His bright blue eyes flash.
“Emery.” His voice drops, then hardens. “Answer. The question.”
The command slams into me like a physical force. Alpha pressure rolls through the room, heavy and undeniable, pressing against instincts that are already raw from being touched, and knotted.
My breath stutters, but I hold my ground.
“Yes,” I tell him. “I did.”
Beau inhales sharply, like the confirmation still lands as a blow even though he already knew. Because hedidknow. It’s written all over his face: the anger, disbelief, as well as something darker and hotter tangled underneath.
“Connor,” he growls.
The name sounds like a promise of violence.
Then he closes the distance in two strides.
I take a step back on instinct, and his hand slams into the wall beside my head, the impact echoing through the entryway. The vibration rattles my bones as his body cages mine in completely, broad and unyielding, alpha dominance flooding the space until my instincts scream and flare instead of retreating.
“Did you seriously think I wouldn’t smell him on you?” he snarls. “You walk intomy houselike that and expect me not to know?”
“This isn’t your house alone,” I shoot back, heart racing. “And I am not yours to police.”
His laugh is short and bitter; borderlineunstable.
“Bullshit.”
His hand remains on the wall beside my head, and his other comes up to my jaw, his fingers firm and possessive as he holds me in place. His thumb presses in just enough to ground him—or maybe me.
His touch sends a shock straight through my body, traitorous heat blooming low in my belly.
“You live here,” he says, voice shaking now, restraint fraying. “You sleep down the hall. You move my things. Fold my blanket. Make this place smell like you.”
His grip tightens.
“And you want to stand there and tell me you’re not mine?”
“That doesn’t give you ownership,” I say, pushing against his chest.
He doesn’t move an inch. My instincts light up instead of recoiling, slick heat pooling where it shouldn’t.
“You don’t get to decide who touches me.”
Those gorgeous blue eyes burn into mine.
“I don’twantto,” he snaps. “That’s the problem.”
He leans in until our foreheads almost touch, his breath hot against my cheek, scent flaring sharp and dominant.
“Every instinct I have says you’re pack,” he says hoarsely. “Says you’re mine to protect. Mine to keep safe.”
His jaw clenches.
“And yet you walk in here wearing another alpha’s scent like a challenge.”
“I didn’t do it to provoke you,” I whisper.
His grip tightens.
