. “You’re gone, man. Totally whipped. Look at you—cleaning, cooking, alphabetizing spices like some kind of suburban beta husband.”
Dakota drops the last dumbbell with a little too much force, the thud vibrating through the cement floor. “Isn’t that the whole point?” he shoots back, straightening to face me. “Aren’t we supposed to claim our omega, take care of her? Make sure she’s happy?”
“Sure,” I say, smirking. “But you’re taking it to a new level. You’re like one throw pillow away from nesting with her yourself.”
He laughs, shaking his head, then points the rag at me like it’s a weapon. “You shouldn’t talk.”
I blink. “Excuse me?”
