Chapter 1 #2
“I won’t.” I take a sip of the pumpkin spice latte, letting the sweetness ground me. “Besides, you promised me hot guys to judge. I demand eye candy as compensation for emotional trauma.”
Her grin could power the entire festival. “That’s my girl! Come on, let’s go see what Whispering Grove’s finest have to offer.”
The walk to the barn takes us through the rest of the festival, where we pass the ring toss game, a pumpkin carving contest, and a haunted hayride that’s just a tractor pulling a wagon while someone halfheartedly waves a plastic knife.
“Two stars,” I tell Harper. “The mask is crooked, and he’s clearly texting.”
“Harsh but fair.”
The barn glows against the dark field, wrapped in so many string lights it’s probably visible from space. Orange and black balloons gather at the entrance like a craft store exploded. Music pours out that, surprisingly, isn’t that loud.
Inside the barn, it’s packed. The back half holds benches where groups cluster with drinks, the middle is cleared for dancing, and a stage at the far end hosts a live band doing decent covers of classic rock with Halloween twists.
“Drinks!” Harper states, and she’s already weaving through the crowd.
I watch her trajectory change when she spots someone near the bar…
Jeff. He’s handsome with perfectly styled dark hair.
When Harper literally throws herself at him, he catches her easily, laughing in a way that makes me soften toward him slightly.
The way he looks at her, like she’s the only person in this packed barn, okay, maybe I get it.
Which means I’ll be waiting a while for that drink.
I drift deeper into the barn, following the edge of the crowd.
Despite everything, I love the energy, the music, the freedom to just exist without anyone watching to make sure I’m being properly demure.
I even start to relax, letting the music wash over me, the bass thrumming through my chest like a second heartbeat.
Then I lift my gaze and freeze. And I see him.
Not a maybe. Not my paranoia. Not a look-alike.
Van Stone, in the flesh, standing near the entrance I just came through.
I’m going to be sick. He looks exactly the same, devastating in that cold, calculated way. His suit is perfectly tailored to his athletic frame. His blond hair is styled as I remember, without strand out of place.
He’s alone, which somehow makes it worse. No handlers, no family, just him with those ice-blue eyes scanning the crowd with methodical intent.
Then those eyes land on me.
The fury that transforms his face makes my blood turn to ice. His jaw clenches, hands flexing at his sides in that way that always preceded pain. Close to two years of running, of hiding, of becoming someone else, and he’s found me.
My brain screams at me to run, but my legs won’t cooperate. Where would I go? He’s blocking the main exit. Harper is lost in the crowd. I don’t recognize anyone else I know to run to. Panic flares over me, and I frantically scan the room. That’s when I spot salvation, or at least a delay of doom.
There’s a man sitting on one of the benches that line the wall, and sweet Jesus, he’s enormous.
He makes the bench look like dollhouse furniture.
Six foot five at least, built like someone who bench-presses cars for fun, he’s maybe in his late twenties, early thirties, and extremely handsome.
His black hair is short but longer in front, falling across his forehead in a way that should look boyish but doesn’t, not with that jaw, those shoulders, that presence that seems to push against the air around him.
When he turns to look at something, I catch his profile of harsh angles softened only by surprisingly full lips and long, dark lashes that seem at odds with the rest of him.
I don’t think. I just move toward him in a hurried walk, my heart thundering in my chest.
“Please, just pretend you know me,” I whisper, dropping onto the bench beside him.
He turns fully toward me, and my brain short-circuits.
His eyes are amber, but that description does them no justice.
They’re the color of threads of gold that catch the light, deep-set under dark brows that are currently raised in question.
This close, I can see the faint stubble along his jaw, the way his throat works as he swallows, the fact that his shoulders are literally twice the width of mine.
“Interesting opening line,” he says, and his voice, God, his voice is low, rumbly, and something dangerous. “You always approach strangers with requests for improv?”
“Only when—” I glance at Van, who’s pushing through the crowd, getting closer. My voice cracks. “Please. There’s a man. He—I need?—”
Mountain Man follows my gaze, then looks back at me. Something shifts in his expression, a sharpening that transforms him from casually intimidating to lethal.
“Ex-boyfriend?” he asks quietly.
“Ex-fiancé.” The word tastes like ash. “The kind that doesn’t understand ‘ex’ means ‘over.’?”
