Father knew things, things he wouldn’t tell me. All I came away believing is that I’m dangerous, and Harry made a grave mistake bringing me onto his doorstep. It’s as if I can feel the eyes of alphas all around the house, peering in and looking for me.
I fall asleep aching between my thighs, wishing Harry were here. When I wake up, it’s to the sound of scrabbling at the front door.
“Harry?” I call out. It’s dark through the window, so he should still be working. The scrabbling continues, and it must be an animal of some sort, because I’m certain that Harry locked it when he left.
But then, the noise stops, and the knob turns.
I grab the closest pillow and pull it toward me, as if I can hide under it. The door slowly pushes open, and a hand retreats. Someone must have picked the lock.
What do I do? There’s nowhere to run in this room. I could hide in the closet, or perhaps under the bed. It’s the first thought to enter my mind, and so it’s the first thing I do, crawling over the edge of my nest as the door opens. Then I slip into the closet, leaving the door ajar so it doesn’t look suspicious.
A heavy boot lands on the floor. Then another boot, and my heart thunders in my chest. Who’s breaking into Harry’s home? Do they know I’m here?
Is thatwhythey’re here?
I try to keep my breathing even and quiet despite my lungs desperately craving air. Whoever has come into the house closes the door, then the boots continue across the floor toward the kitchen. Maybe I could run for it—but I would have to leave the bedroom and cross the main roomwithout being seen, then open the door and take off into the night, knowing I might be pursued.
The boots pause, then continue, growing closer to the bedroom door. I squeeze my hands together to stop them from trembling, worried this invader will be able to hear my labored breathing, my shivering body against the wall of the closet.
Footsteps continue closer, and closer, coming inside the room. I can see the soles under the door of the closet, and I try to will down my panic. They won’t find me in here. It’s dark. Surely?—
One of the lamps is lit.
“Little omega,” a husky, masculine voice calls out. “I can smell you in here.”
It takes all of my willpower to hold back a whimper. How does he know? I cram myself deeper into the closet, hoping the shadow of the door will hide me. The boots continue to the bed.
“Pretty nest.” The voice is even closer now. “Perfect for knotting. And breeding. For filling you up and making you feel aaaaaall better.”
Now I understand. An alpha. He found me after all.
The boots continue to the edge of the door, and a head peers around it. He has a big nose, thin lips, and eyes hidden by the shadow of his brow. He smiles the moment his gaze lands on me.
He lunges, and I let out a shrill scream.
HAROLD
My night is tedious because all I want is to get back to Selene. Not only does it itch right at the base of my cock, but that sensation of dread is growing. Am I merely afraid of losing her? Of knowing that soon, what I’m offering may not be enough for her, and we’ll have to get outside help if she can’t make it through?
That certainly weighs on my conscience. But the idea of anyone else putting their hands on her, on satisfying her, fills me with something new and frightening:
Rage.
Some people get angry first. But anger rarely solves problems, as my mother always taught me. If you want to fix what’s wrong, keeping a level head is the best way to start. So I ought to explore all of our options before I give up on Selene.
I’m walking the road that passes through town, about a mile away, when a massive wave of fear hits me. It almost bowls me over with its power, as if I’ve been struck by lightning. It fills my body, sending my pulse roaring.
I spin around, hand on my musket, looking for what sound might have startled me. But there’s nothing around save for the moon high overhead. Still, that horrible fear pounds in my chest, making my head spin.
Something is wrong, but I don’t know what. Immediately, I jog back down the road toward town. I need to go check on Selene. I need to know she’s all right, even if it means walking off the job.
Only moments later, the terror washes over me again, and I have to pause because it almost sends me to my knees. I breathe through it, my vision swimming.
What is happening? It doesn’t feel like my own terror. It’s sharper, whiter, soul-deep. Could it be Selene?
Fueled by that horrendous thought, I pick up my pace, sprinting through a field as a shortcut home. She must be in danger—that’s all this could mean. How I know, I couldn’t say, but my gut can tell something is very wrong.
I’m gasping for air by the time I reach the lane that leads to the house, and the muscles in my legs are burning. I race down the road anyway, turning when I reach my familiar row of hedges.
