Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
Tristan
Ipractically float through the gallery’s main entrance, past a confused security guard, and onto the sidewalk. My brain feels like it’s wrapped in cotton candy. Sweet, sticky, and completely disconnected from reality.
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
I stand on the sidewalk for a solid minute, staring at nothing, replaying what just happened in that bathroom.
The way Zoe gasped when I touched her. The heat of her skin.
The slick wetness between her thighs. The way she came apart around my fingers, her eyes locked on mine like I was her anchor in a storm.
A car horn blares, snapping me back to reality. I’m standing in the middle of the sidewalk like an idiot, grinning at nothing.
I need to get back to the penthouse. I need to tell the others.
I slide my phone from my pocket, dialing and speaking into it as I stare at the street before me. “Front entrance. Now.”
By the time I slide it back into my pocket, a black Mercedes sedan is already gliding to a silent stop at the curb, my driver’s face impassive behind the wheel. I slide into the cool leather of the backseat, the door closing with a solid, satisfying thud.
“Sterling Tower,” I tell the driver, then lean back, closing my eyes.
The moment the gallery door closed behind me, the static started creeping back in. A low hum at first, then steadily increasing in volume. But it’s different now. Less sharp. Less painful. Like the memory of Zoe is somehow buffering the worst of it.
I press my fingers to my temples, trying to hold on to that lingering peace. The cab driver glances at me in the rearview mirror.
“You okay, sir?” he asks, his voice gruff but not unkind.
“Yeah,” I say, opening my eyes. “Just a headache.”
“Hmm.” He sniffs the air, and his eyebrows rise slightly. “Omega troubles?”
I almost laugh. If only it were that simple.
“Something like that,” I mutter, turning to look out the window.
The city slides by in a blur of glass and steel, but all I can see is Zoe’s face, flushed with pleasure. All I can feel is the phantom heat of her around my fingers. All I can smell is her crispy clean scent, still clinging to my skin despite the overwhelming smell of the cab’s air freshener.
By the time we reach Sterling Tower, the static has built to its usual maddening volume, but I have something else to focus on now. My mind is too full of Zoe.
I ride the elevator up to the penthouse, bouncing on the balls of my feet with barely contained energy. The doors slide open, and I step into the foyer, calling out, “Honey, I’m home!”
Diego is in the kitchen, a dish towel over his shoulder and flour dusting his dark hair. “?Cómo te fue? How did it go?”
Before I can answer, Rett emerges from his office, his expression a mixture of hope and wariness. “Did you see her?”
Dane is nowhere to be seen, but I can hear the faint sounds of a punching bag from the direction of our home gym. Of course. When in doubt, Dane hits things.
“Oh, I saw her alright,” I say, unable to keep the smug grin from spreading across my face.
Rett’s eyes narrow. “What did you do?”
“Why do you assume I did something?” I counter, dropping my jacket on the back of a chair. “Maybe we just had a nice, civilized conversation about art and the weather.”
Diego snorts. “Because we know you, pendejo.”
I flop onto the couch, stretching my arms across the back, deliberately drawing out the moment. “Well, I delivered the chocolate as planned. She seemed... surprised.”
“And?” Rett prompts, his patience clearly wearing thin.
“And we talked.”
“Tristan,” Rett growls, the alpha command slipping into his voice. “What happened?”
I sigh dramatically. “Fine. If you must know, I made her come in the gallery bathroom.”
The silence that follows is so complete you could hear a pin drop. Diego’s mouth falls open. Rett goes perfectly still, the way he does when he’s either about to explode or implode. It’s always a coin toss.
“You what?” Diego finally manages.
“You heard me,” I say, examining my nails with false nonchalance.
“She was wearing this ridiculous turtleneck to hide the marks, and she looked so hot and bothered. Literally, she was sweating. And one thing led to another, and...” I shrug, like it’s no big deal.
Like my entire world didn’t just shift on its axis in that tiny bathroom.
“You fucked her at her workplace?” Rett’s voice is dangerously quiet.
“No!” I sit up straighter. “Jesus, give me some credit. I just... helped her out a bit. With my hands.” I wiggle my fingers for emphasis, which is probably a step too far based on the thunderous look on Rett’s face.
“Mierda,” Diego mutters, running a hand through his hair, dislodging more flour. “Are you insane? That’s her job, Tris. Her career.”
“It wasn’t like that,” I protest, the smug facade cracking. “It was... I don’t know how to explain it. When I got near her, the static just... stopped. Completely. And she felt it too, I could tell. It was like she couldn’t help herself any more than I could.”
Rett’s expression shifts from anger to intense focus. “The static stopped? Completely?”
