THIRTY-NINE
DAKOTA
The first problem with bonding is that Ewan is exceptionally loud in my chest.
Not loud like talking, thank God. If I had to hear that man’s actual thoughts, I would willingly walk into the nearest infected nest and let nature reclaim me.
It’s more like feeling him. All warm and bright and full of life. A thread tucked under my ribs, humming with smoke and clove and something that keeps trying to be joy even when the world is very clearly fighting against that concept.
It should scare me. I mean, it probably will later, when my brain finally puts her pants back on and starts acting all superior and shit.
Right now, though, I’m too tired.
My body is loose in places I forgot could unclench.
My hair is down. My bite mark aches in a way that makes my thighs remember things they don’t need to be discussing with the rest of the class.
My cheek rests on Ewan’s bare chest, listening to his steady heartbeat under my ear, and his fingers are moving through my hair lazily like he’s decided I really am something soft under all the sharp barbs and dirty looks.
Idiot.
Brave idiot.
His headphones are lying somewhere on the bed, still playing music low enough that I feel more than hear it.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
A little fake heartbeat in a world that keeps trying to stop mine.
Ewan’s knot eased a while ago, but neither of us moved much after.
I should have. I know I should have. Staying still for too long makes me nervous.
Warm rooms make me suspicious. And affection always feels like I’m waiting for a net to scoop me up off the ground after triggering a poorly hidden booby trap.
But Ewan smells like smoke and clove, and the bond glows.
Not a collar.
Not a cage.
More like a very irritating little lamp.
“You’re thinking too hard,” he murmurs sleepily, fingers sifting through my strands in a lulling motion that makes my eyelashes flutter.
I lift my head enough to glare at him. “You’re breathing too loud.”
“That is generally required,” he says.
“Show-off.”
His mouth curves. “There she is.”
I hate how easy it is now. How he says things and my body just answers before I’ve decided to allow it.
Ewan brushes his thumb over the bite mark on my neck, careful enough that the ache turns into a warm and welcoming ache rather than a sharp stab. The bond flickers and my breath catches.
His does too.
“Oh,” he says softly, as if he feels the same spark on his end.
I narrow my eyes. “Well, don’t say it like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like we accidentally discovered electricity.”
“Tiny Terror, I don’t mean to alarm you,” he starts. “But I think we accidentally became electricity.”
I groan and bury my face into his chest, rubbing my nose into his warm skin. “I regret everything.”
With the confidence only a bond can bring, the bastard mutters, “Nah, you don’t.”
He’s right, of course. I don’t regret a thing. And that’s annoying.
My body is tired, but not in the hollow way it usually gets after fear. This tired has some weight to it. Heat. Skin. The kind of tired that shouts I was here. I wanted. I laughed. And I didn’t fucking die from it.
Then someone knocks on the door.
My whole body turns rigid against Ewan, and he feels it before I even move. The bond snaps tight, vivid with alertness. His hand goes still in my hair, and he quietly says, “Kota.”
The knock comes again, and then a male voice calls through the door. “Medical clearance. Commander’s orders.”
It’s not Kaito.
Not Fletcher.
Not Xeon.
Not Maine.
It’s a voice I don’t know well enough to trust. Which, to be fair, is most voices in this place.
Still, something about this one makes the hair on the back of my neck lift.
Maybe it’s the timing. Maybe it’s the way he doesn’t introduce himself.
Maybe it’s the fact that I’ve spent years learning the difference between order and a lure.
Ewan’s arms tighten once, then loosen immediately, like he remembers before I have to remind him.
Another knock comes, one that sounds a little more brash than the first, and I tense all over before I can tell my body to calm down.
“Stay there,” he says, then winces. “No. Sorry. Bad words. What I mean is, I can check it, or we can ignore it, or you can throw something at the door. I’m a pretty big fan of option number three, if you want my input.”
The panic loosens by a single thread, and I force myself to take a steadying breath.
I sit up, dragging the sheet with me. My body fully protests the movement in several places, all of them smug.
Well, other than my knee and the wound on my arm.
They’re still standing by with pitchforks and a determination to run me out of their village.
“Who is it?” Ewan calls.
“Hale wants the girl brought down to medical for clearance,” the stranger says, sounding much too close to the door.
My skin chills.
Not Dakota.
Not Kota.
Not O’Reilly.
Not even her.
The girl.
