Chapter 3
CINDY
I ’m in the barn, but everyone else has vanished like smoke.
Just me and Holt, and somehow I’m straddling his lap on the bench, my thighs pressed against his, feeling every solid inch of him beneath me.
The fairy lights above us blur into stars, or maybe that’s just what happens when he looks at me like I’m the only thing in his universe.
“We’ve been waiting so long,” he says in his deep, rough voice I already love. His massive hands slide up my thighs. “Centuries. Lifetimes. And here you are, smelling like everything we’ve been missing.”
“I don’t understand,” I whisper, but my body does.
“You will.” His nose finds that spot where my neck meets my shoulder, and I gasp as he inhales deeply. “You were made for us. Three pieces of the same soul, and you’re the missing center.”
The barn shifts, melts, re-forms. We’re still there but not there. Luke appears behind me, his hands sliding into my hair, tilting my head back.
“Finally,” he breathes against my temple. “Do you know what it’s like? Searching every face, every scent, knowing you’re out there somewhere?”
Arrow materializes at our side, his dark eyes intense as he traces a finger along my jaw. “We would have burned cities to find you. Would have torn apart anyone who kept you from us.”
I’m surrounded, overwhelmed, drowning in their combined scents, and it should terrify me, but instead I’m melting, dissolving into sensation. Holt’s mouth traces my collarbone while Luke’s fingers stroke my shoulder, and Arrow’s thumb brushes my bottom lip.
“Too much,” I gasp, but my body arches into their touches, betraying how much I want this. “I don’t know how to ? —”
“We’ll teach you,” Holt growls against my throat. “Everything. Anything. We’ve got time now. All the time in the world.”
His teeth graze the curve of my neck, and I shudder, heat curling low in my belly and pooling between my thighs.
“Sensitive,” Luke breathes against my ear, his voice velvet and sin. “You feel that? Right here?” His fingers trail down my ribs, dragging slow, teasing circles along my skin. “That’s mine now.”
He chuckles when I arch into him, the sound rich and full of hunger. “God, you’re perfect. We’re going to worship every inch of you… kiss you until you forget what it felt like to be alone.”
Arrow still watches me like he’s already claimed me. His stare burns through me, dark and possessive, jaw tight like he’s holding back something feral.
“Do you have any idea what you look like right now?” he rasps, stepping closer. “Soft. Ready. Fucking beautiful.”
My breath stutters in my chest. I can’t move. I don’t want to.
“When I touch you,” he continues, “it won’t be careful. It’ll be reverent. And if you think reverence means gentle…”
His gaze drops to my lips.
“…you’re in for a surprise.”
Luke hums against my skin, nosing just beneath my jaw. “You want to be touched like that, don’t you?” he whispers. “You want us to take our time. To make it last.”
His fingers skim beneath the edge of my shirt, and I gasp. The heat of their attention settles heavily on me, inescapable and intoxicating.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he murmurs, kissing the place where my pulse flutters.
They’re not just looking at me like I belong to them.
They’re acting like it.
Speaking in promises and possession, like it’s already decided.
And maybe it is.
Maybe I was always meant to end up here ? —
Between them.
For them.
My fingers are digging into Holt’s shoulders as my body arches, caught somewhere between fear and unbearable pleasure. “Be gentle. I’ve never… I haven’t been with anyone. Not really. Not like this.”
Everything stops.
Three powerful bodies go still around me, breaths catching like they’ve been struck.
Holt’s hand stills at my waist. Luke lifts his head from where his lips had been tracing fire along my collarbone. Arrow curses under his breath, low and sharp.
Then Holt pulls back just enough to see me. His gaze locks on to mine, amber gone molten, something feral barely contained in the depths.
“No one’s touched you?” he asks softly.
I shake my head, too overwhelmed to speak.
Holt exhales gradually, like he’s trying to leash himself. “Then no one ever will. Not after this. We’ll be the first. We’ll be the last.”
Luke’s voice brushes against my ear like velvet laced with danger. “We’ll take you apart, sweetheart. Slowly. Carefully. Until there’s not a single inch of you we haven’t claimed.”
“You won’t even remember what it felt like to be untouched,” Arrow murmurs, his hands gliding down my thighs like a vow.
They move with new intention. Worshipful. Possessive. Every caress is reverent and darkly addictive, as if my admission flipped some invisible switch. They don’t rush. They savor. Every inch of skin they touch feels like it’s being branded—theirs.
