The car whips through traffic, taking corners faster thanseems safe. I should be afraid of the speed, but instead, I’m afraid of what’s waiting for us at the penthouse.
“Tristan,” I finally venture, my voice sounding too loud in the confined space. “How bad is ‘bad’?”
His eyes don’t leave the road. “We’re about to find out.”
Five minutes later, the elevator deposits us on the penthouse floor, and Tristan is already moving before the doors fully open. I hurry to keep up, my heart hammering against my ribs.
When we burst through the main door, the scene that greets us is one of quiet, controlled agony.
Diego is on the floor in the living room, curled on his side. His usually warm, golden complexion has gone pale, sweat beading on his forehead, his eyes squeezed shut. His hands are clenched into fists so tight I can see the tendons standing out.
Dane kneels beside him, one large hand on Diego’s shoulder. His face is a stoic mask, but there’s a tension in his jaw, a tightness around his eyes that betrays his own suffering.
And Rett... Rett stands by the windows, his back to us, a rigid silhouette against the city skyline. Even from behind, I can see the agony in the set of his shoulders, the way his hands are braced against the glass as if he’s barely holding himself upright.
The air feels wrong. Thick. Charged with something I can’t see but can definitely feel. A low, vicious hum that vibrates in my bones and makes the ghost of my claiming marks ache in sympathy. The static. It’s like a living, breathing monster in the room.
Tristan moves past me, his own face drawn. He goes to Diego’s other side, crouching down, his hand hovering over his brother’s back as if he’s not sure where to touch, how to help.
“It hit Diego hardest this time,” Dane says, his voice so low I almost miss it. “Came on fast. Worse than before.”
Rett doesn’t turn around when he speaks. His voice is a raw,ragged thing that cuts through the haze like a dull knife. “Zoe. Bedroom.Now.”
It’s not a suggestion. It’s not a request. It’s a desperate, last-ditch command from a man who is clearly at the very end of his rope.
I swallow hard, my own panic rising. What does he expect me to do? What can I do? But Tristan just looks up at me, his eyes full of a raw, pleading urgency, and gives a small, jerky nod.
I’m the cure. And the patient is coding.
My feet feel like lead as I walk toward the master bedroom. To the pack bed. The scene of our first night together. It feels like a lifetime ago. The alphas follow behind me in a somber, silent procession. Dane and Tristan practically carry Diego between them, his steps unsteady. Rett is the last to follow, his movements stiff, like a man walking to his own execution.
This is it, I think, a bitter taste in my mouth. This is my job. Their living, breathing aspirin. Their emergency medication.
Then Diego lets out a soft, broken sound that isn’t quite a whimper, and my heart twists with a fierce, unwelcome empathy. I can’t stand to see them like this. Any of them. The thought of just walking away, of leaving them to suffer—it’s unthinkable.
Inside the massive bedroom, the only light comes from the soft glow of the city outside. The bed is unmade, the sheets rumpled, as if someone had been tossing and turning there already. Rett doesn’t turn on the lamps. He just gestures to the bed.
“Please,” is all he says, and the word is a raw, broken plea that shatters the last of my resistance.
I take a deep, shuddering breath and make a conscious choice. I climb onto the center of the massive mattress and lie down on my back, arms at my sides, feeling ridiculously small and vulnerable in the vast expanse of silk and pillows.
One by one, they join me.
Diego is the first, curling up on my left side. His head finds the pillow just beside mine, his face turned toward me, so closeI can feel his shallow, pained breaths against my cheek. His hand comes to rest, warm and possessive, on my stomach. The tightness around his eyes eases slightly, just from this proximity.
“Gracias,” he whispers, so softly I almost don’t hear it. “Gracias, cariño.”
Dane takes my right side, his body a solid line of heat against mine. His arm drapes over my waist, his fingers finding Diego’s, lacing through them in a gesture of shared relief.
“You’re here,” he murmurs, more to himself than to me. “You’re actually here.”
Tristan settles behind Diego, a massive, silent wall of solid muscle. His large hand reaches across, coming to rest on my hip, anchoring me. His eyes meet mine over Diego’s shoulder, and I see something there I’ve never seen before—a raw vulnerability that makes my breath catch.
Rett is the last. He lies down facing me on Dane’s side, completing the circle. He doesn’t touch me at first. He just looks at me, his blue eyes a dark, stormy sea of pain and desperate need. Then, slowly, as if it’s the only thing he can do, his forehead comes to rest against mine, our breaths mingling in the small space between us.
“The noise,” he whispers, his voice cracking slightly. “It’s been getting worse.”
The sensation is overwhelming. The sheer weight of them. The radiating heat of their bodies. The four distinct alpha scents enveloping me, saturating the air, sinking into my skin. I am completely, utterly surrounded. Caged.
