The road that feels endless comes to an end. The car slows and turns onto an elegant travertine driveway, its pale gray stone shimmering in the sunlight. Ahead rises a grand Southern-style mansion, its white façade gleaming against the green of the groves that surround it.
It’s the Nolans’ estate, but seen from the front.
Low shrubs and thick patches of palmetto line the edges of the property, while a stone-paved path curves from the drive toward a broad porch at the front.
A few silhouettes linger there, blurred by distance. As soon as Ragnar pulls the handbrake, two of the three figures standing there step down and start walking toward us.
Panic presses in on me at once, a dull ache radiating through my body. Too many people! All of them about to look straight at me, at my ragged self, ready to judge, to ask questions. And I’ll be left searching for answers I can’t give, or choking on the words before they form. My only hope is that my brother will explain everything…
But of course, I can’t stay in the car if everyone else is getting out. Shaking, I climb out with the rest, unsteady on my feet. I catch bits of conversation, but not much really registers. From the group that stepped out of the house, one person comes forward toward Sun and Ragnar, a beautiful omega male. Sun runs to him and they hug tightly.
It's my first time seeing Lake Nolan.
Over Sun’s shoulder the man’s eyes land on me for a moment, and he gives me a warm, encouraging smile, the kind meant to lift your spirits. I even try to return it, but my mouth refuses to shape itself into a smile. My energy feels frozen, locked down by this relentless, low-key pain.
Behind the omega stands a tall alpha with chestnut hair and handsome, classy features, maybe in his early forties.
Yeah, so this is it.
It’s time for my situation to sink in.
I realize that whatever happened before is over. I'm entering a new chapter. I've reached my destiny, my new home.
Sun’s parents, are basically my proxy family now, since Ragnar is Sun’s fated mate. The law automatically considers them married.
Still, I know nothing about them, and I probably should try to change that, perhaps push myself to ask some questions? But in the state I’m in, all I can do is to sink further into confusion, uneasiness, and stress.
As I stand a bit to the side while Sun greets his parents, I notice someone else.
One person is slowly descending the stairs leading off the porch and stopping there.
This is the moment I meet Snow.
I’m almost struck by his height; he’s an impressive alpha and towers over me significantly. My eyes are drawn to him almost automatically, but he doesn’t try to approach me.
As my gaze slides over his figure, I feel a subtle shiver.
He looks around thirty, athletic, and well-groomed. What’s our age difference? The thought forces me to try to remember my own age. How old am I?
Twenty?
This guy is annoyingly gorgeous. He seems almost too perfect, at least as far as my preferences go, or what Ithinkare my preferences. My cheeks flush and I quickly turn my eyes away, but his are fixed on me.
Such a unique color… stranger than mine, a shade of light violet that seems otherworldly.
There are other people around, even one more man on the driveway loading luggage into his car, but I completely ignore everything else, painfully aware of how ridiculous my skittish behavior is.
Well, I am, after all, a runaway from a mafia fortress. I hope it’s obvious to everyone why I have ragged clothes, dirty hair, and bruises. Still, the omega part of me can’t help but feel self-conscious about my looks, especially because a certain hot alpha eyes me. Yep. That’s just crazy.
To escape the temptation to stare at him and come across as a weirdo, I drop my gaze to the white stone path.
When Sun, Ragnar and the rest start toward the house, I follow nervously, desperate to stay close to them. My weakened legs slip on the step, and I just barely catch myself. I see the blond man’s hand reaching toward me, but I recoil, dodging it.
No. I know I don’t want to be touched. I’m a wreck. In this state, the only touch I can tolerate is the one I choose myself.
We step past the doorstep, and as I expected, the inside of the house is equally beautiful, obviously designed to be a place for a big family. The living room is so spacious; its windows face both north toward the driveway and south toward a large patio. Elegant furniture fills the space: a massive dining table, oversized couches for the whole family, a giant screen on the wall that must serve as a home theater. A wide island separates it from the open kitchen, where a beta in his sixties stands frozen, staring at us with wide, startled eyes. We must look like ghosts.
But it’s me who feels really cornered, on the edge of panic. There are just too many people, their presence pressing in on me, their energy, their eyes. I feel crushed beneath it, desperate for all of it to end. I want to hide in some small room, or better yet take a shower, maybe a long bath, and just collapse into sleep, drifting away from this intensity around me.
