Chapter 8
Hunter
Willow sleeps, but it’s not restful. Her face is pale, damp with sweat, her breathing shallow. Every now and then, her fingers twitch as though she’s still lost in the nightmare of whatever hell her body just put her through.
I sit beside the bed, my forearms braced against my knees, watching. Waiting.
She doesn’t know it yet, but she’s not going through this alone. Not anymore.
Graham and Carson talk in low voices near the door, their presence grounding, but my attention never wavers from Willow. I can still hear her begging us to make it stop. The raw desperation burrowed under my skin, locked itself inside my ribcage. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the sound.
Because I’ve heard it before.
Years ago.
My mother.
She thought she’d found her mate, let him mark her, trusting that he wouldn’t abandon her.
But he did. And when the mark started to fade, when the bond started tearing itself from her body, she collapsed right in front of me.
I was only a kid, too young to understand, but old enough to know something was wrong.
She never recovered. She couldn’t even come to her senses enough to take care of me and my sister, Jasmine. The pain weakened her, made her sick. The doctors said it was rare, but it happened. Some omegas don’t survive a fading bond. Some bonds are too deep to sever cleanly.
That’s not going to happen to Willow. I’m going to make sure of it.
I tighten my grip on my knees, jaw clenching. No one is touching her. No one is leaving her like that bastard left my mother.
“—he’s still watching her.”
Carson’s words pull me back into the moment. Back to the reason we are even here in her apartment. Finn Reed. He is obsessed. I'll give Graham that, but I’m not positive he’s dangerous. His file seems to indicate that he goes after shit alphas. Which is understandable, at least to me.
Graham folds his arms. “Then we escalate security. More eyes, more surveillance. No one gets near her.”
I exhale sharply. “She’s not leaving our sight. Not for a second. We don’t need more eyes, we can do this.”
Carson tilts his head, gaze dissecting me, peeling at layers I’d rather keep hidden. “You’re taking this personally.”
I meet his gaze, unflinching. “Yeah.”
Graham exhales through his nose, nodding. “Good.”
I glance back at Willow, at the way her lips part slightly as she exhales, at the flutter of her lashes, caught in the space between dreams and waking.
Fragile. Too soft. But she’s stronger than she knows.
She survived the bond breaking. She survived him.
And I’ll make damn sure she never has to fight alone again.
“We need to consider our next steps,” Graham says, voice level. “When she wakes up, she’s going to have questions. And she’s not going to like the answers.”
“She doesn’t have to like them,” I mutter. “She just has to accept that this isn’t optional. She’s ours to protect now.”
Carson hums, a low, knowing sound. “Not just the job anymore, huh?”
I don’t answer. Because we all know the truth. The second I climbed into her bed and pulled her to my chest, it was more than a job.
Silence settles between us, heavy. Too heavy. My pulse thrums in my ears, my skin too tight. I need to move. To do something. Sitting here, watching her this way, helpless, makes my chest tighten until I can’t breathe.
I scrub a hand down my face, exhaling sharply.
“I swear to god, if he ever comes near her again—” My voice cuts off, my throat locking up before I can finish the sentence.
I’m not talking about her stalker, I’m talking about the alpha who bit her and then let her go through that.
I swallow hard, pushing down the raw, furious ache clawing at my chest. Maybe her stalker should take care of him.
I shake my head, a silent laugh moving my shoulders. Yeah, lets team up with the stalker to take out the fucker that put her through that. Graham would veto that in a heartbeat.
Carson watches me carefully. Graham doesn’t react, just nods once, a silent promise.
I flex my hands, trying to shake the tension from my fingers, but the anger is still there, smoldering. This is different. This is personal. I look back at Willow, my jaw tightening. The need to protect her is more alpha instinct now than being hired for a job to do it.
A soft sound pulls my attention back to the bed.
She shifts, eyelashes fluttering, her breath hitching. Then—a pained whimper.
I move before I can think, my hand closing gently over hers. Her fingers twitch in my grip, but she doesn’t pull away. Her skin is still too warm, but there’s no more fever-slick sweat clinging to her forehead. She’s coming out the other side.
But it’s not enough. She’s not okay.
“Easy, princess,” I murmur, my voice low, steady. I don’t know if she hears me, if she even knows I’m here, but I hold on anyway. Just in case. Just so she doesn’t wake up alone.
Her fingers curl slightly, the smallest movement, but it’s enough to send something tight and unfamiliar twisting in my chest.
She’s reaching for something, someone—even in sleep.
Beside me, Carson lets out a quiet scoff that’s half amusement, half something else. “Well, shit.”
I don’t look up, but I feel their eyes on me. A beat of silence hangs too long.
Out of the corner of my eye, Graham shifts his weight, arms crossing. He glances at Carson. A look passes between them.
“Hunter,” Graham says.
I ignore them.
She moves again, pressing deeper into the bed, her body still lax with exhaustion. A quiet sigh leaves her lips, her fingers loosening, but I don’t let go.
I should. I don’t.
Instead, I brush my thumb across the back of her knuckles, grounding both of us in the simple point of contact.
Carson lets out a low whistle. “Didn’t peg you for the hand-holding type. In fact, you're not soft with me like that at all.”
I exhale. “Fuck off,” I say, but there isn’t heat behind the words. He’s right, with him and Graham I don’t need to be soft. But Willow—she’s an omega. Even if she tries to refuse that part of herself, she deserves soft.
I don’t move.
Neither does she.
A sharp buzz breaks the quiet.
Graham’s phone.
He pulls it from his pocket, frowning as he reads the screen. His jaw tightens, and suddenly the energy in the room shifts.
“What is it?” Carson asks, straightening.
Graham doesn’t look up. “Delong’s estate was hit.”
I snap my head toward him. “What do you mean hit?”
“Security breach,” he says, already moving toward the window. “Multiple entry points. Looks coordinated.”
Carson curses under his breath. “That’s not random.”
I look back at Willow. She hasn’t stirred, but her hand is still in mine. I squeeze it gently, unwilling to let go.
Graham’s voice is low, clipped. “He’s calling us in. All three. Says he doesn’t trust anyone else to handle this.”
“Of course he’s calling us,” Carson mutters. “Because that man only trusts who he can buy.”
“He’s her father,” Graham says. “And this is his home. If someone’s targeting him, it might not be just about his business. It could tie back to her.”
I already know what they’re going to say. And I already hate it.
“No,” I say flatly. “We don’t leave her.”
“We don’t have a choice,” Graham replies, tone unreadable. “He won’t let it go. And if this threat is real, if it connects to her…we need to know who’s behind it. Fast.”
“We’ll leave her with private security,” Carson adds, softer. “People we trust. You know we wouldn’t leave her with anyone less.”
I look back at her.
Willow, pale and still, finally breathing without pain. Her fingers twitch again in my grip, a ghost of a hold, barely there, but breaking me anyway.
God, this feels wrong.
But they’re right. If this is connected to her—if she’s in the crosshairs—we need to get ahead of it.
I lean forward, brushing my knuckles gently across her cheek. “I’ll be back soon, princess,” I murmur. “Try not to give the guards hell.”
She doesn’t answer.
Doesn’t have to.
Because I already know the second we walk out that door, I’m going to be thinking about the moment we walk back in.