Holt leans down, his lips barely brushing mine. “We’ll make it perfect for you. But perfect doesn’t mean soft.”
My breath catches.
“It means unforgettable.”
I wake with a gasp, my entire body lit . Sheets twisted, thighs damp, breath ragged. My skin feels sunburned from the inside out, and I swear I can still feel the imprint of Holt’s body pressed against mine, Luke’s voice in my ear, Arrow’s hands on my thigh.
There’s no sound but my own ragged breathing, the creak of the house settling around me.
I sit up, dazed, heart pounding.
I’ve never had a dream like that before. Not like this.
Not with the sense that something had shifted.
That something was coming.
My lips still taste like caramel.
My skin tingles like it’s been claimed.
“What the hell was that?” I whisper to the morning silence.
But deep down, I already know. I meet drop-dead gorgeous Alphas, and my body betrays me.
I stumble to the bathroom on wobbly legs, splash cold water on my face until the burning recedes to a manageable simmer. In the mirror, my reflection looks wrecked—pupils overtaking the hazel irises, cheeks blushing, lips swollen like I’ve actually been kissed.
A cold shower helps, barely. I have to bite my lip to keep from making any sounds as the water hits my oversensitized skin. Every drop feels like a spark against raw nerves. By the time I step out, I’m flushed, shaky, and deeply annoyed with my body for betraying me.
I wrap a towel around myself and move to the small mirror above the sink.
My hair is a tousled mess, naturally wavy and always a little too wild to behave.
It falls just past my shoulders, a soft, mousy honey blonde.
I rake a wide-tooth comb through the tangles, grimacing when it snags.
Blow-drying is fast and aggressive, more function than finesse, and I smooth it with my fingers, scrunching the ends to keep the wave.
Makeup is quick. Concealer under the eyes, a swipe of mascara, tinted balm. Just enough to fake energy. Just enough to pretend I didn’t wake up panting from a dream that felt more like a memory.
Then I pull on my favorite work clothes of black fitted pants that have survived at least a hundred brewery spills, a tight black T-shirt with our logo across the chest, and worn-in boots.
They’re nothing special, but they’ve molded perfectly to my feet.
It’s my armor. Familiar. Functional. I sometimes wear a skirt on those days that warm up.
And for a moment, I almost feel human again.
Almost.
The knock on my door makes me jump.
“Cindy! Dear! Are you awake?”
Mrs. Meadow. I check the time. Just after seven o’clock. She must have heard me moving around.
I open the door to find my neighbor in her signature housecoat, this one covered in dancing pumpkins, holding a plate of what smells like cinnamon rolls.
“Morning, Mrs. Meadow,” I manage, hoping I don’t look as thoroughly debauched as I feel.
“Oh, good, you’re dressed. I worry about you, dear, a young unmated Omega living alone. It’s not proper, not safe. You really should consider moving back with family, or at least finding a nice Alpha to protect you.”
If she only knew why I can’t go back to my family.
“I appreciate the concern,” I say gently, taking a cinnamon roll. It’s still warm, probably fresh from her oven. “But I’m doing okay on my own. In truth, I love living… independently.”
She gives me a look. The kind that says she’s heard that before. But I mean it.
Because the truth is that I’ve had enough of being smothered under the weight of concern .
Omegas are coddled, overprotected, told it’s for our security, when really, it’s about control.
We’re expected to be soft, pliable, obedient.
We’re rarely trusted to decide for ourselves, but we’re constantly told what’s best for us.
I grew up behind glass, trapped in a house that treated me like a fragile possession.
I couldn’t step outside alone. Couldn’t go to the store without an escort.
Couldn’t breathe without someone making sure I did it properly.
They said it was love. Safety. Family.
But love shouldn’t feel like prison bars.
And I went along with it because I didn’t know any better. Maybe I was scared. Maybe I didn’t have a voice strong enough to fight back. My only real example of freedom was my aunt, who taught me what independence looked like in stolen afternoons and whispered phone calls.
My mother hated it. Tried to keep us apart. Said she was reckless, dangerous, a bad influence.
But when my aunt died… something in me cracked wide open. Like all the air had been sucked from my world, and suddenly I realized what I’d been missing.
That was the day I started looking. Digging. Researching the rare places in the country where Omegas weren’t silenced or owned. Where they could live —run businesses, vote on local councils, go on dates or to bars or to nowhere at all —alone.