Adrenaline courses through me so fast it almost burns.In one heartbeat I’m standing in the kitchen, the next I’m flying through the hall, socked feet slipping on the hardwood as I grab my bag from the entry table. Then the front door gives under my hand, a wash of cold air and bright light flooding the house. My eyes sting and I’m momentarily blinded, but I don’t stop.
“Noa?” Seren’s real, tangible voice cuts through the thunder of pulsing blood in my ears. She’s halfway up the driveway, just getting back from dropping Ivey off. When she sees me, her face tightens, a flicker of confusion chased by concern. “What’s going on?”
I don’t answer. I can’t stop long enough to shape words. The gravel bites through my socks as I sprint for my Jeep parked beside Rennick’s truck, the two of them lined up like they’ve always belonged side by side. I hear the sharp crunch of Seren’s boots as she runs after me.
“Noa!”
Her voice cuts through the biting air again, closer this time, and I twist around just long enough to meet her eyes.
“I have to get to Siggy,” I manage, every word scraped thin by panic. “Something’s wrong. She needs me.”
Her eyes widen, and for a moment, she just stares at me. Then her chin dips in one firm nod. “All right, what are you waiting for? Let’s go crash a party.”
She doesn’t hesitate. She rounds the front of the Jeep and slides into the passenger seat while I climb behind the wheel. My hands tremble as I jam the key into the ignition. The engine growls to life, and before her door shuts, I’m already backing out, dirt spraying behind us in a cloud of dust.
Neither of us speaks. The only sound is the low hum of the tires and the pulse in my throat. My fingers are locked around the steering wheel, knuckles pale against the black leather. The forest flashes past in streaks of green and shadow. The space between me and Siggy feels like it keeps stretching.
By the time the lodge comes into view, my throat’s raw, the kind of dry that has less to do with air and more to do with fear. Anxiety sits heavy in it, clawing at every swallow.
When the building appears through the trees, my stomach dips. The place looks like a damn wedding venue. Stone andwood, all dressed up in leafy green garland and pale blue balloons tied to the porch railings. It’s cute—pretty, even—so much so, it makes my teeth hurt.
I don’t waste time searching for a space to park. I pull straight up to the front stairs, kill the engine, and climb out before the Jeep even settles. My legs are already moving, carrying me two steps at a time until I’m pushing through blue ribbon-draped doors.
The noise hits first. A wall of sound and chatter that crashes into me the second I step inside. Too many voices tangled together to make sense of any one of them. Somewhere underneath, soft music—the kind that belongs in a department store elevator—hums, and glass clinks as champagne trays move through the crowd.
I shove past it all. None of it matters. I’m here for my Nightingale.
I sweep the room, counting faces too fast and not finding the one I need. My heart crawls into my throat.
“Siggy,” I whisper to no one but myself. I call out for her in my head too, but the connection stays quiet.
Seren trails close as I weave through the crowd, past a pastry table big enough to feed a small army, past a pair of beta males I don’t recognize—McNamara Pack, maybe—past a woman mid-story who’s one wild hand gesture away from flinging her champagne flute across the room.
The lodge opens up around me, wide and echoing, concrete floors gleaming under beams draped with white fabric and flowers. I push farther in, and I tense the moment the air goes taut and the attention shifts. Dozens of heads turn my way, and conversation falters. Surprise ripples through the crowd, followed by something else. Uncertainty, discomfort, curiosity.
My steps waver for a beat in the middle of it all, heartbeat hammering against my ribs like it’s trying to escape.
Oh, shit.
Swallow. Breathe. Stand up straight. Keep going.
I slip through one last set of people and look toward the back of the room.
And that’s where I find him.
Standing before the stage built for today’s show, dressed like perfection. Crisp white shirt.Sluttyrolled-up sleeves. Dark fitted wool trousers. The sunlight from the tall windows cuts across him, catching on the four thin scars along his temple. They glow like silver wires stitched into skin.
He looks every bit the Alpha everyone expects him to be. Steady, composed, untouchable. And still, the room orbits around him like it can’t help but bend to his underlying dominance.
And there it is…my worst-case scenario made flesh.
Talis stands beside him, her copper hair gleaming like a penny and her dress the same shade of blue as the balloons outside. She stands poised and polished. Every inch of her proof of how perfectly she can step into the role she was bred for.
She’s looking up at him like he’s a prize she won.
But Rennick? He’s already looking at me.
His gunmetal gaze is locked on me, pinning me where I stand.
