Chapter 6
TRISTAN
“It’s not a big deal. I’ll be fine.”
She’s lying. It’s such a beautiful performance, I almost want to applaud.
Bianca deflects our questions with a casualness that might fool someone who didn’t spend years memorizing her every micro-expression.
The way her fingers drift to Weller’s mark on her shoulder is a subconscious tell she’s not even aware of.
The slight tremor in her hands she’s trying to hide by pressing them against the glass.
The perspiration beading along her brow has nothing to do with the room temperature and everything to do with the lies catching in her throat.
She looks different.
Her hair’s down, falling in waves to her lower back.
It catches the light when she moves, and my first thought isn’t how soft it is, but how good it would look fisted in my hand, my knuckles pressed to the nape of her neck while I whisper a thousand filthy things in her ear that are meant only for her.
I adjust the cuff of my shirt. A pointless movement to distract myself from the crude, messy thoughts.
Focus.
Her skin is flushed pink, spreading from her chest up her neck, and my mind helpfully supplies a high-definition replay of our night in the hotel.
I didn’t sleep. The time was too valuable to waste, so I stayed up and watched her.
I filed it all away, hoarding the memories because I knew they might have to last.
I’m an obsessive bastard when it comes to her, and any amount of time I get will never truly quench my need.
Six hours. A ridiculously small amount of time to have her to myself. Not nearly enough to satisfy the hunger that’s been building for years.
I spent hours tracing patterns on her hip, watching her skin react, feeling her pulse change under my fingertips.
I kissed her while she was asleep. Soft, barely-there presses of my lips to her shoulder, her neck, the corner of her mouth.
Over and over and over. Her body leaned into my touch and opened to me with a soft sigh, even in her sleep.
I should’ve claimed her then. Sunk my teeth into her neck before she had a chance to slip any further away. A colossal, unforgivable fuck-up.
Well, other than the one at the waterhole, when she stood in that pink bikini and kissed each of us, baring herself to us.
We knew she was ours. We all fucking knew it.
I could taste it on her lips. Nothing would ever compare.
But we were cowards, running risk assessments instead of just taking what was ours.
We failed the test, and she’s been paying for it ever since.
And fuck, the way she looks now. Thinner, yes. But her pupils are blown out. Her breathing’s too quick, too shallow. She’s fraying at the edges, coming apart right in front of us, and a primal part of me knows a storm is coming.
The signs are unmistakable. And despite everything—the glass, the collar, the absolute shitshow of our making—my cock stirs.
Because apparently, I’m just that fucked up.
“Did you awaken?” I ask, my voice cutting through the noise of the others. I need the facts.
Bianca’s eyes snap to mine, and for a second, there’s pure panic before she schools her expression. “Not yet.”
“Omega.” The word is a key, and I watch it turn the lock. She reacts instantly. A shiver racks her frame, and she rubs her thighs together, a small, unconscious move that sends blood rushing south so fast I feel lightheaded.
“The bond,” I say, the pieces clicking into place with cold, grim logic. “When you and Weller bonded... it triggered your body, didn’t it?”
She meets my eyes, the fear so raw it’s like a physical presence between us. “Yeah.”
Holy fuck. After all these years, Weller’s bond triggered what Montgomery had suppressed. But Montgomery’s still controlling it somehow—he must be. The bastard’s probably documenting every second of this.
It’s ironic that we were the solution to her body, while she was the solution to ours.
“You’re going into heat.” The words hang, and everyone finally shuts the fuck up.
Bianca’s face goes defiant. “Doesn’t matter.”
“The fuck it—” Owen’s temper flares, too blunt for this delicate situation.
“How could you think it doesn’t matter?” Freddie interrupts, the easy warmth in his voice replaced with disbelief.
“You’re locked up with a fucking collar on, going into heat… it’s all that matters.” Owen plants his fists against the glass, and I’m concerned he’ll start pounding on it. He’s always been the first to shatter.
“I’m handling it,” she snaps, and there it is—that beautiful, infuriating fire that makes me want to argue with her until she’s breathless and laughing. My body responds even as my mind calculates the odds of this going the way she plans. They’re not good.
“How exactly does one handle this?” I ask, my tone deceptively casual. Because to my knowledge, omegas don’t have much control over their bodies during their heat, so even if she feels like she can control it…
“I made a deal,” she grimaces, looking away.
The temperature in the room plummets. I tap a rhythm against my thigh, trying to think past the white-hot rage building in my chest.
Not at her. But this situation is so fucked.
“What kind of deal?” Weller’s voice is quiet, but strained. Through their bond, he must be feeling more from her than we can see because his hands are shaking against the glass.
Bianca’s gaze sweeps over us, lingering on me last. “I can’t talk about the details, but I signed a contract for one year.”
“A year?” A harsh, ugly laugh tears out of me. A deal with Montgomery for a year of her life. A year where he could do anything to her. A year she may never recover from. “Brilliant. Why not just gift-wrap yourself with a bow while you’re at it?”
My mind’s already considering all that Dr. Montgomery will have control over. Her body. Her mind. Her experiences. Everything.
And if anyone else touches her during that time, I’ll rip them apart.
“You’re so fucking reckless,” Owen snarls. Hurt flashes in her eyes, and it feels like a stab to my own heart.
