The four of them follow me inside, up the cranky elevator, and down the hall to my apartment door. It feels surreal, leadingthis parade of alphas back to my home for the second time tonight. Like some weird déjà vu loop I can’t escape.
I unlock my door, pushing it open to reveal my modest apartment. The familiar sight of my living room with its worn couch, the overflowing bookshelf, and the small dining table cluttered with art magazines should be comforting. Instead, it all looks suddenly vulnerable. Penetrable.
I step inside, flipping on lights as I go, suddenly aware of how easily someone could break in. The window by the fire escape. The thin walls. The flimsy deadbolt.
No. Stop it. Don’t let them get in your head.
But it’s too late. The seed of fear has been planted, and it’s growing with alarming speed.
“Nice place,” Tristan says as they file in after me, his eyes scanning the room. He gestures to the slightly crooked abstract print above my couch. “Is that an original? Looks... angsty.”
The joke lands with a thud in the tense silence of the room. He seems to realize it too, his easy grin faltering for a second before he shoves his hands in his pockets.
“Thanks,” I mutter, dropping my keys on the side table. Before I can even ask them what they suggest, Rett steps forward.
“This building,” he says, gesturing to my apartment, “is compromised. You are not safe here.”
“He’s right,” Dane adds, moving to my front door. He examines the lock with a critical eye. “Standard deadbolt. Could pick it in under thirty seconds. Window locks are basic. No security system.” He meets my eyes, his pale blue gaze intense. “It’s a fish tank.”
I swallow hard, trying to ignore the growing knot of dread in my stomach. “You’re overreacting. It was just a gallery break-in. We’ve had break-ins before. Art theft happens, unfortunately.”
“Art theft, yes,” Rett nods. “Personal messages spray-painted on the art itself? No. That’s a threat, Zoe.”
“We don’t know it was directed at me specifically,” I whisper,but my voice lacks conviction. “It could have been for Helen. Or just a general ‘fuck you’ to the gallery.”
“They only took pieces from your exhibitions,” Diego says gently. “They went through your desk. They left that message on a painting.” His warm brown eyes are full of concern. “Zoe, you know what this means.”
I do. God help me, I do. But admitting it makes it real. Makes the fear real.
“So what’s your solution?” I ask, crossing my arms even though I know it looks defensive. “Armed guards? A panic room?”
“Move into the penthouse,” Rett says without hesitation.
The words drop into the silence like stones falling to the bottom of a very, very deep well.Move… in with them?Live in their space? Be surrounded by their scents, their presence, their overwhelming alpha energy, 24/7?
I stare at him, speechless, my mind struggling to process the sheer, insane audacity of his suggestion. “Move in. With you?” I finally manage, my voice a strangled whisper.
“Yes,” Dane rumbles from where he’s still standing by the door.
“Absolutely not,” I say. But the denial is a reflex. A grab for the normalcy that was shattered the moment I walked into the gallery tonight. I know it. And it feels like they know it too. “That’s... that’s insane.”
“Is it?” Rett says. His deep blue eyes bore into mine as his jaw clenches behind his closed mouth.
I break his gaze and release a breath, rolling my shoulders. “I’ll go stay with my friend. She’s mated to three alphas. I’ll be safe there.”
The moment the words “three alphas” leave my mouth, the atmosphere in the room changes. A sudden, visceral drop in pressure, like before a lightning strike.
A low, collective growl rumbles through the small apartment, a sound that seems to vibrate in my bones. It’s not ahuman sound. It’s the deep, guttural sound of pure, primal possession. Rett’s jaw clenches so tight a muscle jumps. Dane, who had been a statue in the doorway, takes a half-step forward, his hands flexing into fists. Even Diego’s warm expression hardens, a flicker of something cold and territorial in his eyes.
They don’t want me safe with other alphas. They want me safe withthem.
Tristan is the first to recover, visibly shaking off the instinct. He shoves a hand through his dark hair, turning away to pace toward my bookcase as if he needs to put distance between us.
“Okay, see, that’s...” he begins, his voice strained. “It’s not just about your safety, Zoe. It’s also about... the static. Being near you helps. A lot. We can think clearer, function better. And right now, we need to be at our best to figure out who did this.”
Ah, there it is. The ‘what’s in it for them’ part of the equation. How did I forget? I’m their beta aspirin.
“Temporarily,” Rett says, as if sensing my internal resistance. “Until we catch this person. We can add more security to our building. Multiple layers. No one gets in without clearance.”
