“You are not coming in.” She plants her feet, chin lifted, fury simmering just beneath the surface.
Graham holds steady, towering in the doorway. “Orders.” Nothing more.
That’s when it happens, it’s as if someone lights a match and tosses it straight into a puddle of gasoline.
“Fuck your orders!” she explodes, voice echoing off the walls. “You are not moving in. You are not guarding me twenty-four-seven. I don't care what my father says. I am an adult, and I don’t need a babysitter—or three of them!”
Her chest heaves with the effort it took to unleash it. And for a second, none of us move.
She seems one breath away from throwing the drink Graham's still holding at someone's head.
Probably Hunter’s.
“There’s that spice again,” I murmur to Hunter, who huffs but doesn’t respond. Typical.
“We can put a lock on your bedroom if that will make you feel better about it.” Graham gestures toward the hallwayleading to her room. Willow follows the motion with another glare.
She’s so freaking adorable. I’m sure pointing that out would get me punched, though.
Her scent thickens in the air, wrapping around us, a command woven into every breath we take. Her blockers must be wearing off, because it screams, protect the omega. Make the omega happy. It’s biological. Instinctual. But we’ve all learned to ignore it; other omegas never get under my skin this way.
“You can sleep in the hall,” she snaps, all cute anger, a kitten trying to claw its way out of a box.
“Peaches, we can’t protect you from the hallway if he comes up the fire escape,” I counter smoothly.
Her cheeks light up with a pretty blush, and she sputters, “Peaches?”
“More fitting than princess, don’t you think?”
Hunter rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest. “Princess is pretty accurate. Her father could probably buy the whole state of New York if he wanted to. Probably owns a few islands in the Caribbean. She’s definitely one step away from royalty. Not that she acts the part.”
Her mouth drops open. “Wow. You can do more than grunt and growl and play caveman after all.”
The corners of my mouth tug upward at her teasing, widening even more when Hunter glares at her.
“He doesn’t need to talk to protect you,” Graham cuts in. “He’ll take first shift, Carson will take second, and I’ll take third. Now, do you want the lock on your room or not?”
She blinks. Once. Twice.
I should let it go, but watching her get all worked up is too damn entertaining. That blush? It’s cute as hell. The way her scent thickens when she’s irritated? That’s interesting.Dangerous, but interesting. We’re supposed to be immune to it. And yet…
“Peaches, you should call your dad and complain,” I suggest, just to see her reaction.
Graham already has her dad’s number pulled up, holding his phone out as if it’s a loaded weapon as if we planned this. I grin as she contemplates both my words and the phone before throwing up her hands in frustration and storming into her apartment.
“Buy the best lock you can, because when my heat hits, I’m not taking any of your knots.”
Her bedroom door slams behind her, rattling the frame, leaving silence in its wake.
Hunter shifts slightly, jaw ticking. Graham exhales through his nose. But I know they both feel the same thing I’m feeling. Excitement. Anticipation.
She’s a firecracker.
I lean against the wall, arms crossed, enjoying the hell out of this. Her scent is still thick in the air, a little irritated, a little flustered. Not just anger.
I let out a low whistle. “Feisty.”
And it’s going to be so much fun watching her fight this every step of the way.