“Don’t be a dick, Owen. I did it for all of you. You clearly weren’t making any progress on your own.” The truth of that is a bitter pill.
Owen’s vibrating with pure alpha energy. “You had no right. You’re mine.”
“And you’re free. That is what matters to me.” She steps closer to the glass, eyes blazing.
The way her eyes flash with anger, and she squares her shoulders despite being obviously affected by pre-heat—fuck, it’s like she’s designed to push every button I have.
My cock jumps, and I hate myself for it.
For wanting her even now, especially now, when she’s in danger and we have way more important things to worry about.
We’re all talking over each other, voices mixing into pure chaos.
“Shut up!” Bianca shouts, and we do. “God, you’re like children. I did what needed to be done. Deal with it.”
“Deal with it?” I laugh, the sound devoid of humor. “Our omega is about to go through her first heat without us, but we should just deal with it. Perfect.”
The thought of Bianca, flushed and needy for anyone but us—No. I slam the door on that thought before it can fully form.
“It won’t be like with Whitney.”
“How do you know?” Freddie presses. “Bianca, what did you agree to?”
“I can’t talk about it.” She touches the collar, and I notice the way her fingers linger there, like it’s already hurt her. “NDA. But it won’t be... like that.”
Like what? Forced? Drugged? Filmed? Diabolical? Which part won’t it be like?
“You don’t know what he’s planning,” Weller says quietly. “Bianca, a year is—”
“I am well aware of what a year is,” she interrupts. “What’s done is done, and you’re going to have to come to terms with it.”
She laughs, and it’s so fucking caustic my skin heats.
“You guys had five years to figure it out. Five years to find me and make it right. Five fucking years of fucking women who aren’t me while I learned how to take care of my own shit all by my little self.
So the way I see it… none of you have earned the right to tell me what to do. ”
She’s not wrong. And that makes it a thousand times worse.
“I’ll do what needs to be done. If you don’t want me after this,” she shrugs, a gesture too light for the words, “I’ll accept it. I’ve survived it before. I’ll survive it again.”
Weller makes a wounded sound. Owen looks murderous.
My chest constricts. She thinks she’s disposable.
That we could just leave her behind. The wound of our first failure is still hemorrhaging.
The problem isn’t what she will or won’t do.
It’s that we’ll never be able to forgive ourselves for it.
We’re still struggling to come to terms with all that happened to her in the woods, much of which she hasn’t told us yet.
And now this. Every second she suffers because of our never-ending failures—it’ll eat us alive.
“Bianca,” I say, my voice level. “Us not wanting you isn’t on the table. It’s not even a possibility.”
“You don’t know that,” she whispers.
“We do know that,” Owen cuts in, voice raw. “You’re ours no matter what, but it’s not the point.”
She’s sweating more now, a droplet rolling between her breasts that I’d love to trace with my tongue.
I file the desire away for later examination.
For now, I need to focus. But then she bites her lip, and her eyes find mine for a moment before deliberately moving through each of us—Weller, Owen, Freddie, then back to me.
It’s a look that says everything she can’t voice, and a low rumble sounds from all of us.
“I’ve been thinking,” she says softly. “You could’ve been honest with me at the waterhole the day I asked you what was going on.”
The others start making excuses.
“Bullshit. Just stop,” she cuts us off. “You knew something.”
“You kept something from us too,” I point out, playing my last card. The scent match.
Her eyes widen in recognition. Her face softens. “I wish I would’ve said something.” The regret in her voice cuts deeper than any anger could. “But I wanted you to choose me, and you never did.”
Oh, Bianca. The choice was made when we were five. We just never had the guts to say it.
There was never a question, never another. Until our choices were stolen.
“Two minutes remaining,” Montgomery interrupts.
“Please,” she pleads. “Please be careful and don’t fuck this up. Enjoy your new freedoms, whatever they are. It has to be better than before, right? A year isn’t that long. You did five. I promise I can handle this.”
But Owen’s completely fucking lost control at the idea of this being the point where we say goodbye to her. He backs up and charges the glass, slamming into it with his full weight. The barrier holds, but the sound is enormous.
“Owen, stop!” Weller commands, but Owen is a runaway train.
He backs up to charge again, and Bianca drops. Her body hits the floor, convulsing. Her collar was used to punish Owen.
A cold, silent rage freezes me from the inside out. My only thought is that it’s him doing this to her.
“NO!” Weller pounds on the glass.
Freddie’s shouting at Owen. Owen’s frozen, face white with horror.
And the reality slams into me. She is the new leash. And Owen just yanked it tight.
The door behind us bursts open. Guards flood in.
Bianca’s eyes flutter open from the floor, finding Weller’s through the glass. She shakily pulls her shirt to the side, showing him his mark on her.
“Come back to me, Bianca.” Weller speaks in a low, firm tone, but I can tell he is livid beyond belief as he delivers it like an alpha command, as if he can will her to endure whatever comes next with these words.
“Time’s up,” a guard says, grabbing Owen, who is still staring at Bianca, looking completely stricken.
They drag us out. I don’t resist. Fighting now is a stupid move that will only get her hurt more.
All we can do now is regroup and find a way to bring her home, because over my dead body is anyone else touching our omega.