“Sky?” Dakota whispers, his cool hand settling on my back. “Are you okay, omega?”
I can’t answer. I can’t even nod.
I press my face into his neck, breathing in that gentle beta scent, trying to find something solid in it.
Why can’t I breathe?
The edges of my vision blur. I can hear my heartbeat in my ears—too fast and loud. My thoughts stutter, collapsing in on themselves. I can’t stop them, can’t get control.
“Tadeo?” Dakota’s voice sharpens, clearly worried. “Something’s wrong. Skyla?—”
“I’m sure she’s okay,” Tadeo says quietly, but I can tell from the edge in his voice that he doesn’t really believe it. “It’s been a long day.” He gathers my hair up, pulling it off my sweaty neck. “I’m sure she’s overwhelmed.” His deep voice shifts into a low purr that vibrates through all three of us.
The sound should help, but my lungs can’t find a rhythm. My skin prickles, and my vision tunnels.
Dakota whispers something in my ear, but it’s muffled under the rush in my head.
“I’ll get Knox,” Tadeo mutters, voice rough as he pulls his cock from my limp body.
The pressure between my legs vanishes, and I’m vaguely aware of a gush of warmth trickling down the back of my thighs.
Dakota’s arms tighten around me, keeping me upright as fabric rustles nearby. Then the door opens, and Tadeo is gone.
The sound of it—the hinge, the scrape of shoes, then the door shutting behind him—splinters something inside me. A fresh wave of sadness rolls through me, slow and suffocating, until I can’t tell if I’m breathing or just pretending to.
I’m vaguely aware of Dakota moving me, his touch gentle and careful as he lowers me onto the tiny bench. His voice is a murmur at the edge of my mind. I think he’s asking if I’m okay, but I can’t seem to find an answer.
I nod, but the movement feels wobbly, making my head spin.
Clothes shift. The light fabric of the tiny skirt and matching shirt slides away, cool air hitting my skin. My limbs feel distant, too heavy to move.
Soft cotton brushes over my head, and my arms are guided into the shirt. The second it’s draped over my body, I grip the familiar fabric—twisting it tight in my fists like it’s the only thing keeping me tethered. It smells like Dakota, and Knox, and Alex, and Tadeo.
Warm and safe.
I hold on to the comforting material harder, my knuckles turning white. Desperate to keep it.
Desperate to keepthem.
Knox’s voice cuts through the haze—not loud, but sharp at the edges. “Are you kidding me?” he whispers harshly. “In the dressing room?”
He doesn’t yell. He doesn’t have to. The disappointment in it burns worse than shouting ever could.
The door creaks open as the pack alpha steps inside the dressing room. For a moment, I brace myself to be punished—will he finally hit me?—but instead, I hear the faint thud of his boots against the cheap carpet. Then Knox kneels right in front of me.
“Skyla?” His voice has changed. Quieter now, careful. “Hey, sweetheart, look at me.”
I blink, vision swimming, and meet his eyes. The anger’s gone, replaced by something raw. Worry? Guilt? Maybe both.
He reaches out, cupping my face in his big, warm hands. “Are you hurt?” he asks. “Did they—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head like the question itself is too much. “Breathe, okay? You’re safe.”
I open my mouth, trying to tell him I’m fine, but my throat won’t work. My chest still feels too tight. I just stare back, silent, trying to force any sound out of my stupid body. Frustrated, tears prick hot at the corners of my eyes, blurring his face until all I can see are shapes and light.
“Don’t cry, sweetheart.” Knox’s thumbs trace slow circles along my jaw, grounding me. “Everything’s okay,” he murmurs, voice dropping low. “I’m here now.”
The words ripple through me, quiet and firm, until the noise in my head starts to dull.
The door opens again. Footsteps.
