Chad
"What the—Jenny?"I stammer, my voice raw, incredulous. I can barely speak, let alone comprehend why she’s here, why she just knocked Dean out cold.
She steps closer, her eyes gleaming with something wild, something dangerous. "You said I was too beautiful to be alone," she says, her voice unnervingly calm, “it’s because I was waiting for you; you were never meant to be with him. With them.”
My blood runs cold.
Every part of me wants to rush to Dean, to shake him awake, to make sure he’s okay. But my body refuses, locking me in place as I’m pulled between the searing heat clawing through me and the icy stab of fear. I feel trapped, helpless.
“Waiting for me?” I manage, my voice coming out ragged. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Jenny laughs, soft and almost playful, like this is all some twisted game. “I came to save you, Chad. Don’t you get it? They’ll ruin you. You’re better than this. Better than them.”
I stagger back a step, the bathroom tiles biting against my bare feet. “You’re out of your mind,” I snarl, battling the dizzy haze of heat and panic. “Get the hell out of my house.”
But she doesn’t flinch. Instead, she kneels beside Dean’s still form, her fingers brushing through his hair with a disturbing kind of gentleness. “They’re not worthy of you,” she murmurs, her voice thick with a strange, possessive adoration. “They never were.”
My pulse hammers in my throat, my whole body quaking—not just from the heat but from the sheer wrongness of this moment. Jenny, standing here in the middle of my house, her twisted need for whatever she thinks this is leaking through every word, every movement. None of this was ever supposed to happen.
I try to turn, to move toward the door and out of this nightmare, but my body’s at war with itself, and I stumble, caught between the overwhelming need gnawing at my core and the ice-cold realization that my own instincts might just betray me. I swallow hard, forcing myself to keep some semblance of control, even as she watches me, her gaze dark and unfathomable, as if she’s planning her next move in a game I never wanted to play.
The ache within me grows sharper, clawing its way up, twisting through me with an urgency I can’t ignore. My whole body is screaming for relief, for contact—for the kind of touch that only an alpha can give. But even through the haze of my heat, I feel a strong, defiant core fighting back, grounding me. I am not going to let her be the one to take advantage of me, not now, not ever.
But Jenny just stands there, watching me with an unsettling calm, as if she’s waiting for the inevitable. Her eyes flick over me, pausing at my cock, reading every shudder, every barely contained tremor, her mouth curling with a smug satisfaction that sends bile to the back of my throat.
“Chad,” she says, voice low, coaxing. “You don’t have to suffer. I’m right here. I’m exactly what you need, and you know it.”
My jaw tightens, and I shake my head, clenching my fists, trying to hold onto the last sliver of control I have left. “No. I don’t need you. I don’t want you.”
“Oh, but your body says otherwise,” she murmurs, her tone filled with cruel amusement. “I can smell it, Chad. You’re practically begging for it.”
A shiver runs through me, and I hate that I can’t hide it, can’t mask the effect she has on me when I’m like this. My body might be betraying me, but I grit my teeth, determined to hold my ground. “I’d rather suffer than let you touch me.”
She laughs softly, the sound grating against my skin. “We’ll see how long that resolve lasts. The heat always wins in the end. The body knows what it needs, Chad, even if your mind is too stubborn to accept it.”
I press myself against the sink, slowly edging for the door, desperate for any distance between us. Every inch of me is tense, caught in this battle between instinct and willpower. I feel the sharp pulse of my own heartbeat hammering against my skin, urging me to give in, but my mind clings to Dean’s presence, to the feel of his lips wrapped around me only minutes ago.
“Get out, Jenny.” The words are raw, torn from the back of my throat as I brace against the ache tightening my chest. “Now. Don’t come back.”
A shudder rolls through me, and before I can stop it, a soft whimper escapes my lips. I clench my fists, struggling to hold onto any shred of defiance left.
Jenny just tilts her head, watching me with that disturbingly calm, predatory gaze. She takes a slow, deliberate step closer, her voice low and syrupy. “You know you can’t keep this up, Chad. Eventually, you’re going to surrender to it. And when youdo,” she murmurs, “I’ll be here, waiting to give you everything you’ve been denying yourself.” Her voice drops to a barely audible whisper. “You won’t need convincing—you’ll come to me begging for it.”
A shiver races through me as she steps over Dean, her gaze never leaving mine. She reaches out, her fingers grazing my chest in a slow, possessive path downward. I tense, but my body betrays me again, heat flaring at her touch, my pulse thundering with a mix of need and revulsion. I try to turn away, but her hand slides lower, her grip possessive, claiming.
A traitorous moan slips from my mouth, low and desperate, betraying everything I’m fighting to hold back.
The room fills with Jenny’s laughter, light and delighted, but it sounds wrong here—like it doesn’t belong. Her scent thickens, a dark musk that creeps into the air, sharp and overpowering. To my senses, it’s bitter, like something burnt and acrid, a stark contrast to the warmth and sweetness of Dean, Mason, and Lakelyn. Every inhale only reminds me that this isn’t right, that she isn’t supposed to be here. Even as I press into her touch, silently begging for more.
My body pulses with a heat that defies reason, my instincts clawing for relief even as my mind recoils. I’m caught between the cold sink pressing into my back and the unbearable pull forward, a need surging through me that I can’t push down.
“Don’t fight it,” she murmurs, her breath hot against my neck.
Her scent overwhelms me, sharp and bitter, seeping into my skin. She leans closer, her nose brushing my jawline, and I feel a pang of nausea. I try to turn my face away, but my movements are sluggish. My thoughts scatter, unraveling under the pressure, and it takes everything I have to focus on one thing: not her. Never her.
Her laugh is soft, almost pitying, as the fingers of her other hand drift down my chest, each touch scraping against my skin like nails on glass. “You can pretend all you want, Chad, but this is what you were made for,” she says, her voice dripping with false sweetness.
I barely feel it anymore. My head spins, vision blurring, my own need fogging out reason entirely. I can’t think—don’t want to think. But just when I feel myself slipping, the sharp sound of movement pierces through the haze.
