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Must be exhausted.
To make her comfier, I pry out the backpack jammed between her and Bish. But soon as I yoink, she claws. “You’re not my alpha.”
My heart blends like a smoothie. “Sol—”
“Want you. But you’re not.” She hugs the bag.
I want to rip it from her fingers and scream. Hold me. Feel me, right here. “I’m always yours.”
“Keep those eyes closed.” Bish rocks her with the softest purr. “You’re safe. You don’t have to fight.”
“Never…safe…” Her lids flutter.
She wants me, then says I’m not hers.
Gives the sweetest smile, then phonebook-rips my heart.
Before I find out how many petals Sol has left to yank on the flower of my fate, Reese pops out of the back of the plane. Finished loading our shit, he zooms to her.
When he cups Sol’s face, her head droops.
That’s not right.
“What in the fuck did you give her, Bish?” Reese asks in a barely muzzled snarl.
“Benzos.”
My lips pop open. “You drugged our mate?”
That’s why her pulse is so slow and her eyes are so black.
“Consensually.” Bish rocks, trying to pull Sol away from me. “Don’t roar in her ear.”
Gonna do more than roar.
“Explain,” Reese grits.
We’d already have Bish on his ass if our mate weren’t cozy in his lap.
“Be quiet before you make her more upset.” Bish’s glare could kill a peasant uprising, but it’s not what stops me lunging for my mate.
The plane surges down the runway.
Its engine is hella loud and high-pitched.
The sound should drown everything, but it can’t touch the muffled whine trapped in Solly’s throat.
It’s a whimper and a wail.
A held-in scream.
The smothered cry claws my insides with a rusty hook. My alpha instincts rage—to rally, shield, protect—any fucking thing.
Kill the enemy. Soothe the gamma girl. Make her safe.
But there’s nowhere to rally.
No enemy but the one in her head.
