The thought coils through my chest, hot and nauseating. I press my face into Tadeo’s chest, whispering it to myself like a lie I might start to believe.
Maybe Brayden changed his mind.
Maybe he turned around.
Maybe he’s died in a horrific car crash.
The silence feels like it’s holding its breath—heavy, waiting for something to break.
But then Knox’s head lifts, eyes snapping toward the hallway. Alex’s body goes rigid a second later, and Tadeo’s arms tighten instinctively around me. Every muscle in the room seems to lock at once.
Then I hear it too…
A faintcrunch.
Glass.
From the kitchen.
My stomach drops. That’s where Alex broke the beer bottle earlier.
Knox’s scent sharpens—dark, cold smoke curling through the air. He glances at Tadeo, who nods once, a silent understanding passing between them. The young alpha reaches over the bed and clicks off the twinkle lights draped along the headboard.
The room plunges into darkness. For a moment, I can’t see anything. My eyes strain, catching only shapes and shadows until the faintest glow of moonlight drifts through the tiny window. Slowly, the outlines of my pack begin to emerge—broad shoulders, quiet movement, the steady rhythm of breath.
Another sound follows—metal scattering across the living room floor. Nails, screws, pennies, the littletraps they’d spread out.
Then Knox lifts his hand, resting his fingers on the doorknob. He twists it with soundless precision and eases the door open.
The floor doesn’t even creak as he and Alex slip into the pitch-black hallway.
Dakota raises his bat, standing ready in the doorway.
No one breathes.
Every heartbeat feels too loud, too fast.
But silence doesn’t last. A suddencrashsplits the quiet—something heavy slamming into the wall. Then another sound follows, sharp and guttural. A grunt. A punch. The unmistakable rhythm of fighting.
My breath catches when someone growls—low, feral—and then there’s a pained noise, half-choked.
Alex?
God, it sounds like Alex.
Dakota lifts the bat off his shoulder as he sprints out of the room, disappearing into the hall before I beg him to stop. Tadeo jerks, torn between following and staying, but his arms only tighten around me instead. His breath ghosts against my ear as he whispers,
“It’s okay, Sky,” he whispers through gritted teeth. “They’ve got this. You’re safe.”
But it doesn’t feel okay.
None of it does.
The air feels wrong—buzzing with energy that isn’t mine. Pain. Rage.
And something darker.
Pure, ugly excitement at the pain being inflicted.
