Page 74 of Sweet Torment

As they file toward the door, Dr. Montgomery pauses, turning back to me. “Oh, and Ms. Quinn? We’ll need to schedule a pregnancy test for our next appointment as a baseline. Your heat was short, but it was productive. It would be unlikely for conception to occur, but there’s always a chance.”

My heart fucking stops. Holy fuck. How have I not thought about this yet? The room goes silent, but I catch the looks of disgust on the alphas’ fathers’ faces. Me having their heirs would be their worst nightmare. I feel the blood drain from my face. And pregnancy? Under his surveillance? With his cameras and his visits? It never crossed my mind because he told me I couldn’t have kids.

But he also told me I would never be an omega.

I stand frozen, staring at the closed door. Their fathers’ disgusted expressions are burned into my mind, but when I force myself to look at my mates, what I see is so much worse. The air in the room has changed and their anger at their fathers, their concern for me—it’s all been replaced by something else. Something terrifying. They’re all looking at me like I’m a breeding fantasy of theirs waiting to happen.

They can’t possibly want this. Not here. Not now. A baby would be another chain, another vulnerability. It would be insane. But their faces, their scents, the sudden, overwhelming wave of pure, unadulterated desire flooding through the bonds—it all tells a different story. One of instinctual alpha shit.

Looks that say, “I want to put a baby in you.” The thought is so overwhelming it makes me want to run. They must see something on my face because suddenly they snap out of it.

“Bianca?” Freddie catches my hand and brings it to his lips. “Are you okay?”

No. No the fuck I’m not. But instead of saying that, I head to the kitchen and start pulling ingredients out of the cabinet. “Who wants pancakes?” I ask cheerfully. “I’m thinking chocolate chip. Or blueberry. Or both. Fuck it, let’s do both.”

Because if I don’t focus on trying to have a somewhat normal life, if I don’t pretend that the idea of being pregnant in this cage isn’t sucking all the air from my lungs, I will go insane.

24

FREDDIE

I watch Bianca from the corner of my eye as she paces the living room, her irritation a storm brewing just under her skin. Every few seconds, she huffs and mumbles something to herself.

I get it. Being left behind sucks, especially for someone like her who’s spent years making her own decisions. So when Weller announced over pancakes that he and Tristan would be the ones to go into the office, Bianca asked if she could go. Weller refused, his voice leaving no room for argument. “You are not setting foot near our fathers’ offices.” But the real detonation came after she realized Owen was getting tapped to shake down some deadbeat for a late rent payment.

“I could help,” she’d said to Owen, leaning forward eagerly. “I’m good at being intimidating and you’re injured. You could use backup.”

Weller’s “absolutely not” had shut her down immediately, his voice giving no wiggle room even though she tried. “It’s not safe.”

What he didn’t say but I heard perfectly clearly: We’re keeping you as hidden as possible. Hoarded away like a dragon protecting its gold.

The problem is that I deeply understand where everyone is coming from. Bianca wants freedom and to make her own choices but that’s a collision course with our instincts. Walking her onto our father’s turf right now would be unthinkable. We don’t trust them, nor do we trust sketchy collection jobs with Owen. She’s been through hell, and maybe she thinks she can’t break any more than she already has, or maybe even worse, she doesn’t care if she does.

But the look on her face as she watched everyone leave, like she was genuinely hurt, was hard to swallow.

She’s been ignoring me for twenty minutes straight while I arrange logs in the fireplace. I strike a match, watching the flame catch and spread. The warmth feels good against the chill that’s settled in the house, but it does nothing to thaw the ice wall between us.

Finally, she turns to me, arms crossed over her chest. “So, I guess you’re my babysitter.”

“Hey,” I say, trying for lightness, “I’m a very fun babysitter. We can braid each other’s hair, paint our nails, talk about boys...”

That lands. Barely, but it does. The tiniest twitch of her mouth, a little spark of amusement.

She collapses onto the couch with a dramatic sigh. “I’m bored.”

Before I can suggest something, she’s on her feet again, crossing to where I’m still crouched by the fire. Her hand clamps down on my forearm and she leans in until her lips brush my ear, setting my nerves on fire.

“I want to snoop a little,” she whispers, her breath hot against my skin. “Whitney loved her secrets. I want to see if I can find anything.”

I should remind her that the house is wired with cameras, that we’re supposed to keep our heads down, not draw attention but she’s looking at me like she needs me on her team.

“Want to give me a tour?” she asks casually, loud enough for the cameras to pick up. “I haven’t seen much of this place since I was a kid.”

“Sure,” I say, playing along.

We move from room to room, the two of us orbiting each other. The house is silent except for the sound of our footsteps on the polished hardwood floors. Every time she wants to ask something, Bianca leans in again, lips ghosting across my skin, her questions a secret code meant for me alone. It’s dizzying, the constant brush of her body, the way her scent fills every breath I take. I’m supposed to be focused on her words, but all I can think about is the curve of her mouth and the way she smells like my favorite dessert.

“You okay?” she asks, catching me staring. Her brow furrows with genuine concern, and the shift from conspirator to caretaker is so quintessentially Bianca.