I nod. “Think that’s the best plan.”
We let the sun cook us in companionable silence for a while. The world is loud with shrieking toddlers and the bark of distant seagulls. Charlotte gnaws her protein bar and I sip lukewarm Gatorade, watching clouds boil over the skyline.
At some point, I must drift off, because I wake to a shadow blocking the sun and the acid tang of unfamiliar alpha close by.
Three men stand over us. The tallest has a beach ball biceps and a tank top that reads “TANNER — CHARLTON LACROSSE.” The shortest has an unsettling bright grin on his face. The third, a wiry alpha in sunglasses, hovers behind the other two.
Charlotte goes rigid next to me. “No,” she says flatly. “Absolutely not.”
The tank top guy—Tanner, I guess, from the stitched letters—smiles. “Hey, Charlotte. Didn’t mean to startle you.”
Charlotte bristles in a way I’ve never seen her do before. “You didn’t. But you can leave now.”
She sits up. I do, too. A wave of overprotectiveness over Charlotte has me standing to meet these alphas eye-to-eye before she event stands.
The alpha with an unsettling smile inclines his head. “Come on, Charlotte. Don’t be like that.”
Charlotte doesn’t look at me, but her scent, usually faint and sweet, spikes with fear. I don’t like it.
“Back off,” I snap.
Charlotte touches a hand to my elbow. A warning.
The wiry alpha gives me a quick up-and-down. “We’re not here to cause trouble, just catching up with an old friend.”
Charlotte crosses her arms. “We’renotfriends.”
“We’re your pack,” the unsettling one says.
She looks at her knees, jaw clenched. “We’renothing, Evan.” Her gaze cuts to Wiry. “Christopher. You three need to leave.”
Christopher shifts his weight from foot to foot. “Just wanted to say hi, Charlotte. That’s it.”
I glance at her again, but she’s shrinking, the way prey does. “And now you’ve said it, so leave. We’re having a girls’ day.”
Evan scoffs. “Didn’t know we needed an appointment.”
Tanner’s eyes narrow down the bridge of his nose. “No need to get defensive, we’re not here to start something.”
Christopher flips his sunglasses down from his head over his eyes. “Actually, we saw you skating last night. You’re really good, Charlotte. Impressive stuff. We always knew you’d make it.”
She looks up. “Thanks. I work hard. Please leave.”
Oh, I don’t like this.I step between Charlotte and the alphas. “You heard her. Go find somewhere else to haunt.”
For a hot second, nobody moves. The world feels glassy and still. If they don’t leave, we’ll have to because there’s no way in hell I’m letting Charlotte stay this uncomfortable.
Then, from across the beach, a bellow thunders out. “GRACE! CHARLOTTE!”
It’s an unmistakable alpha sound, pitched to carry over stadium crowds and burning houses. My body reacts instantly. My inner omega makes me turn toward the sound and even smile for a moment before I pull away from the campfire scent.
Fowler Murphy jogs into view, hair spiking like he’s just run his head under a shower. His firefighter T-shirt is dark with sweat. Behind him, a posse of equally fit dudes trail like a well-hydrated wolf pack, with towels slung over shoulders and beer cans crushed into perfect little aluminum hockey pucks.
“Oh my god,” I mutter. “This is sonotwhat I needed today.” But maybe it’ll be enough to scare off these alphas stalking Charlotte.
Charlotte regains composure. “I think it’s about to get interesting.”
Fowler covers the distance in seconds, slowing only to appraise the three men standing over us. He flashes his teeth and plants himself between them and us, arms crossed, stance pure intimidation.
