Chapter 19
Xavier
T he sharp sting of knuckles hitting the punching bag barely registers anymore. I’ve been going at it too long, too hard. Sweat drips down my spine and soaks through my shirt, but I don’t stop. Not yet.
The gym is empty this time of night. Just the hum of overhead lights and the rhythmic thud of my fists. I didn’t say where I was going when I left, just that I was out. And the truth is, I don’t even know what I’m doing here, except trying to exorcise the ghost of a woman who shouldn’t be haunting me like this.
Rowan.
I don’t know her. I shouldn’t feel anything for her. But I do. The moment I stepped into that office and scented her—saw her—everything in me pulled tight. Like a rubber band about to snap.
And that’s the problem. Because I’ve been down this road before. She was beautiful. Dangerous in the way only an Omega can be when she knows she owns the room. Her name was Elara. She wasn’t just mine ; she was ours . A pack of six. Tight knit. Focused. I thought we had it all. Until we didn’t.
Until she fell in love with someone else and left us behind like we were nothing. It shattered us. Two of the guys dropped out entirely. Another walked into the military and never looked back. And me? I threw myself into law school and built walls so high even I stopped trying to climb them.
I swore I’d never let an Omega close again. Never be that exposed. That vulnerable. But Rowan’s scent lingers in my head like a siren’s song. Sweet and soft. Familiar. Dangerous. And that pisses me off to no end.
Because I shouldn’t want this. I shouldn’t feel this. Not again. Not after everything Elara did. Not after what it cost. But Rowan’s scent is still in my fucking lungs. It’s clinging to me like smoke, sweet, ripe, addictive, and no matter how hard I breathe, how hard I sweat , I can’t get it out. Honeysuckle. Peaches. That fucking cobbler twist at the end that makes my stomach clench and my instincts snarl.
I slam my fist into the bag again. Harder. No. Not this. Not her. She’s just another Omega. Just another fire waiting to burn us all down. I don’t care how perfect the match feels. I don’t give a damn what my biology says.
I’ve been through this before. I survived it. Barely. And I will not, will not, go through it again. Not for her. Not for fate. Not for anyone.
The bag swings wildly from the last punch, chain rattling above me like it’s daring me to try again. So I do.
Again.
And again.
My knuckles ache, my breath saws in and out of my lungs, and still her scent’s there ghosting through my thoughts, soft and fucking tempting. Like she’s already under my skin.
No. No.
This is what happens when you let your guard down. When you believe in scent matches and promises. When you think an Omega can love you without tearing you apart.
Elara taught me that lesson the hard way. Sweet words, soft touches... then lies sharp enough to cut bone.
And now this girl—this Beta-turned-maybe-Omega—shows up with big blue eyes and a scent that wraps around my goddamn soul like a noose?
Fuck that.
Let Cole play protector. Let Massimo follow his instincts. Let Laurent wag his tail like some overeager pup. I’ve been broken before. And I’ll be damned if I let it happen again.
And then there’s him . Sébastien Ricci. The scent hits just as hard, wild honey, rain, a whisper of vanilla, and it shouldn't get to me. But it does. It fucking does.
He walked in, calm, unshaken, like he hasn’t just set my whole nervous system on fire. Like he doesn’t realize what that scent means to me.
Or maybe he does. Maybe that’s worse. I don’t know if I want to throw him against a wall or bury my face in his throat and breathe until the burn fades.
And that’s the problem.
But if either of them breaks this pack, I swear to God, I’ll be the one to burn it down first.