Chapter 10
Willow
I wake up slowly, my body reluctant to pull itself from the heavy, suffocating fog of sleep. Everything feels wrong. Too quiet. Too still.
Then the ache sets in.
Not just in my muscles—though they ache as if I’ve been run over—but deep inside me. A raw, hollow emptiness, something once stitched into my very being now ripped away, leaving nothing but exposed nerve endings in its wake.
Landon’s mark.
It’s gone.
A choked breath rattles out of me as I push up on weak limbs, my fingers trembling as they rise to my neck.
The skin is bare, smooth where his claim used to be.
No raised edges, no sign it was ever there—except for the dull, lingering burn beneath my skin.
The ghost of something that should have lasted forever.
A wave of nausea rolls over me, my stomach twisting, grief and anger curling inside my ribs, suffocating and thick. I hate this. I hate him.
I hate that he let me go. That he never even tried to fight for me.
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to shove down the bitter sting, but my chest tightens. The pain and loss, it’s too much. I let out a slow, shaky breath, pressing my palm against the ache in my sternum as if that could somehow hold me together.
I refuse to break for him. Not again. Not when I barely survived it the first time. My fingers slide from my throat to my lap, and that’s when I see it.
A photo. Face-up on my nightstand.
My breath catches. My pulse slams into a sprint as I reach for it with stiff fingers, flipping it toward me.
I recognize the moment instantly. Poor Choices. The night at the bar. The way I looked at him.
The exact second my body reacted before my brain caught up, before I shoved the awareness down and let my usual bravado take over. But in this picture, the moment is frozen. My parted lips, my wide eyes, the way I looked at him like he was something worth wanting. Finn was here.
I inhale sharply, scanning the room for any other sign of his presence, any other mark of his intrusion. But I don’t need one. The picture is enough. He was here. Watching me. Close enough to touch.
A shiver crawls down my spine, but I don’t know if it’s fear or something else entirely.
He will never let me go.
I should be scared. I should feel violated, knowing someone was in my space, watching me sleep. But instead, I feel…wanted. And that’s the most twisted part of all.
I exhale sharply, trying to shove the feeling away, but my mind refuses to let me. Because even through the haze, through the tangled mess of emotions flooding my system, I remember more about my heat.
I wasn’t alone.
I squeeze my eyes shut, searching the foggy fragments of my memory. The heat, the pain, the way my body broke apart from the inside out…
Hands. Strong, steady hands. Holding me together. A voice, deep and grounding. A rumble of an alpha purr. Hunter.
I see flashes. Pieces of a puzzle that don’t quite fit yet.
The quiet, unwavering feeling of Graham’s presence.
The steady, no-nonsense tone of his voice.
The way he said my name, every syllable a promise of safety.
The teasing lilt of Carson’s words, the warmth of his fingers brushing my forehead, a fleeting moment of comfort I didn’t understand at the time.
They were here.
They stayed.
The realization unsettles me more than I want to admit. They weren’t just guarding me. They were with me. During my heat, and they didn’t take advantage of me. I begged them, though. How embarrassing.
I swallow hard, my gaze darting to the door as it pushes open slightly.
Graham.
He steps inside, carrying a bottle of water and a package of crackers. His movements are steady, careful, but when his gaze meets mine, relief flickers inside his gray eyes.
“You’re awake,” he says.
I push my hair away from my face, straightening against the headboard and yanking the blankets up over my chest. That’s when I realize; these aren’t the same pajamas I was wearing before.
A fractured memory surfaces. Cool water.
Hands steadying me. My clothing clinging to me, soaked and uncomfortable.
Pulling my pajamas off without thinking, standing there in nothing but my black lace panties.
Graham wrapping me in a soft dry towel to cover me up.
Carson, helping my arms through a new top, and lifting my feet to pull on sleep shorts. All while Hunter held me up.
Heat rushes to my face, my fingers tightening on the blanket. Can I sink into my bed and disappear?
I clear my throat, forcing my gaze anywhere but on him. “How long was I out?”
Graham hesitates for half a second. Like he knows exactly what just flashed through my mind.
"Four days," he says finally.
I sit straighter, pulse skipping. Everything is different now.
Graham’s jaw locks the second his gaze lands on my nightstand. He moves with precision, lifting the photo between two fingers. For a breath, his expression holds…flat. But there’s a flicker under it. Something dark. Something that makes my skin prickle.
He turns toward the door. “What’s this? Carson. Hunter. Get in here.”
Footsteps close in fast. In seconds, they’re inside. Hunter’s stare drops to the photo, shoulders going stone-still. Carson lets out a rough exhale, muttering, “Well, that’s fucking great.”
But they’re not just looking at the picture. They’re looking at me.
Hunter folds his arms tight across his chest, tension riding high in every line of him. Carson watches a beat too long, eyes tracking me, checking for injuries. Then he drags in a slow breath and shifts focus back to Graham.
"You think it’s from him?"
I don’t have to ask who they mean. And they aren’t wrong.
"He’s getting bolder," Graham says.
Hunter doesn’t speak. His fingers flex once, twice, jaw clenched tight enough to grind bone.
