AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Racing to the foyer, I open the box on the stairs and grab my black leather scrapbook with a silver filigree cover and join her at the table. We’ve been scrapbooking about our dream nests every Sunday night for as long as I can remember, cutting out random images that inspire us and pinning down the perfect vibe. The nest I’d built in my apartment closet is currently in a box in the foyer and not nearly as fancy as my dream nest, but it gets the job done.
I’ll need to set it up another day. My next heat isn’t for a few months. The timing isn’t always precise, but there are never more than two a year, and there are at least a few days of nesting before it hits.
Daria sets out scissors, glue, fancy sticker letters, and decorative stickers, all of which her giant bag contained. Turning to my latest nest page, I grab the stack of magazines to find the perfect fit. I pass on the home and garden one, already having the perfect canopy and floor bed picked out. The next magazine is one dedicated to lighting, but I pass on it too, frowning when I see theMMA Monthlymagazine.
“What’s this?”
Daria’s eyes light on the bulky cover model. “A little alpha inspiration. I may have found my pack, but we’re still searching for your type.” She taps my scrapbook. “You never pick out guys from the other magazines. I thought maybe rough and tumble was more your type.”
“I don’t know about that.” Studying the headlines, I suck in a breath when I spot a familiar name. The Hammer. I immediately flip to the page number indicated and find a full-page picture of Dylan.
Black hair. Blue eyes with those streaks of lightning. A glower meant to intimidate. My stomach flips. I’ve seen him around the holidays since we both moved out, but he’s usually in bulky sweaters. Dylan was always strong, but now he’s like a wall of muscle and veins. Cut beyond belief and a little bulky, not too big anddefinitelynot too little.
His fists are up and his chin is tipped down, as if daring me to come closer, but after living with the up-and-coming fighter for two years, I know all too well how dangerous he can be. The little glint of wildness in his eyes, something I’ve never been able to forget or stop thinking about, calls to me and I bite my cheek, hating that, even in a photograph, he has the power to make my knees weak.
“Holy. Shit.” Daria snatches the magazine from my grasp. “That guy is hot as fuck.”
Since we’re college friends, and she’s never met my stepbrothers, she has no idea we’re related. She also has no idea how violently I want to tear the picture from her. I tuck my hands under the table and dig my nails into my palms to keep from snarling at her as she ogles Dylan. Daria is my best friend. Plenty of other omegas have fawned over him. He had his fair share of admirers in high school, and it’s surely only gotten worse.
“Jesus, do you think those veins are that big on his cock?” Daria is too busy squinting at Dylan’s shorts to notice the way my top lip pulls back.
My blood boils and I force myself to breathe through clenched teeth and pick up the next magazine. By the time DariasetsMMA Monthlyaside, I’m vehemently flipping through page after page of comforter and sheet sets.
She sighs. “I guess MMA isn’t your type, either?”
“Nope,” I lie and shrug.
“Well, you have to like something other than”—she snatches my scrapbook and drags it to her side of the table, flipping back a few pages—“Quinn. This is all pictures of the ocean and the stars and...a cage? Listen, I’m not one to kink shame, but what’s with the bird prison?”
Tossing the magazine aside, I yank my scrapbook from her hands. “It’s none of your business, Daria. It’s my vision board.”
“Okay, okay.” She holds up her hands. “All I’m saying is maybe you should start trying to figure out what your type is sooner rather than later.”
“You sound like my mom.”
“How so?”
“She’s been trying to set me up for the last year.” And thankfully, I’ve managed to avoid the dates. Eventually, though, I’ll have to give in and at least go on one or two to keep her appeased. She’s so worried about me.
“Maybe a date will help you figure out what you like.” She takes a sip of wine and nudgesMMA Monthlyin my direction. “Did you see those veins?”
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I nod and ignore the temptation to flip open to Dylan’s page.
The page of my scrapbook Daria criticized is pressed against my chest. When she finally falls into finding her own inspiration, I set the scrapbook on the table and trace my finger over the curling waves under a full moon.
The picture is beautiful, almost a little threatening, if you think about the weight of the ocean for too long. It’s the closest thing I could find to the way Brady makes me feel. I brush my thumb over the constellations. Sometimes at night, when I lookup, I find myself lost for hours, trapped in the snare of the stars and their beauty. Austin’s dimples, the way he smiles, they’re hypnotizing in the same sort of way. And the cage. My pulse jumps, remembering all the times Dylan cornered me without even realizing how he caged me in.
To anyone else, my scrapbook might seem chaotic and unfocused. I press my lips together and flip to the next page, realizing that, on every new vision board, the ocean, the stars, and some type of cage appear. My scrapbook isn’t confusing to me.
It’s a goddamn confessional.
Eight
DYLAN
“The princess is staying at the Ocean Front,” Brady says from the side of the ring.
My gaze cuts to him, and Ricky, my opponent, takes advantage of the slip in my concentration. His fist collides with my ribs, and I grunt at the sudden burst of pain. Fucker. Red clouds my vision, and I breathe in, embracing the familiar tremble of rage as it slithers through my bloodstream.
