Pack Obsession (Love Knot War #3)

Chapter 9

Chapter

Nine

NASH

M idnight crawls past like a dying thing, and I’m still awake, still fighting this fever in my blood. She’s just down the hall. Close enough to reach and take.

We shouldn’t have brought her here. Should have handed her off to someone else who wouldn’t lie awake imagining all the ways to make her scream. But the thought of a strange Alpha’s hands on her has violence rising through me.

Earlier today, I stayed out in the city, tracking Julian like a man obsessed. I wanted to see if he’d check up on her home, and sure enough, the bastard drove past twice, watching, staring. It took everything in me not to slam my car into his and force him to move on. The bastard.

Casey.

Her name tastes like sin on my tongue, like something I shouldn’t want but can’t stop craving. The foster system taught me control—sixteen homes in twelve years will do that to you. I learned to lock down every emotion and every desire until I was nothing but scar tissue and steel.

Then Axel and Logan crashed into my life at that Detroit car show, all of us circling that ‘67 Shelby like sharks scenting blood. We recognized the darkness in each other, the sharp edges that wouldn’t quite fit in normal society. Three broken Alphas who’d learned to pretend they were anything but. Within six months, we’d built Phoenix Services, giving ourselves a legitimate reason to bare our teeth to the world. The company we run and retrieve anything missing.

I told myself that was enough. That I could ignore the primal call of Omegas, the biological imperative that makes my skin crawl with need. It’s why Nexus keeps them controlled with rules, why underground rings pay fortunes for stolen ones. The whole system pretends it’s about protection, but we all know better. It’s about control. About power. About ownership.

I find myself in the hallway, drawn to her scent like a bullet to its target—sun-ripened peaches and spring rain, a sweetness that makes my mouth water, that makes the Alpha in me want to devour her whole. My cock hardens just from proximity, and I hate myself a little for being this weak.

A scream shatters the silence.

From her room…

I’m through her door before the sound dies, splintering the lock with one savage thrust of my shoulder. The noise of breaking wood feeds something primitive in my chest. No barriers between us now. Nothing to stop me from?—

She thrashes in her sheets, fear twisting her delicate features.

"No, please," she whimpers, trapped in whatever nightmare has its claws in her. "I’ll be good, I promise."

Her white-blonde hair spreads across the pillow like spilled moonlight, and my fingers itch to fist in it, to use it to arch her throat back, and?—

"Shh," I force out, sitting beside her. My hand shakes as I stroke her hair, fighting to keep my touch gentle when everything in me demands to claim. To possess. To mark. "You’re safe now."

That scent of hers is strong again, but it’s so much more than a scent match; it’s the primal hunger that we’re made for one another. Her tenderness, her vulnerability, those sparks in her eyes.

"Julian, don’t—" Her voice breaks. "The chains are too tight. They’re burning?—"

Rage floods me like poison. I imagine teaching Julian exactly what happens to people who dare touch what’s mine. I’d take my time. Make it last. Make him understand the cost of?—

"Please," she whimpers. "Not the knife."

The Alpha in me roars for blood. My free hand clenches so hard, I feel bones crack, but I keep my other hand gentle in her hair.

"No one touches you," I growl, too far gone to keep the possession from my words. "No one hurts you. You’re mine to protect now."

Gradually, her breathing steadies. The nightmare loosens its grip, leaving her soft and vulnerable in ways that make my body ache. Her full lips part on a sigh, and I can’t stop staring at them, imagining all the ways I could put them to use. My attention hones in on the delicate curve of her collarbone where the blanket has slipped down, marked by that small scar that demands I hunt down everyone who’s ever hurt her.

I should leave. I should walk away before I do something unforgivable, but the moonlight paints her skin in silver, and I’m transfixed by the way her chest rises and falls, by the flutter of her eyelashes, and by the small sounds she makes as she settles deeper into sleep. Every detail feeds an obsession I know is taking root in my bones.

If we hadn’t taken this job, if we hadn’t intercepted that Nexus transport... The thought of her in their hands, or worse, back in Julian’s, makes something snap inside me. The need to possess wars with the need to protect until I can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.