I can’t stop looking between them, Van getting closer, this stranger beside me who smells like spiced caramel and toasted marshmallow with notes of vanilla that make no sense because men who look like him should smell like motor oil and violence, not comfort and warmth.
My brain is spinning, overwhelmed by fear and this unexpected scent that makes something in my chest unclench for the first time in years.
“Why me?” he asks.
I glance up at him, trying to stop myself from trembling. “Because you look like no one would dare mess with you.” I’m honest, desperately needing his help.
Van is maybe twenty feet away now, his expression promising retribution.
“What’s your name?” Mountain Man asks, leaning close enough that his breath tickles my ear.
“Cindy,” I whisper back.
“I’m Holt. Let me handle this.” He slides an arm around my shoulders, the weight of it grounding and terrifying in equal measure. Then, louder, with a laugh that’s all dark edges: “There you are, sweetheart. Been looking everywhere for you.”
The endearment should make me flinch, as Van used to call me that while hurting me, but from Holt’s mouth, it sounds different. Protective. A shield instead of a cage.
Van stops several feet in front of us, and I feel Holt inhale slowly. His arm tightens around me.
“Can we help you?” His voice drops to something deadly.
“You’re with my Omega.” Van’s tone could freeze hell, each word precise and cold.
“Funny,” Holt says, and I feel the rumble of his voice through his chest. “She doesn’t smell like yours.”
The territorial words should terrify me. This kind of primitive Alpha posturing is exactly what I’ve been avoiding. But something about the way Holt says it, protective rather than possessive, makes me lean into him instead of away.
“She’s been promised to me.” Van’s composure is cracking, his voice rising slightly. “She belongs?—”
“To herself,” Holt interrupts, and the authority in his voice has even Van stepping back slightly. “See, that’s your problem, thinking people belong to anyone but themselves.”
“Problem, Holt?” a deep, male voice comes from our left.
I twist to see two men who definitely weren’t there before, and my heart stops because, for a second, I think they might be with Van.
Then I notice how they’re positioned, flanking us protectively rather than aggressively, and the way one of them grins at Holt with familiar ease.
They’re both devastating in completely different ways. One has auburn hair, gray-green eyes that seem to shift color as he moves, and is built like a boxer. He smells as sweet as candied apples and spiced cider with undertones of leather that shouldn’t work together but do.
The other’s moves captivate my attention. Dark blond hair falls past his collar, and his brown eyes are so dark that they’re almost black in the barn’s dim lighting. The scent of buttery toast with cinnamon and sugar wafts from him. I almost drool at the smell.
“This fucker seems confused about basic consent,” Holt tells them, never taking his eyes off Van.
“Hate when that happens,” Auburn states cheerfully, dropping onto the bench to my left.
“Really ruins the vibe,” Dark Blond agrees, settling on the other side of Holt.
Neither touches me, but their presence is overwhelming. Three massive Alphas surround me, their combined scents causing my head to spin. I should be terrified. Instead, I feel safer than I have in two years.
“Three against one?” Van sneers, but I can see him calculating odds.
“Three protecting one,” Holt corrects. “Big difference.”
Van’s gaze finds mine, and the hatred there makes me shrink back instinctively. “You think you can just disappear, Cynthia?”
There it is. My real name. The one I buried along with that wedding dress when I ran from him less than two years ago. The one only he uses now, wielding it like a weapon.
“She did disappear,” Holt says, standing slowly. When he reaches his full height, Van has to tilt his head back to maintain eye contact, and the power shift is beautiful. “Seems like you’re the one who doesn’t understand how disappearing works.”
“She has obligations?—”
“Had.” I find my voice, though it shakes. “Past tense. As in done. Over. Filed under ‘mistakes I ran from.’?”
Auburn makes a sound that might be a laugh. Dark Blond shifts slightly, further blocking Van’s view of me.
Holt takes two slow steps forward, closing the distance between him and Van. His hand runs through his hair, biceps flexing in a way that’s both casual and threatening. When he speaks, his voice is low enough that only our small group can hear.
“Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to turn around.
You’re going to walk out of this barn. You’re going to leave this town tonight.
And if I see you near her again, if I even hear you’ve been asking about her, I’ll introduce you to some friends of mine who specialize in making problems disappear.