I nod. “The moment I saw her. And it stayed gone the whole time I was with her. It only started coming back after I left.”
Diego and Rett exchange a look loaded with meaning.
“What?” I demand. “What are you thinking?”
“The claiming marks,” Diego says slowly. “Were they...?”
“Darker,” I confirm. “Redder. Almost purple at the edges. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Rett sinks into the chair across from me, his expression thoughtful. “And she was aware of them? Sensitive to them?”
“Very. She was wearing that turtleneck like armor. But when I touched the marks—” I break off, remembering the way she’d gasped, the way her pupils had dilated. “They’re definitely affecting her. A lot.”
“It’s happening,” Diego says softly. “The bond. It’s forming.”
The whole taboo of an entire pack bonding with a beta. Of how such large bonds don’t usually take. I mean, there are four of us. Most omegas get nervous at the mere thought. Betas steer clear.
Except apparently Zoe didn’t get the memo, because she’s bonding with us. All four of us.
“Did she say anything?” Rett asks. “About how she feels about this?”
I hesitate. “Not exactly. We didn’t do a lot of talking.”
“Tris,” Diego groans.
“Look, it happened fast, okay? One minute we were arguing about the planner, the next she was looking pale and rushing to the bathroom. I followed to make sure she was okay, and then...” I trail off, remembering the heat in her eyes when she’d pulled me to her. “It was mutual. Very mutual.”
Rett’s jaw tightens. “And then you just left?”
“She told me to! What was I supposed to do, refuse to leave the bathroom? Make a scene?” I throw my hands up in frustration. “I did leave her a note with her schedule for tomorrow, though.”
Diego’s expression softens slightly. “That was... almost thoughtful.”
“I can be thoughtful,” I mutter, crossing my arms.
“Like showing up at her workplace unannounced?” Rett counters.
“Hey, that was the plan! Deliver the chocolate, remind her about her appointments, see if she was okay. The bathroom thing was... improvisation.”
The sound of a door opening interrupts our bickering. Dane strides into the living room, his workout clothes damp with sweat, his expression as unreadable as ever. He stops, looking at each of us in turn.
“What happened?” he asks simply.
Diego and Rett turn to me expectantly.
I sigh. “CliffNotes version? I went to the gallery, gave Zoe the chocolate, we ended up in the bathroom, I made her come with my fingers, the claiming marks are definitely taking hold, and the static disappears completely when I’m with her.”
Dane blinks once, the only indication that he’s processing this information. Then he turns and walks to the kitchen, returning with a bottle of water. He takes a long drink before asking, “And how is she?”
Leave it to Dane to cut through the bullshit and ask the one question that matters.
“Confused,” I admit. “Overwhelmed. But... responsive. Very responsive.”
A muscle in Dane’s jaw twitches. “You shouldn’t have cornered her at work.”
“I know,” I say, the bravado finally fading. “But I needed to see her. The static was driving me crazy, and I just... I needed to see if it was real. This connection.”
“And?” Rett prompts.
“It’s real,” I say softly. “Whatever this is, it’s real. For all of us.”
A heavy silence falls over the room as we all process this. The implications are staggering. A beta that can bond with an entire alpha pack. A beta that can silence the static. Our beta.
Rett’s phone chimes, breaking the moment. He pulls it out, his eyebrows rising slightly as he reads the message.
“It’s her,” he says. “She wants to have dinner. Tomorrow night at 8. All of us.”
“Let me see,” Diego says, moving to read over Rett’s shoulder. His face breaks into a wide smile. “She wants to talk! This is good, right?”
“Depends on what she wants to talk about,” Dane mutters.
“Who cares?” I say, some of my earlier energy returning. “She’s willing to see us. That’s a start.”
Rett stares at his phone, his thumbs hovering over the keyboard. “What should I say?”
Diego blinks in surprise. “Since when do you ask for input on texts?”
“This is uncharted territory,” Rett says simply. “This affects all of us.”
It’s such an un-Rett-like sentiment that we all stare at him for a moment. Rett, who makes million-dollar decisions without breaking a sweat. Rett, who once fired his father’s oldest friend for incompetence without a second thought. Rett, asking for our input on a text message.
“Just say we’ll be there,” Dane suggests.
“Add that we’re looking forward to it,” Diego chimes in.
“And that we miss her,” I add.
Rett rolls his eyes. “I’m not writing a Hallmark card. ‘We’ll be there’ is fine.”
He types quickly, then shows us the screen.
We’ll be there
“Wow,” I deadpan. “So romantic. She’ll swoon.”
“It’s direct,” Dane says approvingly.