Chapter 10 False Security
False Security
Sandra
Two months can change everything.
I stand in front of the steamed mirror in the pack house’s massive nest bathroom, wiping a circle clear in the condensation.
The reflection staring back belongs to someone else.
The hollow, exhausted girl who ran barefoot through the snow no longer exists.
A subtle flush colors my cheeks. My dark hair hangs heavy and glossy over my shoulders, no longer brittle from stress and malnutrition.
I tilt my head to the side, exposing the column of my neck.
Two distinct, perfect sets of teeth marks bracket my throat, clean, silvery scars.
I trace Ross’s and Caleb’s marks on either side, then reach back to press my fingertips against Jethro’s claim on my nape.
A deep, settling warmth radiates from the center of my chest every time I touch them.
A flutter bumps against the inside of my lower stomach. I freeze, pressing both hands flat against my bare skin. I hold my breath, waiting. There it goes again. A steady pulse. Like the brush of butterfly wings against my ribs.
Tears prick the corners of my eyes. The movement feels nothing like the terrifying alien presence I feared two months ago. The life taking root inside me feels bright and warm. It feels like mine. Ours.
I turn away from the mirror. I pull on a thick, cream-colored knit sweater and a pair of soft black leggings. The fabric stretches over the small, distinct bump rounding out my stomach. Leaving the warmth of the bathroom, I pad barefoot down the carpeted hallway toward the stairs.
The rich aroma of dark-roast coffee and sizzling bacon fills the kitchen.
My pack gathers around the massive marble island, a chaotic symphony of morning routines.
Ross stands at the stove, flipping pancakes with practiced ease.
Jethro sits at the head of the island, reviewing paperwork for his bar.
Caleb taps away on a sleek tablet beside him.
Oli nurses a mug of chamomile tea, his golden hair a messy halo around his head.
I step into the room, letting their combined scents of ginger, dates, smoke, and honeysuckle wash over me.
Another flutter hits my lower stomach, stronger this time.
I let out a gasp, freezing mid-step.
Oli snaps to attention, his green eyes darting to my face. He sets his mug down with a hard clack. “Sandra? What’s wrong? Are you hurting?”
I shake my head, a massive grin splitting my face. I close the distance between us, grabbing Oli’s wrist. I pull the thick hem of my sweater up, exposing my bare stomach, and press his palm flat against the warm skin right over the small bump. “Wait for it.”
Oli holds his breath, his eyes wide.
A distinct, rhythmic tap hits the center of his palm.
Oli’s jaw drops. His entire face lights up with a joy so pure it steals the breath from my lungs. “I felt it.” He looks up at Jethro, then over at Ross and Caleb. “I felt it. The baby just kicked.”
His honeysuckle scent blooms, filling the kitchen with bright, overwhelming excitement.
Ross abandons the stove, Caleb drops his tablet, and Jethro pushes his paperwork aside.
Within seconds, my Alphas surround us. They crowd close, resting massive, warm hands over my hips and bare stomach, bathing me in absolute devotion.
I let the moment settle, soaking in their love, before broaching the subject keeping me awake all night. “I want to walk down to the square today.” I keep my tone firm, meeting each of their stares. “On my own.”
Tension spikes the air, turning the scent of marshmallows charred and the ginger sharp. They hate the idea of letting me out of their sight. I understand their fear, but I refuse to live in a cage, even a gilded one.
“It’s been two months.” I cross my arms over my chest. “No signs of my father. No signs of Sergio’s men. Jethro, your perimeter checks come up clean every single day. I need to run an errand, and I need to do it by myself.”
Jethro’s jaw tightens. Ross scrubs a hand over his face, letting out a heavy sigh.
Caleb steps in before Jethro can issue a denial. He pushes his dark glasses up the bridge of his nose and digs into his pocket. He pulls out a small, silver pin shaped like an oak leaf and presses the cold metal into my palm.
“It’s a prototype GPS tracker.” Caleb holds my gaze, his brown eyes offering a compromise. “Tied to a private server I built in the basement. I need a field tester to see how it pings. Keep it in your pocket, and you get your solo walk.”
“Deal.” I pin it to my chest.
Before I can step away, Jethro catches my hip. He pulls me close, pressing a hard, possessive kiss to my mouth. The taste of dark roast coffee and smoke grounds me.
“One hour,” Jethro rumbles. “Or I come looking.”
Ross leans across the island, pressing a warm kiss to my temple. Caleb runs a thumb over the metal pin on my chest, sealing his silent vow of protection. Oli catches my hand, giving my fingers a firm squeeze.
