A part of me should be relieved. The evidence is gone. I’m free.
And then I see them.
Rett staggers back, his face contorting in pain. Diego cries out, a raw, animal sound of pure agony as he slumps against the bed. Tristan’s earnest confession is cut off as his hands fly to his head, his expression one of pure torment. Dane looks like he’s been struck by an invisible force, his body rigid with suffering.
The static. It’s back. And it’s not a headache. It’s a bomb.
I stare, my own sense of loss completely forgotten, replaced by a horrified sort of awe. The connection between us, the same one I’ve been doubting, questioning, trying to rationalize away, was real. So real that the moment it snapped, it didn’t just hurt them. It’s broken them.
They are four of the most powerful men in the city, reduced to trembling shadows of themselves, all because a bond with just a normal, average beta disappeared.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Rett
My alpha is raging, demanding I cross the room, that I reclaim what was ours, that I do whatever it takes to stop this agony. But I push it down. Bury it.
Instead, I force myself to my feet. My legs feel like they’re made of water, my entire body trembling with the effort of remaining upright as the static shrieks through my skull. Sweat beads on my forehead, trickling down my temple.
“Diego,” I grit out, my voice a raw, pained rasp that barely sounds human. “Get a cool cloth for her head.”
Diego looks at me like I’ve lost my mind, his own face contorted with suffering. With visible effort, he pulls himself up, using the edge of the bed for support.
“Tristan,” I continue, each word a battle against the pain. “Water.”
Tristan winces and nods once, pushing himself away from the wall where he’s been leaning.
Dane’s pale eyes meet mine across the room. He doesn’t need instructions. He’s already positioning himself by the door, hisbody rigid with the effort of remaining standing as the static tears through him.
I turn back to Zoe, forcing my features into something that I hope resembles calm concern rather than the screaming torment that’s trying to claw its way out of my throat.
“Are you hungry?” I ask, the question absurdly normal given the circumstances.
Zoe
I can’t tear my eyes away from them.
“Are you hungry?” Rett asks, and the sheer mundanity of the question in the face of what’s happening makes me stare at him in disbelief.
His face is pale, his forehead beaded with sweat. A muscle jumps in his jaw from the effort of clenching his teeth against the pain. But his eyes are steady on mine, filled with genuine concern.
“I’m...” I begin, unsure how to answer. The fever is receding, the burning heat replaced by a strange, hollow coolness. My throat feels dry, my limbs weak. But compared to what they’re experiencing, my discomfort seems trivial. “I’m okay. But you’re not.”
He ignores my observation, reaching for my wrist instead. His fingers press against my pulse point, counting silently. His touch is cool against my skin, and I notice the slight tremor in his hands.
“Your pulse is stronger,” he says, but his voice is strained. “That’s good.”
“Rett,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “The static. It’s back, isn’t it?”
Before he can answer, Diego returns with a damp cloth. The short trip to the bathroom and back seems to have drained himcompletely. His usual warm, golden complexion has a grayish cast, and there’s a light sheen of sweat on his brow. His hands tremble as he passes the cloth to Rett.
“Here,” he says, the single word sounding like it’s been torn from his throat.
Tristan appears a moment later, a glass of water in his hand. His usual easy grace is gone, replaced by a stiff, controlled movement. He sets the glass on the nightstand, not quite meeting my eyes.
“You should drink,” he says, his voice tight. “You’re still dehydrated.”
I look from one to the other, a sense of unreality washing over me. This can’t be happening. They can’t seriously be acting like nothing is wrong, like they’re not in the grip of some unspeakable agony.
