Chapter one
Roan
Sand grinds between my teeth. My molars ache from pressure I don't remember applying. The beach path blurs at the edges—not from tears, fuck no—from the red haze pulsing behind my eyes. Sixteen years of carefully constructed armor obliterated. I've been laughing at my brothers when they fell, proving I'm the smart one, the safe one, the one who controls the game instead of letting biology play him.
Gone.
Two hours ago, Sharma walked past me at the rehearsal dinner like I was furniture. Like the bond screaming between us was a radio frequency only I could hear. Like the scent of her—something dark, resinous, hidden beneath chemical barriers—didn't detonate in my lungs and try to rewrite my DNA on the exhale.
I'd been giving Grayson shit at the bar. He was hunched over a glass of bourbon, not drinking it, just rotating the tumbler between his palms.
"Lila will still be there tomorrow," I'd said. "Baby Jas too. Crying. Feverish. The whole miserable package."
"Shut up, Roan."
"I'm just saying, you drove four hours to stand at a bar alone. Very romantic of you."
"I said shut up."
"Gray. You're sulking. At a rehearsal dinner. Because your omega—" I'd opened my mouth for the punchline, something about alphas who leash themselves to biology, who let a fated bond hollow them out until they couldn't function at a family event without their mate's hand in their back pocket—
And then she walked in.
Everything stopped when she walked in. The actual cessation of rational thought. My blood went thick and slow, heavy in my veins like something had changed its composition. My cock hardened, immediate and involuntary, pressing against denim like a demand. And Sharma—small, fierce Sharma who used to hide behind Vivian at holidays—glanced at me with those dark eyes, wrinkled her nose like she smelled something rotten, and walked away.
She dismissed me.
Now my fist crashes against Viv's door. The wood shudders. "Open up."
The wait lasts three seconds. I count them by my heartbeat, a violent drum against my ribs, its percussion hammering into mytemples. When the door swings wide, Viv's curls halo her head in the humid night air, tangled by the ocean breeze into a wild crown, but her eyes cut through me—dark, knowing, and already tired of my shit.
"Let me guess," she says. "You finally smelled her."
I push past her into the bungalow. The room smells of coconut sunscreen and Viv's strawberry shampoo—wrong, all wrong. "What did you do?"
"Why assume I did anything?" She closes the door, leaning against it. Her arms cross. The gesture's casual, but her stance blocks the exit, her bare feet planted wide on the bamboo mat.
"Don't." My voice drops. My hands flatten against the wall, fingers spreading wide to keep them from closing into fists. The plaster bites into my palms. "Sharma. She walked past me. Twice. No scent flare, no pupils blown, nothing. She looked at me like I'm a stranger. What did you tell her? What is going on?"
Viv doesn't blink. "Nothing. She's on a suppressant. She's been on it for years."
"But that shouldn't stop her from reacting to her alpha. She's my omega, that should bleed through any blocks."
"It's a DNA suppressant. It's tuned to block you."
My breath stops. Then releases slow, controlled, through my nose. The air burns. "That's impossible."
"Is it?" She tilts her head. The motion's too deliberate, too calm, like she's rehearsed this conversation in the shower. "She's an omega, Roan. A consultant who travels. You think she wants to be at the mercy of her biology in airports? Boardrooms? Male clients who think her heat cycle is their invitation?"
"That's fine. I don't want any alphas scenting my mate. But this is too far." My jaw tightens until the joints pop. "Where did she get my DNA? Those shots require—"
"Alpha genetic material. Yeah." Viv's gaze drops to my shoes, then lifts. Her mouth stays flat, but her chin pulls back a fraction — defiance mingling with guilt, solidifying into the steel that lets her survive four overbearing alpha brothers. "I gave her your hairbrush."
The air leaves my lungs in a rush. "You what?"
"The one from the island house. Last Christmas. You left it in the upstairs bathroom, bristles full of your hair." Viv's chin lifts. "She needed it. I gave it to her."
My gaze locks on her. The girl I taught to ride a bike. The beta who navigates our family of alphas like she's conducting an orchestra of wolves. She gave my genetic code to an omega to help her hide from me. To help her resist the bond.
