“DON’T TOUCH HER!”
The roar vibrates through the floorboards, rattling my teeth.
I blink, half-expecting to find a bear loose in the studio. Instead, a blur of neon and red nylon launches across the room, tackling my meditation instructor to the floor and sending a dozen lit candles clattering across the floor.
What the—
I push up onto my knees, my breath stalling out. Because the man currently pinning my zen instructor in a deeply compromising catch-wrestling hold—one oatmeal-linen leg hooked up over his shoulder, the poor guy’s crotch mashed against the side of his face, neither of them looking remotely sure how they got there—isReed.
Reed. Wearingreallyshort red shorts, a tight white track jacket and sweatband, along with neon glasses knocked sideways across his nose. Somewhere out there, a 1985 aerobics tape is missing its host...
“Reed?” I croak.
He doesn’t hear me over the shrieks of my classmates, who are already stampeding for the door in a tangle of bare feet and abandoned mats.
Am I hallucinating again?
I turn my head, searching for some kind of logic.
Instead, I find Bram.
He’s planted a few feet away, chest heaving, wearing a beige cafeteria uniform and—is that atoupee?Regardless, that means I didn’t hallucinate him earlier. I’m not losing my mind.
And right behind him, is Ash, in dark blue maintenance coveralls, a bushy blonde mustache glued above his lip that doesn’t come within a mile of matching his dark hair.
I stare at the three of them. My mouth opens and nothing comes out. Instead, a laugh climbs up my throat, because they lookcertifiably insane.A lunch lady, a janitor, and an eighties aerobics instructor.
But the laugh quickly dies in my throat. Because said lunch lady, janitor, and aerobics instructor are also my scent matches.
What in God’s name are they doing here?
“Luna,” Bram says, taking a heavy step toward me, his eyes dark and wild. “We can explain.”
“Yeah,” Ash grunts.
I open my mouth to ask exactly which part ofthisthey think they can explain, but then my nose twitches, cutting me off as a sharp ache plunges into my lower abdomen.
Wait.
I pull in a deep breath, searching for them. For the grounding weight of cedar. The sharp bite of woodsmoke. The dark comfort of leather.
Nothing.
Not a damn thing but burning sage.
Why don’t they smell like them?
My inner omega slams against the back of my ribs. She doesn’t like this. She doesn’t like thisat all.She wants her alphas, and the men standing in front of me look like them, sound like them, but they areempty.
A distressed whine tears out of my throat, loud and high.
Bram’s whole body jerks toward me. Ash goes rigid. And from the floor, still tangled around the instructor, Reed’s head snaps up.
“I yield,” the instructor wheezes from somewhere under Reed’s arm, one hand patting the slate in surrender.
“Luna—” Reed strains toward me without letting go of the man, which only drags them both an inch across the floor. “Baby, I’m coming, just—give me a second—”
“Luna.” Ash takes another step.
