Page 44 of The Florist and Her Alphas

“Three?”

“The service sends a team. Usually three. For... coverage.”

My face is on fire. “Mira. I don’t think this is a good idea. Total strangers?!”

A knock on the door. Heavy. Three sharp raps.

Mira’s phone buzzes. She checks her texts. “That’s them. They’re early.” She stands, smooths her apron, and heads for the door. “Stay put. I’ll bring them in, and they can go to town on you.”

“Alright,” I sigh as she rushes out of my apartment.

I hear her footsteps creak down the stairs at rapid speed. Then the main store door opens.

Low voices. A deep, rumbling laugh that makes the hair on my arms stand up. Then Mira’s voice, bright and fake-cheerful: “She’s just through here. The bedroom.”

Footsteps in the hallway. Heavy. Boots on hardwood.

Mira appears in the doorway. Her eyes are wide.

“They’re here,” she says. Her voice is thin. “I’ll, uh. Give you privacy. Have fun.” She winks. Then she’s gone, the apartment door closing behind her with a soft click.

Three alphas walk into my bedroom.

The scent hits me first. Musky. Like wet fur and old blood and something chemical underneath, artificial, trying to mask something worse. It’s nothing like the Frostwoods—nothing like bergamot or lemon or black tea or honey. This is the scent of something predatory. Something that hunts.

I look up, and my heart slams against my ribs. My skin goes cold.

They’re not total strangers at all.

I stare at them.

The one in front is tall. Broad-shouldered. Pale blond hair swept back from a forehead I know. Cold eyes. Calculating. A smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

Silus.

Magnus’s son. The alpha who took over the pack when his father died.

Behind him, his two packmates follow. One with a scar through his eyebrow. One with a tattoo on his neck I’ve seen a hundred times, in a hundred nightmares, looming over me while I counted cracks in the ceiling.

My former packmates. My captors. The men who held me down while Magnus tried to claim me, over and over, until my body rejected him and the scars never healed.

Silus’s eyes move over me. The towel. The damp hair. The flushed skin. The smell of heat filling the room, thick and unmistakable.

His smile widens. Slow. Predatory.

“So,” he says. His voice is smooth. The voice of a man who has all the time in the world. “This is where you’ve been hiding.”

I am frozen. Every muscle locked. My breath caught in my throat. My hand still between my legs, clutching the towel, slick soaking through the terry cloth onto my fingers.

Three alphas from my worst nightmares stand between me and the door.

My body is on fire, and I cannot move.

Eleven

EZRA

The dashboard in my car reads 7:52, and Liana still hasn’t answered my text message.