I lower my eyes, looking at the floor as I try to find a way out of this.
He advances towards me, and Riot and Wrath fall away, leaving just a patch of light from the window that lands across his boots. His feet are large. He is large. I can feel the massive size of him displacing the air.
I tremble violently.
“Casey.” The soft way his voice lingers on my name brings unwanted images of a secret lover whispering my name in the dark, fingers sliding over my curves, wrapping around me.
Stupid, stupid imagination.
I lift my eyes; the gold and chestnut depths stare from just a foot away. They are strong, calm, and so very angry.
Everything in me begs to lower my eyes, but I won’t, instead holding his gaze and refusing to back down. This is my home, and I will not be the weak one under this roof.
“You can call me Khaos.”
Even his name gives me a chill. “Khaos,” I echo.
The last two appear at his side, tension running between them. To my surprise, they are twins but for their colour differences. Ethereal men. Translucent skin, thin and tall. One with the darkest auburn hair glinting like fire, the other with hair as pale as snow. The redhead has gold eyes, light and bright. They dance with curiosity, while the snow white alpha has ice blue eyes that crack with temper and suspicion. Both have hair that reaches their mid-back, though the redhead's is curly and full of waves and life, while the other has hair as straight as silk, hanging in a sheet.
“Hazard,” Khaos indicates the red head man with his probing gold eyes. He smiles slightly and dimples flash. “And Angel.”
The alpha with his pale white hair snarls at me low under his breath. I get the impression that he would kill me or at least try.
Fun.
I bob my head. “Fascinating.”
I turn my back on all of them and return to the island, opening the bag of groceries and pulling them out to put them away. I hesitate and leave out a loaf of bread and the meat I was going to cut up and freeze.
When everything’s put away, I cut up the vegetables and meat and stick them in a pot. The effort of ignoring them is making the process a million times harder. I’ve almost chopped off my finger, dropped the carrots, stubbed my toe, and spilt water all over the kitchen.
Then, I go about my normal routine. I can feel them everywhere I am, but I just ignore them, and they seem to take their lead from me and let me be. The tension doesn’t abate, and no matter how many times I try to sort out an answer, when I look down at that bracelet and remember the cold snap of magic, I know there’s no way out of this.
Freida taught me a lot about magic. She took the hermit witch living on her mountaintop mantle to the extreme.
I manage to get some of my energy out chopping wood, but, after a while, I realise I’m avoiding going back inside, and the daylight is slipping away. I stop and stare at my cabin, contemplating it. To sleep with men under my roof is one thing, but to sleep with shifters? My worst nightmare.
What am I going to do?
I could let them know that I’m one of them, but that would mean exposing my lack of wolf. There is no way I’m doing that. I don’t do packs, not anymore. That is…there’s no way. I didn’t spend all these years escaping Cindel to end up in another situation. To be a breeder to those heathens in my house or the Foster pack. A low on the podium wolf, used for nothing but a plaything for other shifters. I need time and a plan.
A human is the worst mate one can have. At least with me, they’d be getting the genes. I’m not desirable, but I’m acceptable.
I shudder. No, I won’t let that happen to me. If I’d had a wolf…I could have run, I could have found my own way in the world. No one would have stopped me.
But I’m not a wolf, and I bury my omega scent under the scent blockers, hoping that no one will learn my secret.
How am I going to hide it from five alphas?
A pang cuts through my chest, but I press with my hand. It’s better this way. Sometimes I wonder if it’s worth it. To keep fighting. My back has been against the proverbial wall since I was sixteen.
There’s nowhere to run.
Now…I don’t even have my home.
I make my way back to the house, my stomach growling. The stew should be ready by now. I walk in and spot all five lounging on my couch. That’s fine. I walk into the kitchen and stop. It takes everything I have not to let a sound out. I want to cry. It’s a mess. My already exhausted muscles tremble and protest as I take in how hard I’m going to have to work to clean it up. They obviously ate a while ago and just left dirty dishes all over. Is that stew on the roof? I open the lid of the pot and find it completely empty.
I put it back and close my eyes.
