Chapter 15
FREDDIE
The scent of her melts my brain.
It’s not just a scent. It’s her. Sweet, warm, and everything good I’ve ever known.
But beneath the sweetness is a note that ignites a violent need within me. She’s in heat. My cock has been rock hard since we first caught her scent. My first priority is to kill anyone who’s touched her. Then, I’ll give her whatever she needs.
But only if she wants it.
Because terror is woven into her scent. My fingers flex. Someone will pay for that.
“Fifty yards,” Owen growls beside me, his whole body vibrating with violence.
We know there are three alpha scents and our girl.
Three against her.
We’ve been tracking her through this nightmare preserve, following the winding trail she’s left behind. Every broken branch tells a story of her running, stumbling, trying to escape. It’s torture knowing we’re not fucking fast enough.
We reach a dense patch of woods, and it’s nearly pitch black. I hear it before I see it—a low, electronic whir zips past my ear. I catch sight of a sleek, black drone between the trees. It swivels, a red optical sensor locking onto me.
“INTRUDER,” a robotic voice calls out.
I dive to the side just before a projectile zings through the air where my head was, embedding itself in a tree trunk with a sharp thwack.
Before I can regain my bearings, a second crack echoes through the forest.
Owen’s body jerks beside me. “Fuck.”
His voice is soft, almost surprised. Then I see the blood, a dark stain spreading quickly across his shoulder. “Owen!”
The handgun Ezra slipped to me is already in my hand. It only takes one shot. The drone explodes in a shower of sparks.
“You good?” I ask, already knowing the answer. Blood runs down his arm.
“Peachy.” Owen presses his palm to the wound. More blood seeps between his fingers. But his eyes burn with rage. “Keep moving.”
I fumble for the walkie with my free hand. “Tristan! Weller! Owen’s hit.”
Static, then Tristan’s voice, filled with alarm: “What the fuck do you mean, hit?”
“Drone shot him. He’s up. Just get here. We—”
Before I can say more, a scream cuts through everything.
I’ve never heard anything as horrific as that sound. It will haunt me for the rest of my life.
Bianca.
Owen’s running, blood seeping through his fingers. I’m right behind him, barreling through the underbrush. A branch whips me in the face, catching my eyebrow and making blood trickle into my eye. My heart feels like it will burst. Her scream is the only sound I can hear.
We burst through a cluster of thick pines into a small, open clearing, and the scene in front of me is pulled from my worst nightmare.
The world slows to a crawl.
Bianca is spotlighted by the moon. What’s left of her shirt hangs in shreds. It’s all she’s wearing. Her body is marked with scratches, caked in dirt and blood.
One man lies on the ground in a spreading pool of red. Another is next to him, hands pressed to a wound between his legs. The amount of blood suggests he’s likely gone or close to it.
And the third man has a knife pressed to Bianca’s throat. He’s already nicked her, a small red trickle of blood running down her neck. His other hand fumbles with his pants.
I don’t remember moving. I go from the tree line to slamming into him with enough force to send us both flying. We hit the ground hard, rolling through leaves and dirt. He’s bigger than me and gets on top almost immediately, huge hands wrapping around my throat.
He’s enormous.
I punch him while he’s strangling me. When he doubles over with a wheeze, I roll us into a better position.
“Freddie?” My name comes out soft, barely there. Bianca sounds confused, dazed. “Are you—?”
“Yeah, baby. I’m here.”
My hand scrambles through the leaves and finds a rock. The first hit catches his temple with a wet thud. Blood spurts, but he’s still fighting. I hit him again and again, the rage a white-hot fire in my blood, unwilling to relent.
He. Will. Never. Touch. Her. Again.
He goes twitchy beneath me and then stills.
I look over to see how Owen is doing. The fucker goes for Owen’s bullet wound, jamming a finger deep inside. Owen lets out an agonized sound I’ve never heard from him but doesn’t let go. His forehead connects with the man’s nose in an explosion of blood and cartilage.
“Owen!” Bianca screams and begins crawling towards him.
That’s when Weller and Tristan rush through the trees.
They don’t stop.
Weller goes straight to Bianca, dropping to his knees beside her. His hands hover over her for a second, visibly shaking, as if he’s afraid to touch her. Then he pulls his shirt over his head.
“Arms up,” he says, his voice thick with emotion.
She does, letting him dress her. The black fabric falls to her thighs. He pulls her against his chest, burying his face in her hair, his whole body trembling. He murmurs her name over and over.
I can finally breathe again. I move to her, wrapping my arms around her with Weller. She is cocooned between us.
Owen has Tristan help him pin the other man’s arms down. Then he pulls a knife from his boot. “You looked at her.” The words come out in a growl, and the knife is in the man’s eye before he can react.
Tristan moves to the unconscious man on the ground and presses two fingers to his neck. He must find a pulse, because without hesitation, he slides a knife across his throat.
Owen and Tristan both come to Bianca, pulling her into their arms, kissing her head, impossibly gentle.
Softer than I’ve ever seen them.
Weller lifts Bianca against his chest. She immediately burrows into him, her face pressed to his neck. “We need to get going.”