I watch her sleep, memorizing every curve, every shadow, every breath. I know I won’t leave—can’t leave. Not when she’s like this, soft and unguarded. I’ll stay until dawn breaks, until she opens those chocolate eyes and reminds me of all the reasons I shouldn’t want her.

But for now, in the darkness, I can admit the truth that’s been carving itself into my soul—I would tear apart anyone who tried to take her from me, would burn down cities, topple governments. Whatever it takes to keep her safe.

This obsession terrifies me, but not enough to make me walk away.

She shifts in her sleep, a small sound escaping those tempting lips, and my entire body tenses in response. I could wake her now, show her exactly what she does to me.

Instead, I stay motionless in the darkness.

"Sweet dreams," I whisper, my voice rough with promise. "I’ll be here when you wake up."

Two hours crawl by, each minute marked by the steady rise and fall of her chest. I’ve claimed the leather armchair in the corner, able to reach the bed if needed, far enough to maintain some facade of control. The whiskey in my glass burns less than the need coursing through my veins. I’ve been cataloguing every small movement, every soft sound she makes in her sleep, like a man possessed. The way her fingers occasionally twitch against the pillow. The slight furrow that appears between her brows before smoothing out again. The quiet sighs.

She stirs, the sheets rustling. I stare at her, transfixed. First, her breathing changes, becoming shorter and lighter. Then her fingers curl into the pillow, and her head turns slightly. A small sound escapes her throat that makes my blood heat. Finally, those lids flutter open, unfocused, until they land on me.

She startles like a spooked deer, yanking the blanket to her chest. "What are you—" Her voice cracks with sleep, and she swallows hard. "Are you watching me sleep?"

The fear in her words has me bristling.

"You screamed," I say, keeping my tone low, soothing. "I was in the hallway and thought someone was killing you. Broke down your damn door to get to you." My eyes flick to the splintered frame. I’ll have to fix that tomorrow. Not that it matters. I have no intention of leaving her alone again.

She blinks, rubbing sleep from her eyes with delicate fingers I want to taste. I track the movement, helpless not to notice how small her hands are, how easily they would fit in mine. The gentle sweep of her eyelashes against her cheeks makes something fierce twist in my chest.

"But why are you still here?" She clutches the blanket tighter. That small, defensive gesture makes me want to show her she has nothing to fear from me—and everything to fear from the world outside. From the monsters who would hurt her. Break her. Try to own her in all the wrong ways.

I lean forward, setting my drink by the foot of the chair. My elbows rest on my thighs as I study her, memorizing the way her white-blonde hair tumbles in sleep-mussed waves around her face.

"Do you really think I can leave you?" The words come out rougher than intended, scraped raw with honesty. "When you were screaming for that fucking monster Julian not to hurt you? Just hearing that has me want to go fucking berserk on him and murder him."

Her eyes widen, a slight tremor in her hand before she stills it. "You... you can’t do that."

"Why?" The question comes out like a growl. "You still love him?" The possibility has my gut twisting. I can’t look away from her. Even with her hair a mess and sleep still clouding her eyes, she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

"I never loved him, okay?" she snaps, and that flash of fire speeds up my pulse. There’s steel beneath her softness. "The guy’s a fucking lunatic, and I hate him... but I don’t wish death on anyone." She runs a hand through her tangled hair. "Not even him."

My fingers tighten on the armrests until the leather creaks. "He hurt you." Not a question. The evidence is written in her nightmares, in the asking us for protection, in the haunted look that sometimes crosses her face when she thinks no one’s looking. "I heard what you said in your sleep. About knives."

"That’s not…" She looks away, and I track the movement of her throat as she swallows. A slight flush colors her cheeks, whether from embarrassment or remembered fear, I can’t tell. "It’s complicated."

"Doesn’t seem complicated to me." I want to cross the room, to tilt her chin up and make her look at me, to show her how an Alpha should treat what’s his, but I stay seated, giving her the space she needs while every instinct screams to claim, to possess, to protect. "He hurt you. He deserves to suffer."

