Tonight, I’m just going to lie here and wait for the sweet relief of unconsciousness.
Or death.
Whichever comes first.
11
HANNAH
It’s eight in the morning, and I’m already showered, dressed in last night’s green dress, and contemplating whether I can escape this mansion without facing anyone.
The shower helped. Sort of. At least the crushing heat from last night is gone, my skin doesn’t feel like it’s on fire anymore, my pulse has returned to something approaching normal, and I can think in complete sentences again instead of just primal need.
But the mortification? That’s alive and well.
I pace my temporary room, barefoot, chewing my thumbnail until it hurts.
What if being around three Alphas is triggering my heat early? What if last night wasn’t a one-time thing but the start of my cycle going completely haywire? I need heat suppressants and a plan. Plus to not accidentally throw myself at another Alpha while thinking he’s someone else.
Maybe I can just sneak out. Call an Uber. Pretend last night never happened. Move to a different country where no one knows I screamed the wrong name during sex.
Perfect plan.
I crack open my door, listening hard.
Silence. Blessed silence.
I tiptoe down the hallway, wincing at every small creak of the floorboards. The house is so quiet I can hear my own heartbeat. Down the stairs, moving as carefully as possible, praying that everyone is still asleep or at least locked in their rooms.
My shoes are by the front door. If I can just get to them and slip out, I’m home free.
I reach the bottom of the stairs and freeze.
Kane is standing in the living room, leaning against the back of the couch with his legs stretched out in front of him, one ankle crossed over the other. Hands in his pockets. Smirking at me like he’s been waiting for hours.
He’s wearing dark jeans that hug his thighs, a green flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing thick, muscled forearms dusted with dark blond hair. His boots look worn. And those hazel-green eyes are tracking my every movement like a predator watching prey.
He’s built like someone who could throw me over his shoulder without breaking a sweat. Broad shoulders, chest pressing against the flannel, arms that seem to call to me.
My gaze drops to his package before I can stop myself, and my brain helpfully supplies exactly what he’s packing because I know firsthand now.
My nipples tighten in immediate response.
Traitors.
“Oh,” I manage, voice strangled, gaze shooting back to his face.
His smirk widens into a full grin. “Were you expecting Noel?”
Heat floods my face. Last night crashes back in vivid, horrifying detail.
“Look.” The word tumbles out in a rush. “I’m so sorry about last night. It’s just that I’d shared ice cream with Noel, we kissed, and I figured he could help me with some pre-heat issues, and I really hope you don’t think I meant to break into your room and assault you because I would never intentionally?—”
He bursts into laughter, head thrown back, shoulders shaking, the sound rich and genuine and filling the entire room.
“Baby girl.” His voice when he speaks again is warm, amused, but underneath there’s something darker. “You think that’s what happened? Because that’s not what I experienced. I was blessed by a sex goddess who climbed into my bed and offered herself to me. The same goddess I’ve been fantasizing about since the moment I first met you.”
My mouth opens, but no sound comes out.
