19. Bram
Bram
Clara:
I’m going to the market, do you guys need anything?
The notification to the group chat on my phone pulls me from my reverie. We’re all home except Clara. She’s been at work all morning, but it’s closing time for the Evergreen Café now. Victor has been going up and down the stairs all day, cleaning his sheets and sterilizing his room from our scents.
The heat spike yesterday springs to mind, making my cock stiffen instantly.
Now, Victor and Dagan sit on the ornate fainting couch, having a silent but heated discussion. Jack brings in a tray with coffees. He hands them out to each of us, giving Victor the only chipped mug. It’s his own subtle reprimand for Victor’s behavior.
Victor clocks it. Sets it down. Pushes it away.
Bram:
We got groceries today, Ghost. Don’t spend money on that.
I flinch, thinking of her spending the tips she earns at that coffee shop on anything. Especially stuff for all of us.
Clara:
I’m just going to grab a couple of things. Prolly just some treats from Dandy Stuff in town.
Victor:
Grab me a pack of smokes.
I cut my gaze to him. He’s smirking down at his phone. I’m about to stand up and rip his head off, but I hardly move before the phone whips across the room.
For a beat, Victor is just staring at the air where his phone had been. The rest of us stare to where it’s landed across the room.
His face flushes with rage as he looks up, then it blanks . His eyes shoot wide. The color drains from his expression.
He’s staring at something over my shoulder. I turn.
Nothing’s there.
“I-I saw—” he stutters.
A loud bang , like a door slamming upstairs, has everyone on their feet. Another bang. And another. Every door in the house is slamming shut.
Then crashing sounds. Like things being thrown.
I run for the stairs, my pack behind me. A growl rips from my throat as I take the steps two at a time. If this is the same alpha Clara scented, I’ll rip him apart for trespassing again.
The upstairs hallway is empty, every door thrown shut. The sounds are coming from Victor’s room. He lunges for the door, but it won’t open. I grab the handle and throw my weight into it. It doesn’t budge. The knob won’t even turn.
The crashing behind the door continues. Victor’s slamming his shoulder into the wood now, over and over, but it’s not even rattling. He may as well be throwing himself at a mountain.
Jus t as he lines up for another blow, everything stops. No more crashes. No thuds. No slamming.
Just silence.
Then… A low, dark chuckle. The door creaks slowly open on its own. No one is inside.
The mess is jaw-dropping.
Every single thing Victor owns has been tossed. His drawings are ripped and fluttering to the ground. His blankets and pillows are shredded. Clothes are strewn across the floor, leading to an open window.
Victor flings himself toward it. “No.” His strangled cry is almost heart-wrenching. “No!”
I stride to the window and peer over his shoulder. There, scattered across the ground, are the remnants of his entire computer system.
“Yikes,” Jack mutters behind us.
A tap on my shoulder. I turn. Dagan gestures to the wall above Victor’s headboard, the only piece of furniture untouched.
There, pinned above it, is the luminous face of Clara.
A black and white sketch. Victor’s style.
She’s in an outfit I saw her wear to work a few days ago.
Coffee pot in one hand. A pumpkin barrette holding half her hair up.
She’s not looking at the viewer, she’s looking slightly off-frame.
At someone. Her face is full of laughter and light. It makes my chest ache.
And then I panic.
Why is this the only thing left untouched in the room?
I pull out my phone and start dialing. It rings a few times. Then goes to voicemail, so I text instead.
Bram: Hey Ghost, I really need you to answer me, please.
I want to wait. Not turn into some crazy, stalker alpha. But I just can’t. My alpha is clawing its way to the surface. I need to know she’s safe right now.
I p ress Clara’s number again. It rings. Everyone’s watching me. Even Victor. We hold our breath.
Voicemail. Again. We don’t speak. We just move.
We’re out the door, down the stairs. Victor grabs his leather jacket, but he’s following.
We cram into the car. Usually Jack drives, but not this time. I need to be in control. The drawing feels like a message. I don’t know if it’s a warning, a threat or something else. But either way, I have to find her.
I’m flying down the back roads, way over the speed limit. When I get into town I scan every storefront. We haven’t been into town yet. Only to Suttons Bay. I have no idea where Dandy Stuff is.
Thankfully, I don’t have to wonder long. The sign is huge, colorful, and covered in polka dots.
I whip into a spot and jump out, the pack at my heels.
A bell tinkles as we enter—
—and a high-pitched screech has all of us growling, snapping forward, hackles raised. It’s a plastic animatronic witch. Glowing purple eyes. Screeching.
Now everyone in the store is staring at us like we’ve lost our damn minds. An older couple. A few teenagers who definitely look like they were about to shoplift. A freckled woman behind the counter.
And Clara.
Clara is standing beside the woman behind the register like they were mid-conversation when we came crashing in.
“Are you okay?” Victor blurts. We all stare at him. Clara gawks.
“Obviously,” she says, gesturing at herself.
Victor clenches his jaw but says nothing.
I walk straight to her, crowding close, needing to be near her scent. Apple pie. Home.
“ Can we talk to you for a minute?” I whisper, voice low. My fingers brush the back of her hand. The contact sends a shiver up my spine.
She nods.
“I’ll see you this weekend,” the woman behind the counter says, giving us all a long, appraising look. I don’t have time for whatever small-town bullshit that is. All I have time for is my omega. And whether she’s really, truly okay.