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Maybe I’m the one who needs to leave.
Just gracefully grab my passport and bounce to another country. It’s easy as hell for omegas to get visas. I’ll spend the last miserable years of my life getting fucked on a beach, drinking straight rum out of coconuts, and pining for them and her like the mopey motherfucker that I am now.
Shit.
Is this really me?
I squeeze my body pillow, burying my nose in a pillowcase that carries the ghost of Hunter’s smoke. The alpha scent grounds me just enough to realize that my body’s too hot, my muscles tight and aching.
Pre-heat?
Shit.
That explains the heavy moping.
I have to text the guys and warn them to clear their schedules. I need all of them here if my heat’s about hit.
Finally.
It’s been too long since I had them all, and I’m praying with all my crazy omega energy that this heat strengthens the pack bonds that are just as frazzled and frayed as my brain.
I’m fumbling for my phone, trying to find it in the mountain of pillows, when I hear the gunshot.
I stop moving at the cellular level, even my heart icing, freezing.
It couldn’t have been…
Lilah.
Fuck, I have to get to Lilah.
I find the phone with laser focus and pull up the cams. Three cars sit in our driveway, doors swung open as more than ten guys creep toward the house.
With our silent alarms going batshit, I don’t bother shooting off a text. Jett’s on it.
I grab a gun from under the hallway table and stalk down the stairs, every muscle torqued, listening for breaking glass.
The kitchen doorknob rattles. I catch a shadow passing in front of the window. Padding silently down the hall, I slip through the gym door and lock it behind me.
The steps don’t make a sound under my soft footsteps. Thank fuck I spent all those years training for black ops.
On high alert, I cross into Lilah’s side of the basement. Her nest door hangs open, and my heart launches into my throat.
Did they already—
The cellar doors fly open.
I take aim but drop the weapon as soon as I realize it’s Lilah stumbling in from the yard. Her hair is wild, her shirt torn and bloodstained, and I fucking rage at the sight of her zip-corded wrists. “Lilah. What the—”
She doesn’t stop running, crashing into my chest. I grab her shaking shoulders to brace her.
And catch a face full of Lilah’s perfume.
Burnt sugar, sweet caramel, vanilla crème brûlée.
World-changing, best-dessert-of-your-life, irresistible sweetness.
My cock goes diamond hard, and I let out a strangled, ripping noise like air escaping a balloon. “Your scent.”
