Chapter 9 #2
Three weeks ago, I was running from Terrance and his suffocating pack bond. Three weeks ago, I swore off alphas entirely. And now I'm hiding in an alley at a tree lighting ceremony because I can't handle being in the same square as three of them without my omega biology short-circuiting.
"Escaping the festivities?"
Grayson. Of course.
He's at the alley entrance, backlit by festival lights, hands in his pockets. Not crowding. Just... there. Watching me with that dark, assessing gaze.
"Needed air," I manage.
"Looked like you needed distance." He tilts his head. "Was half-expecting you to kiss someone to escape the crowd. Worked at the festival, right?"
My cheeks heat. "That's not—that was different."
"Sorry." He holds up a hand, something flickering across his face. "I shouldn't have said that. Don't know why I did. Getting caught up in town gossip isn't really my thing."
There's an edge to his voice. Something almost... jealous?
The realization makes my heart skip.
"You saw me with Seth," I say slowly.
"Hard to miss." His jaw tightens slightly. "He's a good guy."
"He is."
"You two looked..." He stops. Runs a hand through his hair. "Never mind. Not my business."
But he wants it to be. I can see it in every line of his body. The tension in his shoulders. The way he won't quite look at me.
"We were just talking," I say, and I don't know why I'm explaining myself to him.
"Okay." His eyes meet mine finally, and there's heat there. "Good."
The air between us shifts. Charges.
"You're jealous," I blurt out.
"Maybe." He doesn't deny it. Just straightens slightly. "Is that a problem?"
"I don't—" I don't know what to say to that. To his honesty. "You barely know me."
"I know enough." He leans against the opposite wall, giving me space even in this narrow alley.
"I know you ran from your family dinner to have a not-a-date with a stranger.
I know you order more food than seems physically possible and don't give a damn what anyone thinks about it.
I know you're brilliant at what you do but terrified someone will weaponize that talent again. "
My breath catches. "How—"
"I see you." Simple. Direct. "And yeah, watching you with Monroe made me jealous. Watching you with Brooks made me jealous. Standing across the square knowing I can't just walk up to you without making everything complicated made me jealous."
The festival noise swells—caroling starting, voices raised in song. We're hidden here in the dark, just the two of us and this strange, intense honesty.
"You should get back," he says. "Before your family worries."
"Yeah." But I don't move.
Neither does he.
The moment stretches. His eyes on mine. My heart hammering. The air between us thick with everything unsaid.
I should leave. Should go back before someone notices I'm missing.
I take a step toward the alley exit, and he shifts to give me space—except we both move at the same time, in the same direction, and suddenly I'm stumbling into him.
Grayson catches me reflexively, hands on my hips, and we're pressed together in this narrow space.
Oh fuck.
His scent hits me full force—ink and leather and that spice that makes my knees weak. His hands are firm on my hips, steadying me, and I can feel the heat of him through my coat. The strength. The barely leashed control.
"Bea." My name sounds different in his mouth. Darker. Hungrier.
I tilt my head back. Look up at him. He's so close I can see the gold flecks in his dark eyes. See the tension in his jaw. Feel the way his grip tightens just slightly on my hips.
"This is a bad idea," I whisper.
"Terrible idea." But he's not letting go.
"We're in an alley."
"Noted."
"Anyone could see."
"They could." His thumb strokes once against my hip, and I nearly whimper. "Should I let go?"
No. God, no. "Probably."
"That's not an answer."
"I don't have one."
Something in his expression shifts. Heat building, control slipping. "Bea. I need you to be very clear right now. Because if you don't step back in the next five seconds, I'm going to kiss you."
My breath hitches. "That's—"
"Fair warning." His voice drops to gravel. "I've been thinking about you since that not-a-date. And you're pressed against me in this alley looking at me like you want me to forget every good intention I had."
"I didn't—"
"You did." His hands flex on my hips. "So. Five seconds. Step back if you don't want this."
Five.
My heart's pounding.
Four.
His scent is everywhere.
Three.
I should step back. This is insane.
Two.
I don't move.
One.
"Fuck it."
He doesn't kiss me.
Instead, he drops his forehead to mine, breathing hard. Fighting for control in a way that makes every nerve ending light up.
"You're killing me," he mutters.
