Crack.
Brayden’s head slams against the floorboards, the impact echoing through the room. The thud is heavy, final. Then he goes limp.
“Dakota,” Knox whispers, his hand still on Brayden’s throat. “Check it out.” He gives a single jerk of his head toward the entryway.
The beta nods once as he rests the bat over his shoulder. He steps carefully across the living room, tiptoeing around shattered glass and the dark puddles of blood. The house is dead quiet except for the wet drag of Brayden’s ragged breathing.
My pulse spikes as Dakota pauses, looking through the peephole to see who it is. He hesitates for half a second before unlocking it and pulling it open.
The porch light illuminates the face of an older alpha just beyond the threshold. He’s older than Knox, broad-shouldered, dressed in a dark dress shirt with the top few buttons undone. Gold rings glint on his thick fingers, and his smile doesn’t reach his eyes. He looks at the blood on Dakota’s face, at the bat in his hand, then past him into the wreck of the living room.
“Evening,” he says, voice smooth and lazy, like he’s walking into a bar instead of a crime scene. Then he looks right at Dakota. “What’s going on, kid?”
“Not much.” Dakota shrugs as he steps to one side so the man can step through the door.
The man’s boots crunch against shards of glass. “Well,” he exhales, hands slipping into his pockets as his tone sharpens with something almost amused. “This wasn’t exactly what I was expecting.”
Knox doesn’t move, still pinning Brayden down. “Thanks for coming, Marc,” the pack alpha says with a sigh of relief. “I didn’t expect you to personally come, but it’s deeply appreciated.”
Marc’s smile widens as his heavy hand drops onto Dakota’s shoulder. “Well, I wasn’t going to sit at home after my favorite nephew called and asked for help protecting his pack.” He claps Dakota's shoulder once—firm enough that it makes the beta sway a little—before moving deeper into the room.
The alpha walks slowly over glass and nails. He moves like a man entirely at ease stepping into a bloodstained living room with an unconscious alpha pinned to thefloor.
Marc’s sharp gaze sweeps the space before settling on Tadeo.
“Tadeo,” he greets, his tone a mix of familiarity and command. He reaches out, patting him hard between the shoulders. “How are you holding up, young man? Is work good?”
Tadeo nods once, jaw tight. “Everything is good, sir,” he says, though his voice carries the faint strain of someone trying not to show just hownot finethis all is.
Marc hums like he’s satisfied with the answer, but his eyes drift past him—to me.
The moment his gaze lands, a chill slides down my spine. There’s something dark in this alpha’s scent—polished confidence layered over something heavier.Dangerous. I squeeze against Tadeo harder without meaning to, pressing into the safety of his big body.
Marc notices and his smile softens, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “And this must be Skyla,” he says, voice smooth as silk but carrying an undertone that makes my skin prickle. “Congratulations, Knox.” He looks over at my pack alpha. “She’s beautiful.”
Knox finally releases Brayden’s throat, but his upper body stays tense. Ready to fight. “She’s shaken up, Marc,” he says. “Mind if we handle this first, and then we can exchange pleasantries?”
Marc smiles slowly, like he’s enjoying every minute of this. “Of course. I’m assuming this is the problem you need help disposing of?” He holds a hand out, motioning to Brayden’s unconscious body.
“Yeah,” Alex says, right as that pulse of victorious excitement threads through my bond. It hits like a spark—bright, electric, and almost joyful.
For a second, I think it’s Brayden—some last psychotic twitch before he fully blacks out—but when I look at him, his body’s limp. His face is slack. Out cold.
No, thisisn’t him.
Then warmth rolls through me again, unmistakable now—victory, adrenaline, and a little too much satisfaction to be anyone butAlex.
He’senjoyingthis.
But somehow…that doesn’t scare me. It just makes my chest tighten with confusion.
Before I can even start to sort through it, Tadeo leans down and kisses the top of my head. “Come on, omega,” he murmurs. “Let’s get you out of here.” His tone leaves no room for argument, and my body follows even if my mind’s still spinning. He bends, lifting me easily so my legs dangle on either side of his hips.
Blood drips from my toes, leaving faint, dark spots across the floor. I stare at the tiny splats of red, understanding that I’m hurt, but not feeling it. There’s no pain—just the hollow thud of my heartbeat and the distant murmur of voices.
I rest my chin on Tadeo’s shoulder as we cross the room.
Alex helps Knox lift Brayden’s heavy weight off the floor. Their muscles flexing as they drag him across the wrecked living room, toward the front door. A trail of blood seeps from Brayden’s foot, leaving behind a wet, red streak, snaking across the floor.