“I’ll be back soon,” I promise, stepping out of their collective hold.
I head for the mudroom. I shrug into my heavy wool coat, wrap a thick scarf around my neck, and step out the front door. Spring struggles to thaw Willowside, leaving the April morning crisp and serene.
The walk to Willowside Square takes ten minutes.
A late frost crunches under my boots. The biting air fills my lungs, clearing the lingering sleep from my head.
The square looks like a postcard. Red brick buildings line the cobblestone streets, their windows glowing with warm yellow light against the grey morning sky.
I push open the heavy glass door to Sam’s Bridal & Boutique. A brass bell chimes a bright, cheerful note overhead.
A wave of expensive perfume and rich textiles washes over me. Lavender diffusers puff small clouds of mist into the corners of the room. Racks of pristine silk, lace, and soft cashmere line the walls. The atmosphere breathes serenity.
Sam steps out from the back room. The tall, elegant Beta woman smooths her hands over her tailored black slacks. Her dark hair falls in a chic, blunt bob around her sharp jawline. She takes one look at me and flashes a welcoming smile.
“Sandra. You made it.” Sam walks over, catching my hands in a firm squeeze. “You’re glowing.”
A genuine smile stretches across my face. “Thank you.”
Sam laughs, a rich, melodic sound. Come to the back. I pulled the maternity swatches you asked for. We need to get you fitted before that little bump turns into a mountain.”
I follow her past the front displays. The boutique feels worlds away from the ratty motels and dark cellars of my past. I run my fingers over a rack of silk robes, marveling at the sheer luxury of my new life.
For the first time in my entire existence, I feel like a normal person running normal errands.
The shadows of my father’s debts and Sergio’s mafia enforcers feel like a distant nightmare, locked away behind the impenetrable wall of my pack.
I belong here. The thought solidifies in my mind, ringing with absolute truth.
Sam gestures to a plush velvet sofa set up near the large, lace-framed front window. “Sit. I’ll bring the cashmere samples. You want soft layers for the final trimester.”
I sink into the sofa, sighing as the cushions conform to my back.
I tap the silver leaf pin through the fabric of my coat pocket, turning it over in the sunlight filtering through the lace curtains.
The metal glints, a tiny beacon tying me to Caleb’s unyielding protection.
I let out a long, contented breath, letting the lavender scent of the boutique lull me into a state of absolute, unbreakable peace.
Sam returns a moment later, her arms full of folded garments. She drops a stack of soft, muted fabrics onto the glass coffee table in front of me.
“We start with the basics,” Sam announces, holding up a pair of dark, flexible leggings. “Support panels. You will thank me in month seven. I promise.”
I reach out, running my hand over a pale blush-colored maternity sweater. The cashmere feels like spun clouds against my fingertips. I try to imagine my body expanding enough to fill the loose, flowing fabric. The thought brings a rush of excitement mixed with a heavy dose of sheer terror.
“It feels too nice.” I trace the ribbed hem of the sweater. “I can’t let you just give these to me, Sam. Cashmere costs a fortune.”
Sam sits next to me, her Beta nature radiating a calm, steady aura.
She waves off my concern with a flick of her wrist. “Consider it a trade. Jethro slashes my venue fees every time I host a bridal expo at his bar. He never asks for a favor in return. Letting me dress his pregnant Omega is the least I can do.”
She places a hand over mine. “Besides, you deserve nice things, Sandra. You survived. Now you get to live.”
The profound truth in her words makes my throat tight. I nod, blinking back the sudden sting of tears. I pick up the sweater, holding it against my chest, and turn my head to check my reflection in the large, lace-framed window facing the square.
The peaceful smile freezes on my face. The boutique’s warm interior reflects in the glass, but beyond it, the cobblestone street stretches out into the cold morning. A massive, black SUV idles across from the shop. My heart gives painful stutter in my chest.
Black SUVs exist everywhere. Paranoia plays tricks on the mind. I force myself to take a breath, but my eyes lock onto the driver’s side window. The tinted glass lowers a single inch. A hand emerges, flicking the ash from a cigarette onto the road.
The profile of the driver leans forward, catching the glare of the sun. A sharp, hawk-like nose. Slicked-back dark hair.
Nero.
The cashmere slips from my numb fingers and pools in a heap on the floor. Lavender and silk vanish from my senses, replaced by a phantom stench. Memories of his hands holding me down and his teeth sinking into my unbonded neck rip through my mind with the force of a blow.