Chapter 21
Hunter
Willow doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t fight me as I wrap my arms around her. She just melts into me, her face pressing against my chest, hands curled into my jacket, holding on because I’m all that’s left to hold..
And maybe I am. I lift her into my arms, her head tucking into the crook of my neck.
I don’t bother looking back into the restaurant to see Landon.
I knew this was a bad idea. That he would hurt her all over again.
Bastard. If I wasn’t worried about getting her back to her apartment, I’d throttle him.
Her scent is still a tangled mess—peaches and heat and something raw, something aching. And underneath it, buried beneath the layers of pain and betrayal, is a sweetness that calls to every damn part of me.
I grit my teeth, locking my arms tighter around her as I step onto the sidewalk. The street is crowded, the city alive around us, but I don’t care.
It’s not like the people of New York are going to stop and stare. I’m sure they’ve seen things that are much more out there than an alpha carrying an omega.
Willow stays tucked against my chest, her breath warm against my neck, her fingers curled into my jacket. She doesn’t ask me to put her down. And I don’t offer.
Her apartment is only a block away, yet every step stretches into miles.
Each foot forward winding the tension between us tighter and tighter until my muscles lock up with the effort of holding myself back.
By the time I push through the front doors of her building, my pulse is a war drum in my skull.
I don’t stop at the elevator. I take the stairs.
Her breathing shifts as I climb, but she still doesn’t move. Still doesn’t ask me to let her go.
I don’t until we’re in her apartment, in her bedroom, and even then—it’s too soon.
I’d choose never if given a chance. Which is dangerous.
In all the jobs we’ve done, an omega hasn’t tempted me.
But there’s something about Willow that does.
And I know Graham and Carson feel the same.
I’ve seen it in the way they watch her; hell, I can feel it through our bond.
I lower her onto the mattress, plucking her shoes off and tossing them to the side. She curls her fingers tighter into my light jacket as if she can stop me from stepping back. I should pull away. That would be the right thing to do.
I don’t.
She tilts her head, big, wounded eyes meeting mine. My chest tightens. Fuck. I’m such a fucking goner.
“Hunter.”
My name on her lips is a brand to my soul.
I swallow hard. “Yeah?”
Her lips part, but she doesn’t speak right away. She just looks at me.
Her mascara is smudged just beneath her lashes, her eyes rimmed in red.
The city’s noise is still faintly echoing through the windows but, in here, it’s just her.
Just me. She’s sitting on the edge of the bed where I set her down, that silky green dress pooling around her thighs, wrinkled from where I cradled her against me all the way up the stairs.
One strap has slipped from her shoulder.
She doesn’t notice, and I don’t have it in me to fix it.
Her bare feet dangle slightly above the floor, toes curling in a failed attempt to ground herself. She’s unraveling quietly—thread by thread—and I’m watching every strand come loose.
And then, barely above a whisper—“Make it stop.”
Everything freezes. Completely. She’s not asking for comfort. She’s asking for an escape.
Her perfume spikes—sweet, shaken, the sharp edge of crushed blossoms threaded with panic. It clings to my skin, crawls into my lungs, wraps around something primal inside me, and squeezes.
I should step back. I should tell her no. But I can’t. Because I need this too.
Her lips are parted, trembling just slightly, and her eyes cling to mine, desperate for an anchor in this world. They are begging me to help her, and fuck, if it doesn’t break me wide open.
The air between us thickens, pulling tight, the moment itself holding its breath.
And before I can stop myself, before I can remind myself of every reason this is a bad fucking idea—I crush my mouth to hers.
It’s not gentle. It’s heat and teeth and possession. And every word I can’t say out loud because it would scare her.
She kisses me back with a desperation that nearly undoes me, every brush of her mouth frantic, searching, as if the air itself has turned scarce and I’m the only way she remembers how to breathe.
Her fingers clutch at me, holding tight, pulling me closer, as though letting go would mean sinking straight to the bottom.
There’s no hesitation, no space between us—only need, sharp and unrelenting. She pours every ounce of fear, longing, and defiance into the kiss, and I take it, I take all of it, because she’s not just kissing me. She’s clinging to me, and in this moment, I am the only thing keeping her afloat.
Her fingers drag up my chest, fisting in my shirt, pulling me closer. I let her.
I press her into the mattress, my weight sinking over her as I lick into her mouth, tasting the heat, the desperation, the want. Her nails scrape against my scalp, her legs shifting and parting to draw me closer, her dress riding up her thighs.
Fuck.
I roll my hips into hers, swallowing the gasp that catches in her throat.