Hell, he doesn’t even tell us who he is.
Ewan feels the chill that settles in my bones through the bond, and his expression changes.
He’s not joking now, not even grinning, just Alpha focus sliding quietly into place.
He reaches for his clothes with one hand and passes me mine with the other, not looking in a way that feels deliberate without making things awkward.
As soon as his pants are on, Ewan calls back, “Medical clearance for what?”
A pause answers, too small to matter but also big enough to matter.
“That’s classified,” the voice on the other side of the door answers.
My fingers still around the edge of my shirt.
Classified.
That’s such an official word. Too official. The kind of word people use when they want questions to feel like disobedience.
Ewan turns to me and echoes my thoughts when he asks, “That sound official to you?”
“No,” I answer shortly, dressing quickly. I pull my shirt over my head, hiding the bite with my collar as best as I can. I stab my legs into my pants, then I shove my hair back under my hat with a lot less care than usual.
“Yeah, I didn’t think so either,” Ewan agrees.
His agreement should settle me. The validation should make me feel better.
Instead, it makes the prickle along my spine sharpen.
It proves it’s not just me. He hears it too.
The wrongness in the voice. The careful outline of the lie.
The way every single instinct I own has gone still and silent, waiting for the trap to reveal itself.
Because it’s not just one thing. It’s all the little things that are lined up in a row.
No name.
No explanation.
No friendly voice.
No guard I recognize.
No Mercer.
No Valeria.
Just a stranger at the door using Hale’s title like it’s a key and expecting us to open the door.
Something is wrong here. Something doesn’t feel right.
Ewan feels the change in me. His expression shifts and what little left of his humor drains right out of him so fast that it almost leaves a mark.
“You notice he didn’t use names?” he asks quietly.
“Yeah.”
“No guard escort. At least, that’s what I’m hearing. Just one body out there.”
“Yeah.”
“And they know which room to knock.” His jaw flexes once. “How else would they know you were here?”
My hands still on my bandana just as I was about to lift it over my mouth, and Ewan’s eyes meet mine. Neither of us says the worst part right away, but it’s very obvious.
They don’t know him, and they don’t know me.
Yet, somehow, they knew where I was.
My stomach cools. “Someone told them.”
Ewan’s jaw tightens. “Or someone watched.”
The words hang between us like smoke.
Or someone watched.
My gaze flicks instinctively around the room, checking all the corners I already know are empty, the cracks I’ve already checked, and the shadows that suddenly feel less like shadows and more like eyes.
I hate that. I hate it so much that my fucking teeth ache.
Another knock hits the door, harder this time. Then the stranger’s voice orders, “Open up. Now.”
Ewan’s stare stays on mine. “We don’t have to go out there.”
I laugh once, quiet and humorless. “Yeah, because hiding in here while someone with fake orders stands outside the door won’t end in disaster.”
“Could throw something at him,” he offers.
“You seem very committed to that plan.”
“It’s a classic,” he tells me with a shrug, and my mouth twitches despite the cold crawling gradually up my spine.
Then Ewan steps closer, not crowding me, just close enough for his smoke and clove scent to wrap around mine. The bond hums low and angry under my ribs.
“We open it together,” he decides. “No one gets between us.”
“Unless I stab them.”
“Unless you stab them,” he agrees easily, just as he hands me the knife I tucked under his pillow.
My fingers close around the hilt. I should feel steadier with it in my hand, but I don’t, because the door feels too thin now.
The room is too warm. My scent is too loose under my skin, wild honey and rain slipping through the useless blockers that have clearly decided now is a perfectly acceptable time to retire.
Ewan notices. Of course he notices.
His jaw flexes once, then he reaches past me and unlocks the door.
He doesn’t open it wide, just enough for me to see the man on the other side.
He’s broad but not huge, with a shaved head and a jacket that doesn’t quite match the security-issued uniform the guards have been wearing.
Not a guard, then. Or not an official one.
That’s just great. Love unofficial men. They have the fucking worst hobbies.
His eyes move past Ewan instantly. Not my face, either. His gaze goes directly to my throat. My covered bite. Then lower, as if he’s checking the rest of me is still firmly attached and available to cart off to wherever he wants me.
Ewan shifts slightly. Not in front of me, but next to me, a spot all four Alphas have taken a liking to these days.
“Name,” Ewan demands.
The man blinks. “What?”