The permanent kind of disappearing. We clear? ”
Van’s jaw clenches. His gaze flicks to me once more, a promise of violence that covers me in goose bumps.
“I’ll see you around, Cynthia,” he barks out softly, and somehow that’s worse than shouting.
Then he turns and strolls away, shouldering through the crowd hard enough to knock drinks from hands. The moment he’s out of sight, my whole body starts shaking.
“Breathe,” Holt says, turning back to me. He crouches in front of the bench, putting us at eye level. “You’re safe.”
“He found me. I’m not safe,” I whisper. “After almost two years, he found me. How did he—what if he?—”
“Hey.” Holt’s voice is gentle now, all that dangerous edge gone. “Look at me.”
I do, and the concern in those eyes draws me to him.
“You need us to be your security?” Auburn asks, and I can’t tell if he’s joking. “Because we’re very good at it. Ask anyone.”
“Well, don’t ask the people we’ve secured against,” Dark Blond adds. “They might be biased.”
“Guys,” Holt says mildly, though his lips twitch like he’s fighting a smile.
“Cindy!” Harper calls out, appearing like an avenging angel, Jeff trailing behind her. She takes in the scene, me shaking, three enormous strangers surrounding me.
“What happened? Are you okay? Who are?—”
“Van was here,” I interrupt. “He found me.”
The color drains from Harper’s face, then floods back red. “Are you sure? Where is he? I’ll kill him. Jeff, hold my earrings?—”
“He left,” I assure her quickly. “These guys… helped.”
Harper’s gaze rakes over them. “And you are?”
“Holt,” Mountain Man introduces himself, standing. “These guys are Luke and Arrow.”
Luke (Auburn) gives a little wave. Arrow (Dark Blond) nods solemnly.
“They made Van leave,” I tell Harper. “Made sure he knew I wasn’t alone.”
Something in Harper’s expression softens slightly. “Thank you. We should go, though. In case he comes back.”
“If you need anything,” Holt says, pulling out his phone, “day or night?—”
“I don’t—” I start to protest.
Holt immediately nods. “Okay, then. Just so you know, we’re usually at Savor, at least one of us, and mostly in the evenings, if you need anything. Please don’t be afraid to ask for help.”
“Savor?” I ask, trying to calm my racing heart.
“Restaurant on Main,” Arrow says. “I just opened it recently. These two just mooch.”
“We provide security,” Luke protests. “Very important security.”
“You provide commentary on my menu choices,” Holt adds with a smirk.
“Very important commentary,” Arrow adds.
Despite everything, I find myself almost smiling. “Thank you. Really. I don’t know what would have happened if?—”
“Nothing would have happened,” Holt says firmly. “Not while we’re around.”
The possessive edge should scare me, but it doesn’t.
Maybe because I can still smell them, all three distinct scents tingling in my senses, and butterflies burst in my stomach.
Or maybe because, for the first time in two years, someone stood between me and Van without wanting something in return.
Or I’m just on adrenaline and not sure what I’m smelling.
“Come on,” Harper says, linking her arm through mine. “Let’s get you home.”
As we leave, I glance back. All three men are watching us go, and there’s something in their expressions that tells me they care. Like they’re seeing something they’ve been looking for, which is insane.
“Those were not normal good Samaritans,” Harper says once we’re outside.
“Nothing about tonight was normal.” I’m still trembling, Van’s face burned into my mind—his rage, his fury.
He found me.
He found me.
“Three stupidly hot Alphas protecting you from your psycho ex? That’s not normal. That’s romance novel territory.”
“Hell, it’s horror novel territory for me.”
“Are you smiling?” Harper stares at me.
I am a bit. And that scares me too much.
Because despite the fact that my worst nightmare just walked into my safe haven…
Despite the fact that I’m still shaking from it…
I’m smiling about three strangers I shouldn’t trust.
Because safety isn’t real.
Not for me. Not anymore.
My heart won’t slow down.
Van’s threat echoes in my head.
I’m not safe.
Not here. Not anywhere.
Tomorrow, I’ll figure out what to do.
Tonight… I just want to disappear.
I just want to be free.
But freedom doesn’t come for Omegas like me. And just like that, Mother’s words dance in my thoughts: “Omegas don’t get to run. We survive by standing still and taking what is expected of us.”