Too much. Too fast.
A growl rumbles in my chest, my body demanding more. And then, just as suddenly as I lost myself, I realize what I’m doing, grinding into her like some lusty teenager.
I tear myself away, panting, my forehead dropping to hers as I brace my hands on either side of her head. Her chest rises and falls, her lips swollen, her pupils blown.
She looks at me, the same wrecked, gone expression I know is written all over me.
I drag in a breath. Battling for control.
“This…isn’t why I carried you out of there.”
Her fingers curl in my shirt again, but I don’t let myself fall back in when she tugs me toward her. I push myself up, forcing space between us. Willow watches me, her lips parting as if she’s going to argue, but I shake my head as I find my feet.
Not now.
Not like this.
Even if every part of me is still screaming to go back to her. To take what she’s offering. To claim her as my own.
I shove a hand through my hair, exhaling sharply. She deserves more than this. More than me losing my head.
I meet her blue eyes again, my voice rough as gravel.
“Get some rest, princess.”
Two sets of eyes pin me in place when I enter the living room. I was so focused I neglected the fact that Graham and Carson were here, waiting for us to return.
I swallow and run my palm over the back of my neck. I can smell myself. So I know they can too. Carson’s the first to break the silence, lips twitching, amusement laced with something more.
“Well. Look who finally cracked.”
I exhale sharply, rolling my shoulders. “Drop it.”
Carson lets out a low whistle, crossing his arms as he leans against the arm of the couch.
“Oh no, big guy. I’m enjoying this.” His hazel eyes flick toward the hall, toward her, before snapping back to me.
“So tell me, was it before or after you carried her through the streets like some fairytale hero that you decided to kiss her again?”
My jaw ticks.
Carson’s smirk widens. Fucking asshole.
Graham’s not amused. He steps forward, slow and measured, displeasure radiating off of him in waves.
“What the hell were you thinking?”
I meet his glare head-on. “I was thinking she needed me.”
Graham scoffs, shaking his head. “She needs protection. Not you acting on whatever alpha instinct you think gives you the right to put your mouth on her.”
I don’t look away. I don’t back down. “It wasn’t like that.”
“Wasn’t it?” Graham snaps. His nostrils flare as he inhales, picking up every damn thing still clinging to me. His voice drops, a blade sliding between my ribs. “Because from where I’m standing, it sure as hell smells like you almost claimed something that isn’t yours.”
A muscle in my jaw jumps.
“Yet, you didn’t come in there to put a stop to it,” I point out.
Carson hums. “That’s a good point, Graham. Maybe it’s time we start asking ourselves some real questions.”
Graham’s expression darkens. “Like if we’re still the right ones for this job.”
The words hit me hard, stealing my breath from my lungs.
I step forward before I even realize it. “You’re not seriously considering—”
“Turning her care over to someone who isn’t compromised?” Graham cuts me off. “We’re all too close to this, Hunter. You just proved it. We all proved it by letting it happen.”
His words slam into my chest. Like a goddamn freight train.
“We promised her father we would protect her,” I grit out. “What happens if we back out now? Who does he put in our place?”
Graham drags a hand down his face. “Someone who isn’t getting hard every time she looks at him.”
Carson exhales a laugh, but there’s no real humor in it. “That a confession, boss?”
Graham glares. “Shut the hell up, Carson.”
Carson shrugs, pushing off the couch, his amusement still edged with something else. The muscle in his jaw jumps, his gaze darkening as it pins me in place.
“Look, I get it,” he says, all the teasing gone. “She’s under our skin. And it’s not just you.” His lips press together, before he sighs. “But Graham’s right. We’re walking a thin fucking line here.”
Silence settles between us, thick and suffocating. Graham folds his arms, watching me. Waiting.
I clench my fists. Refusing to let go of this. I don’t care if I fucked up. I don’t care if I let things go too far.
What I do care about?
No one else is protecting her. And I’ll be damned if I let her go now.
“We’re not telling her father,” I say finally. “And we’re not stepping down.”
Graham’s expression hardens. “Hunter—”
“No,” I cut him off, stepping closer, challenging. “Do you think anyone else is going to protect her like we will?”
Graham doesn’t answer. Because we all already know. No one else would die for her. We would.
Carson drags a hand through his hair, exhaling a long breath. “Well, damn.” He looks between us. “Guess we’re really in it now.”
Graham mutters a curse, running a hand down his face before pinning me with one final glare.
“This is the last fucking time, Hunter.”
I nod, even though we all know it’s a lie.