She shivers, and there’s a slight dilation of her pupils. "You don’t even know me. Why do you care?"

That pulls a deep laugh from my chest. I lean back, letting her see exactly the impact she has on me—the hunger, the need, the possession. Let her see the monster she’s awakened.

"Because every instinct I have screams to protect you. To keep you safe. Even from your dreams." I roll my shoulder, fighting the urge to go to her. "Because the thought of anyone hurting you leaves me ready to tear the world apart."

"You don’t need to–"

"I’m not going anywhere." I settle deeper into the chair, making it clear this isn’t up for discussion.

She stares at me for a long time, and I see the conflict dancing on her expression.

"I’m too tired for this." She collapses back against the pillows with a frustrated sound that does nothing to help my self-control. "I just need sleep." Her eyes close, then open again, finding me still watching. Always watching. "I’m curious," she says suddenly, propping herself up on one elbow. The position pushes her breasts together, drawing my attention to her cleavage. "You three seem pretty well off by the looks of this place. So, why are you doing heists and stuff like that for money?"

I study the way her lips form each word. The genuine curiosity in her expression makes something warm unfurl in my chest.

"We’re retrievers, not thieves." The distinction feels important. "We take back what was taken."

"So, like Robin Hood?" A smile plays at the corners of her mouth, and I want to taste it. Want to know if she tastes as sweet as she smells.

The laugh that escapes me is genuine this time.

"Not quite." I roll my shoulders. "We have specific criteria. Legitimate claims only." I wait for her curious reaction carefully as I continue. "Sometimes, it’s family heirlooms stolen by corrupt collectors, pieces of history that belong in museums or with their rightful owners, not locked away in some billionaire’s private vault."

Her eyes sharpen. "What else?"

"It could be evidence of wrongdoing that powerful people have buried. Proof of crimes they thought they could hide behind their money and influence." I take a slow sip of whiskey, remembering. "We had a case last month, a corporation stealing research from a cancer scientist, burying treatments that could save lives because they weren’t profitable enough."

"Did you get it back?" She leans forward slightly, caught up in the story.

"Always do." The pride in my tone has her smiling again, and something in my chest tightens. "A restaurant owner approached us last year. Local crew was demanding protection money, and took his grandfather’s war medals as collateral. Real pieces of work."

"You got them back?"

"Mhmm." I don’t mention the satisfaction of watching those thugs realize they’d picked the wrong target. "No innocent casualties. That’s one of our rules. No killing either, unless it’s self-defense."

"Bet you charge a lot," she guesses, those clever eyes taking in our surroundings. The expensive furniture, the high-end security system, the quality of everything around us.

"Good work isn’t cheap. Neither is top-tier security."

Her eyes are starting to drift closed despite her obvious interest. "So you’re like... professional karma?"

That startles another laugh from me. "Something like that. Sometimes people need a reminder that money doesn’t make them gods."

She fights against sleep, stirring and blinking a lot, but her eyelids are growing heavier. "That actions have consequences, even for the rich and powerful."

"‘s good," she mumbles, sliding deeper into her pillows. "Someone should... make them pay..."

"Sleep," I murmur. "I’ll keep the nightmares away."

She fights it for a moment, then her breathing deepens, evens out, and I’m caught once again in her gravity. In the way her lips part slightly, the way her hair spills across the pillow, the way her hand curls loosely near her face. The blanket has slid down, revealing the elegant line of her collarbone once more, and I memorize every detail like a dying man committing to memory his last sunrise.

I’m starting to wonder who needs saving more—her from her nightmares or me from this hunger that grows with every passing second. This need to possess, to protect, to claim what every instinct tells me is mine.

I’m starting to suspect there’s no salvation for either of us. No escape from this being pulled together.

The night surrounds us as I settle in to guard over her sleep, guarding this most precious treasure. And somewhere in the darkness, I know the monster inside me is smiling because we both know it’s only a matter of time before I stop fighting this inevitable collision.

Only a matter of time before I claim what’s mine.