"Sorry?" It comes out breathless. Definitely not sorry.
"Don't apologize." His thumb strokes once against my hip—unconscious movement, like he can't help it. "Just—fuck. Just give me a second."
He's fighting for control. I can see it in every line of his body. The tension in his shoulders. The white-knuckle grip on my hip. The way he won't look at me because if he does, something's going to break.
"Grayson—"
"Don't." The word's sharp. Almost desperate. "Don't say my name like that."
"Like what?"
"Like you want me to lose control."
The honesty catches me off guard. No games. No posturing. Just raw truth.
"Maybe I do," I whisper.
His eyes snap to mine. Dark and intense and barely holding back. "You don't mean that."
"How do you know what I mean?"
"Because I see you." His voice drops. "I see how scared you are. How hard you're fighting this. And I'm not—" He stops. Breathes. "I'm not going to be another alpha who pushes you into something you're not ready for."
The words hit different than I expect. Not possessive. Not demanding. Just... patient. Understanding in a way that makes my throat tight.
"What if I am ready?"
"You're not." He says it gently. Matter-of-fact. "You're turned on and overwhelmed and your body's responding to pheromones. But you're also terrified. I can smell that too."
Fuck. He's right.
"That's annoying," I mutter.
His mouth quirks. "What, that I can read you?"
"That you're always right. It's a very unattractive quality."
"Liar." But he's almost smiling now. "You like that I see through your bullshit."
We're still standing too close. His hands are still on me. But the energy's shifted—less about losing control, more about... acknowledgment. Of what's happening. What we both want but can't have. Not like this.
"The lighting's about to start," he says.
"Yeah."
"You should go. Before someone sees us and starts gossip."
"Probably too late for that." But I'm pulling back. Putting space between us even though every instinct screams to close the distance again.
His hands fall away. Slowly. Like it costs him.
"For what it's worth," he says as I turn to leave. "I'm going to think about this later. About how you felt against me. How you smelled."
Heat floods my face. "That's—"
"Honest." His eyes are steady on mine. "I don't do games, Bea. When I want something, I'm clear about it. And I want you. But not like this. Not rushed in an alley because we both got clumsy."
"Then how?"
"When you're ready. When you're not scared. When you choose me because you want me, not because your body's screaming at you in a dark alley." He tilts his head. "Think about that later too. When you're home and safe and your brain's working again."
The countdown starts. Ten, nine, eight—
"Go," he says.
I go.
Back into the crowd, heart racing, body still buzzing. The tree lights up—thousands of bulbs exploding into brilliance—and everyone cheers.
I'm shaking. Can still smell him on my skin.
And then I see them.
River and Seth.
River's watching from his booth, that easy smile gone—replaced with something intense. Seth's across the square, concern clear even from here.
They're both looking at me.
Then River's gaze flicks past me—toward the alley I just left. Back to me.
Seth's doing the same thing. Following sight lines.
I turn around.
Grayson's still there. Leaning against the alley entrance, arms crossed, eyes on me. Not hiding. Not pretending. Just watching.
And they can all see him. Can see exactly where I just came from.
Oh fuck. They know.
Ben finds me in the crowd. Takes one look at my face. "Come on. I'm driving you home."
"Ben—"
"Not up for debate." He's already steering me toward the parking lot. "You look like you're about to bolt, and it's freezing."
I don't argue. Can't argue. My brain's not working right.
In his truck, Ben turns the heat on full blast and doesn't say anything for a full minute. Just drives. Then:
"So... you into them?"
Heat crawls up my neck.
"All three?" he adds, glancing at me.
I open my mouth. Close it. Open it again.
Nothing comes out.
"That's a yes," Ben says, almost amused. "You smell terrified, by the way. Like full panic mode."
"Shut up."
"Just saying." He turns onto our street. "Could be worse. They're good guys."
I don't respond. Can't respond. Because he's right and I hate it.
At home, I practically throw myself out of the truck. "Thanks for the ride."
"Bea—"
I'm already inside. Door locked.
I can still smell all three of them on my skin—pine and sawdust, rain and cedar, ink and leather and spice.
I climb into bed, pull the covers over my head.
Three alphas.
And when Ben asked if I was into all three of them, I couldn't answer.
I just ran.
Which is basically an answer, isn't it?
Fuck.