One-two-three-four.
My toe taps against the gymnasium floor.
One-two-three-four.
The counting helps.
The rhythm grounds me.
But for the first time in years, I'm not counting to suppress panic or contain chaos.
I'm counting because I'm trying to slow down enough to appreciate this moment.
This feeling.
This unexpected gift of belonging.
My eyes find the pack across the gymnasium—four men standing together, watching over me, ready to defend me against anyone foolish enough to try again.
Maybe this is something I can work with.
CHAPTER 21
Possession And Promises
~SERAPHINE~
The water is hot.
Scalding, really—the kind of temperature that turns skin pink and makes muscles unknot whether they want to or not. I stand under the spray with my eyes closed, letting it cascade over my shoulders, down my back, washing away the sweat and tension of the past hour.
One-two-three-four.
My toe taps against the tile.
One-two-three-four.
The rhythm is automatic now—so ingrained that I do it even in moments of relative peace, even when the chaos in my head has temporarily quieted.
Class is over.
The volleyball incident is behind me—along with the whispers, the stares, the particular kind of attention that comes from being at the center of something everyone is talking about. I survived. More than survived, actually. Ithrived.
And for the first time in years, I had people watching my back while I did it.
My pack.
The thought still feels foreign.
Impossible.
Like I'm trying on someone else's clothes and they somehow fit.
I reach for the shampoo—academy-issued, nothing special—and work it through my hair, creating suds that smell like artificial flowers and industrial cleaning products. The scent is familiar, grounding, a reminder that some things haven't changed even as everything else shifts beneath my feet.
A pack.
Four Alphas.
