Harlan holds my gaze. “I guess we’ll see.”
Evander
I don’t like needles. Like,at all.I still squirm like a kid every time I have to get vaccinated.
“Calm.” Harlan’s voice slices through my racing thoughts, smooth and commanding. Logan sits beside me and takes my hand, weaving our fingers together before lifting my knuckles to his lips. His eyes lock on mine, steady and intent, and the look sends a sharp, delicious spark straight to my heart—and lower.
“Almost done,” the artist announces.
I jolt. I hadn’t even realized they’d started. A nervous laugh slips out. Logan smiles, and just like that, the panic eases. He’s so good at this—distracting me, steadying me. He plays the grumpy hard-ass, but underneath he’s all soft edges and quiet care.
We’d decided to get the tattoos on our arms. Easy to hide until the drug works its way out of Rose's system but in a convenient enough place to verify for the lawyers. She said it would take a week or two. In the meantime, we’ll use scent-neutralizing spray as an excuse for her lack of scent and build a tentative backstory—courting, slow burn, the works. Going straight to bites would raise eyebrows before the media even gets a good look at her.
But the bites will have to come fast. That’s only believable if we claim scent sensitivity.
So, on top of pretending to be bonded, we’re pretending to be scent-sensitive. It says something awful about me that I find the whole ideaexciting.I’ve always loved a good performance.
And, if I’m being very honest, Rose is exactly the kind of woman I’d go for if I were actually looking for an omega. Curves in all the best places. Hair I couldlose my fingers in. She’s a piece of candy begging to be unwrapped. Something about her draws me that I can't quite put my finger on. It draws Logan, too. I could tell the first time we met her. We’re usually in sync like that. It’s something I plan to discuss with him when we have five minutes that aren’t on fire.
I shake off the thought while my lover’s still holding my hand and force myself to focus.
I’m the last to finish, and the second the artist clears me, I jump out of the chair like my ass is on fire.
We head out. Wyatt’s gotten another tattoo on his arm. A rose with wicked-looking thorns. It’s our cover story for being at the parlor in case the media catches wind.
I glance over Harlan’s shoulder as we walk. He’s scrolling real-estate listings. We’re not buying yet—we want it to look like a natural progression, so we’ll wait the two weeks until the “bonding” before settling anywhere. Still, Harlan likes to stay two steps ahead. It’s one of the many reasons I love him.
I brush a kiss against his cheek and start to pull away, but he catches me by the back of the neck and pulls me in. His beard scratches my skin as he claims my mouth. It's deep, commanding, possessive. My knees nearly give out.
Aclickfrom behind us breaks the moment. Harlan pulls back sharply. I turn. A skinny beta in a turtleneck stands frozen, camera in hand.
Fuck.
Harlan’s growl rolls low and dangerous, vibrating in my spine. The beta flinches, then bolts down the sidewalk, but the damage is done. The paparazzi know we’re here.
“So much for a slow reveal,” Logan mutters.
I slip my arm through his, giving it a squeeze. “This is better anyway.”
He arches a brow.
“Rip the bandage off and all that.”
“Rosie.” Kai’s voice is tight with worry, and it shatters whatever lightness I was clinging to. If the photographers know about us, they might have seen her leaving the hotel.
We pile into the car and peel down the street, the flash of cameras still burning in my head.
Rose
My bush is clicking.
That sounds filthy, but I mean it literally—the bush right outside my front stoop is making a clicking sound.
I approach cautiously, broom in hand like some suburban gladiatrix. I give the top a tentative swipe—
—and scream louder than a toddler spotting Santa at the mall when a five-foot-five beta woman with brown hair pops up, enormous camera clutched in her hands.
She fires off a dozen rapid shots like I’m wildlife she’s been stalking for weeks.