"He got past us," Carson exhales, scrubbing a hand through his hair. "Inside the fucking apartment."
"Fire every single one of those guards," Hunter snaps. "It will only be us going forward."
Graham nods. "That’s not happening again." His gaze flicks to me, sharp and calculating. "We’re locking this place down. Full coverage. No blind spots. He thinks he’s hunting? He has no idea who he’s up against."
I try to slip back into my routine, as though nothing has changed. But the truth gnaws at me—my world’s been flipped inside out. The truth is, everything’s changed. And Finn was in my apartment, watching, close enough to press his lips to my skin if he wanted.
But pretending is what I do best.
The rink is exactly the same, the familiar scent of sweat and rubber wheels filling my lungs as I lace up my skates. The girls are loud, laughing, bumping into me the way they always do. This is normal. This is what I need.
“You good, Jinx?” Daisy nudges me as we take a few warm-up laps, her perceptive eyes flicking over my face.
I nod. “Perfect.”
It’s a lie. But it’s a pretty one, and Daisy doesn’t push.
We practice, we sweat, we crash, we cheer. For a while, I almost believe the lie.
But then it’s time for coffee. And the moment I step inside, my senses tell me something is off. I swallow down the unease and focus on the counter. Latte. Extra shot. Caramel drizzle. Routine. Normal. It’s what I need.
The guys give me space. I slip into the bathroom while I wait for my order, my mind already moving on, already settling back into the rhythm of my life.
And that’s when I feel him. Not see. Feel. The door clicks shut behind me, and my body locks up before I can even turn. It’s giving me deja vu.
“Hello, Willow.”
A shiver rolls down my spine as I twist, my heart hammering against my ribs.
Finn.
He leans casually against the door. No tension in his shoulders, he looks completely relaxed. I should scream. I should shove past him, make a scene, do something.
I don’t. Because he doesn’t look unhinged. He doesn’t look dangerous. He looks satisfied, as though he found what he was looking for.
“Finn.”
His lips twitch with pleasure. “You’re okay. I was worried.”
It’s not a question. It’s a statement.
I swallow hard. “You can’t be here.”
He tilts his head. “But I am. Did you get my gift?”
His calm unnerves me. Because I know what he’s capable of. Because I should hate him for breaking into my apartment. Because some twisted, fractured part of me doesn’t.
He steps closer, slow and measured, until he’s inches away. Close enough that I can smell the fresh scent of soap, the lingering spice of his cologne, and his natural woodsy and clean scent underneath it all.
“I had to see you.” He lowers his voice to a whisper as he leans in. “Make sure you were really okay. You gave me a scare. You disappeared for a few days there. I knew you had to be in your apartment, though. Those three wouldn’t have had the building so guarded if you weren’t.”
His hand lifts, his knuckles barely grazing my jaw. My breath catches in my throat. I should pull away. I should do something. Instead, I freeze and I wait.
He leans in even closer, his lips barely moving over mine. My breath catches at the softness of them. He gives me time to shove him away or to stop him. But I hold myself still, letting the feeling of his mouth on mine wash over me.
His mouth moves slowly, testing me, and seeing how far I’ll let it go. My pulse thrums wildly, my head light, my body reacting before my mind can catch up. For just one second, I let myself fall into it.
Into the quiet possession of his touch. Into the thrill of being wanted so completely. As quickly as it started, his lips are gone, and he exhales against my skin, his nose brushing my cheek.
“See you soon, Willow.” I can hear the smile in his voice.
While watching me, he slips out the door. I stay rooted to the spot for a beat, my breath coming too fast, my head too full. Then I force myself to move. To fix my hair. To step out of the bathroom like nothing happened.
But the second I do, Carson’s gaze snaps to me.
His nostrils flare, his features tighten, the playful glint in his eyes gone, replaced by pure instinct. Hunter, standing beside him, stiffens. His eyes darken, his body going rigid. The shift between them is so small, so fast, but I sense it. They know.
They can smell him.
“Peaches,” Carson says, and it is more than my nickname. It’s a warning and question all rolled into one.
Hunter doesn’t wait. His jaw tightens, and then he moves—fast—down the hallway and straight out the backdoor. My breath catches. He’s going after him.
Carson exhales through his nose, rubbing a hand over his mouth. His gaze flicks between me and the door before he mutters a quiet, “Fuck.”
Graham arrives in time to catch the tension, his eyes narrowing. “What happened?”
Carson doesn’t answer at first. Just looks at me, waiting for me to spill the beans.
I cross my arms. “Nothing.”
Graham’s gaze hardens, then lowers slightly. He inhales deeply, and I can tell the second he smells the slight musk Finn gives off.
His expression goes stone-cold. “He was here.”
I swallow hard. “I handled it.”
“You handled it?” Graham echoes, slow and deadly. His jaw clenches as he turns toward Carson. “Where’s Hunter?”
“Looking for him.”
Graham cuts him off. “When he finds him, we’re taking care of this once and for all.”
Then he reaches for his phone and walks away, already issuing orders. Carson doesn’t move. Doesn’t say anything. His eyes on me makes my stomach flip, because I know he can tell that whatever happened in the bathroom just now, I liked.
They all know. And that makes their job harder.