We’ve fucked up.
Tristan
The atmosphere in the penthouse is like a goddamn funeral. Rett is pacing like a caged animal, occasionally pressing his fingers to his temples. Dane hasn’t moved from his position against the wall. Diego is making coffee so slowly that he’ll be finished by next week.
“We know where she works,” Rett finally says, stopping his pacing.
I’ve known Rett all my adult life, and I recognize the edge of desperation there. The static is hitting him hardest, as it always does. The pack alpha, bearing the brunt of the pack’s biological distress.
“Whoa there, Joe Goldberg,” I say, sitting up. “Let’s maybe not plan on finding her hair or making sure she’s trapped in glass before we’ve had caffeine.”
Rett glares at me, but Diego sighs in agreement. “Tristan’s right.”
“Last night…” Rett growls, and the memory hits all of us at once.
Zoe laid out on our bed. Her lips swollen from our kisses. Her skin flushed. The way she’d arched when I’d tasted her. The salt-sweet flavor of her on my tongue. The sounds she’d made when I finally claimed her. Deep, guttural moans that still echo in my head.
“Last night was…” Diego says softly.
“Fucking amazing,” I finish for him.
The silence that follows is heavy. None of us had planned it. Claiming her had been instinctive. A response to something in her that called to something in us. But in the cold light of day? Fuck, it seems insane. Itwasinsane.
Now here we are, our marks on her throat, and the static roaring in our heads like we’ve poked a bear.
I can’t stand the tension anymore. It’s suffocating.
“Okay, new plan,” I announce, unlocking my phone and scrolling, even though I have no idea what I’m looking for. “We need to shift the narrative.”
Diego looks up from the coffee machine. “Narrative? What narrative?”
“The one in her head,” I say. “The one where we’re the villains in her story.”
Rett pauses mid-pace, his sharp eyes narrowing. “And how do you propose we do that?”
I lean back, scrolling frantically as if that will somehow give me all the answers. I have no idea how to navigate this.
“We could... I don’t know... accidentally schedule all our business meetings at the coffee shop across from her gallery. Everyday. For the next year. Casually bump into her until she has no choice but to talk to us.”
Rett pinches the bridge of his nose like he’s trying to ward off an aneurysm. “Tristan, do you ever hear the words coming out of your mouth?”
“Yes,” I say, pointing at him. “And they’re brilliant.”
“They’re insane,” he counters. “You’re insane.”
Diego shakes his head, shooting me a look as he wipes spilled coffee beans from the counter. “You’re not helping.”
The energy drains out of me like someone’s flipped a switch. “I don’t know, man,” I admit, slumping back on the couch. The humor falls away, leaving something raw and bitter in its place. “The jokes, the dancing... thesex... I thought she was having fun. I thought she actuallylikedus. Turns out we don’t know shit. What do we even know about her?”
The room goes quiet. No one says anything for a long moment. Even Rett’s pacing stops.
“She’s twenty-six,” Dane suddenly says, eyes on his phone screen. “Graduate degree in art history from Sweetwater University. Been at the gallery three years, promoted to assistant curator last year. Lives alone. No pets. Parents divorced. Mother is a beta who remarried and is living in a different city. Father, also a beta, is off somewhere else. Only child. Best friend is an omega named Leah Le Roux, who owns her own bakery called ‘Sweet Omega’.”
We all stare at him.
“What?” he asks, looking up. “It’s all on her social media.”
“That’s... thorough,” Diego says carefully.
