Chapter 17
Laurent
X avier looks like his head is about to explode. Massimo and Cole each have a generous glass of Macallan 25, the kind of Scotch you don’t touch unless something’s weighing heavy on your soul. The scent of it, oak, dried fruit, heat, lingers in the air, sharp enough to cut through the mess of tension simmering between all of us.
Me? I’m nursing a pour of my own, even though the last thing I need is more heat in my blood. Not after the way the day’s gone. My brain’s still spinning from the news, Rowan, Sébastien, scent matches, both of them. Every part of me is buzzing, and not in a good way. In a what-the-fuck-do-we-do-now kind of way.
I run a hand through my hair and lean back in the chair, trying to wrap my head around how fast everything has shifted. A day ago, I was thinking about how to ask Rowan for a collaboration. Something low-key, maybe a clip together for her stream. Hell, I’ve watched enough of her videos to know she’d make anything look good. Now I’m thinking about how to not scent mark her like a feral animal.
My little sisters follow her religiously, and yeah... maybe I do too. But never, not in a million years did I think she’d be my scent match.
Rowan Hart. Mine.
I’m still trying to wrap my head around it. The woman I’ve watched build dream nests out of blankets and fairy lights is the one whose scent short-circuited my brain the moment I stepped onto the hundredth floor.
Then my phone buzzes on the table. I glance at it lazily, then sit bolt upright when I see the name. Sébastien.
I answer immediately. “Hey.”
His voice is ragged. Strained. "I need help.”
I’m already standing. “What happened?”
“It’s Rowan,” he breathes. “She’s in full Heat. It hit hard, fast. She needs Alphas. She needs you and your pack. I don’t know anyone else here. I—”
“I’m coming,” I say before he can finish. “Text me the address.”
The call ends and the silence in the room is suffocating. I turn back to the others, heart racing. “It’s Rowan. She’s gone into Heat. Hard. Sébastien says she needs us.”
Massimo’s glass stills midair. “Is she okay?”
“She will be,” I say, trying to believe it. “But not if we wait too long. If this Heat keeps climbing and she doesn’t have an Alpha to anchor it.” I glance at the others, jaw tight. “You know what happens. She won’t just need touch. She’ll need a knot.”
Massimo’s glass hits the counter harder than necessary. “She’s not going through that alone.”
Cole’s already moving, grabbing his jacket with sharp, purposeful movements. “No Omega, especially our Omega. is going to suffer like that.”
Xavier snorts, sharp and bitter. “Great. Fantastic. Nothing like a pack-bonding emergency Heat to round out the week.”
We all glance at him, and the pressure shifts.
I growl low in my throat. “She’ll be in pain. She needs us.”
He shakes his head, eyes wild now. “This is insane. We don’t know her. We don’t know him. And now we’re supposed to what? Sweep in, offer our knots, play white knight to two strangers whose entire lives just blew up?”
“Xav—” Massimo starts.
“No,” he snaps. “Don’t ‘Xav’ me. You’re all thinking with your dicks and your instincts. And I get it. I do. But this—” he gestures wildly, almost knocks over his glass— “this is going to end badly. For them. For us. For everything we’ve built.”
He storms toward the door, then turns back one last time. “Fuck it. I’m out of here.”
The door slams behind him, leaving silence and the smell of tension in his wake.
Cole is the first to move. “We take the limo. We need space. Comfort. She’s already in pain.”
Massimo nods, grabbing his coat. “And privacy. We can’t risk the press catching any of this.”
We move fast, not speaking much, as we exit the penthouse and ride the elevator down to the private garage. The air is thick with unspoken urgency, every one of us wound tight. My pulse won’t slow down. I can still smell her, even just in memory, through time. It’s like her scent has embedded itself in my skin.
Cole throws open the back door of the Escalade ESV stretch limo and motions for us to get in. It’s spacious, armored, and blacked out. The vehicle was built for power and privacy. Tonight, it’ll serve as a den.
Massimo slides in beside me, silent but alert. I know that look; his mind’s racing.
Cole takes the seat across from us, elbows on his knees, hands steepled. No one says a word until the car pulls out of the garage and glides into the Manhattan night. The streets blur past the windows, neon, headlights, and shadows. The city doesn’t sleep, but none of it touches the quiet storm brewing inside this limo.
“She’s going to be terrified,” I say finally, voice low. “She doesn’t understand what’s happening.”
“She doesn’t know what she is,” Massimo adds. “That changes tonight.”
Cole looks out the window, his voice almost a growl. “Then we make damn sure she doesn’t go through it alone.”
The car cuts through the streets like a predator on the hunt. And we’re going to her. Our Omega.