I go to Owen, getting his good arm over my shoulder. His skin has taken on a funny color. He’s lost too much blood. But the moment Bianca’s ankle comes within reach while she’s held in Weller’s arms, his hand shoots out and wraps around it.
“Not letting you go,” he grunts.
“Wasn’t asking you to.” Bianca’s voice is feather-light.
The forest seems more sinister now. Another whir cuts through the night. I raise the gun. My first shot misses. The second one hits.
“I can walk,” Bianca says after a few minutes.
“No,” all four of us say at once.
She actually laughs, and it sounds real. “Bossy alphas,” she mutters, but presses closer to Weller.
As we move, Tristan stays close, identifying every visible injury on Bianca. His fingers touch the ends of her hair.
“Those bitches cut it,” she says, her voice laced with irritation.
Weller presses a kiss to her temple. “You’re beautiful.”
She whimpers as Tristan’s fingers ghost over the wounds on her arms. He peels back a bandage, his jaw clenching. “Did someone stab you?”
“Just a little, but I don’t care about that right now,” she says, pushing into his touch. And that’s what scares me. She’s already moving past it. She doesn’t process anything; she just survives it and shoves it into a box. One day, that box is going to explode.
“Well, I care. These need cleaning,” he murmurs. Every place his hands touch makes her breath catch.
“Tristan...” she breathes, catching his wrist.
“Stop that, Bianca. This is serious.” He pulls free, checking her ribs. His voice drops, hesitant. “Did they hurt you… inside?”
“No,” she says quickly. “They didn’t get that far. I’m fine.”
Relief washes through all of us.
She grabs Tristan’s hand and pulls it between her legs. “But I really need you… here.”
“Bianca.” He tries to pull back, but she holds his hand tight against her, refusing to let him remove it.
“Please, Tristannn.” She’s grinding against his palm now. “Can’t think about anything else.”
A part of me wants to tear Tristan’s hands away from her. This feels too raw, too soon. But she’s already had someone controlling her body for years. Denying her now could only make her feel worse.
“Fuck.” Tristan’s voice drops lower. “Can you be quiet, pretty girl?”
She nods enthusiastically. “Yes, yes, I’ll be so quiet.”
The second he slides a finger inside her, she moans, the sound loud and desperate. It’s the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard.
“That’s not quiet at all.” His other hand immediately covers her mouth.
She moans against his palm, eyes rolling back as he gently pumps two fingers inside her. Her hips buck.
“That’s it,” Tristan whispers. “Our most perfect girl. So ready for us.”
Her body begins shaking and then locks up, her eyes squeezed shut.
“Come on, Bianca,” he coaxes, his thumb against her clit. “Let go for me.”
She does, and it’s violent. Her body jerks as Tristan leans down and swallows her cries. We groan as her scent floods the air. Owen loses his footing, and Weller’s breathing becomes ragged.
“The best girl,” Tristan praises as she shudders through the aftershocks.
When he finally pulls his hand back, his fingers are covered in her. He licks them clean with a groan. “Fuck, you’re delicious,” he tells her.
She’s limp in Weller’s arms, but still looking at all of us. “Who wants to touch me next?”
“Should be me,” Owen says roughly. “In case I die.”
“Don’t say that!” She twists to glare at him. “That’s so not funny, Owen.”
“Not joking, Princess. Nowhere I’d rather die than between your thighs.”
“You’re not allowed to die,” she insists. “But I do want you inside me.”
“There are literally drones hunting us,” I point out.
“And guards,” Tristan adds.
“We need shelter,” Weller says firmly.
“I don’t care about drones,” she whines, squirming in his arms. “I care about di—”
A drone cuts her off. Tristan grabs my gun, tracks it, and fires. It crashes somewhere to our left.
“See?” I say.
She sighs, pressing her face into Weller’s neck. “This is torture. Did anyone grab my backpack back there? There’s a toy in it. I could at least use that.”
A collective growl rumbles through the four of us. The idea of her being filled by some piece of plastic instead of one of us is suddenly, intensely offensive.
“No,” Weller says, his tone leaving no room for argument. “No toys. We’ll take care of you.”
We keep moving through the darkness. Owen’s getting heavier against me, his blood soaking through my shirt, but his grip on her ankle never loosens. We’ve already lost her too many times.
“Rock formation ahead,” Tristan points. “Might have cover.”
The walkie suddenly crackles to life. “Status. Now.” Ezra sounds worried.
Bianca’s eyes go wide. “Ez is here?” Genuine shock. “Is Megan? Oh my god, tell them I’m—“ She pauses, then laughs. “Tell them I’m hungry, horny, and homicidal. It’s an inside joke.”
“We’re definitely not telling them that.” Weller gives her a serious look.
Owen’s grip on her ankle tightens. There’s no heat in his expression, only a terrifying calm.
“Let me be real clear about something, Princess. Nobody else touches you. Ever. I actually like your little boyfriend, but that’ll change quick if you push me.
Hell, I barely want to share you with these assholes. ” He jerks his head at us.
She scoffs at him. “Possessive much?”
“Yes,” all four of us say together.
“We have her,” Weller reports into the walkie. “Three down. Need extraction.”
“Working on it,” Ezra’s voice comes back. “Trying to find a helicopter pilot who will land there. I will check back in soon. Find cover.”