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Skyla
The antique grandfather clock ticks.
He’s almost two hours late.
Brayden is never late.
Is he still at work? Is he looking for Douglas? Has he convinced the beta to come back home? Or have I destroyed everything beyond repair?
“Stop thinking about it,” I whisper, clutching the duster in my sweaty hand. “You’ll drive yourself crazy.”
But there’s nothing else to think about. Nothing to distract me except the mindless chores and the sharp pain radiating from my neck.
I suck in a breath then run my fingers along the soft bristles of the duster, trying to redirect my thoughts. But this big house is too quiet—the kind that forces your mind to wander whether you want it to or not.
Moving slowly, I drag the duster down the face of the grandfather clock, then trace it along the carved edges of its frame. Everything is spotless as always, but I have to do something to keep my hands busy. To keep my mind from spiraling.
My gaze shifts from the clock to the shelves beside it. The books and antique figurines are all pristine, like always.
This place feels like a museum sometimes.
Not the sterile kind—no bright lights or velvet ropes—but the kind filled with creaking floorboards and ancient oil paintings.
There’s dark paneling, towering ceilings, heavy drapes, and too many things that all look like they were bequeathed in a will.
Even the rugs seem haunted, like they’ve been walked on by ghosts.
And there’s nothing I can do to make it cozier.
I’ve lived here for over a year, but I still feel like a guest. The few things I’ve added—flowers, blankets, a bit of color—get swallowed whole. The house remains the same: cold, stately, untouchable. Not mine.
The minute hand shifts, and the clock chimes.
Deep and resonant, the sound vibrates through the floor beneath my bare feet.
8 p.m.
I freeze up, eyes locked on the dust swirling in the amber light slanting through the window.
Why isn’t Brayden home?
Fear swells in my chest as something trickles down my neck, slick and warm. It slides over my collarbone, soaking into the fabric of my tank top. It’s either blood or sweat, but I don’t check. There’s no point. Nothing I’ve done has stopped the bleeding, so I might as well let it be.
“Skyla.” Martin’s voice tears through the silence. I flinch, nearly dropping the duster. His tone softens as he steps closer. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
I keep my back to him and force a smile. It stretches too wide, too stiff. Then, I turn to face the alpha.
Martin looks exhausted. Dark circles bruise the skin under his eyes, and his hair is a tousled mess. I can’t remember the last time any of us slept through the night.
“Everything okay?” he asks, scanning me head to toe as he inches closer.
I shift, uncomfortable, fighting the urge to back up. “I’m good.” My voice is a little too high-pitched as I push up on tiptoes and brush a kiss against his cheek. “How was work?”
He doesn’t answer. He just stares at me.
Dark blue eyes study my face, then they drop to my neck. His eyes narrow as he looks at my fresh mating bite, then his mouth pulls into a frustrated line. Not shocked. Annoyed?
“You’re bleeding.” His voice is flat, lacking any concern. He’s just as sick of this as I am. “Did Bray bite you again?” He leans down to look at it, and my body locks up.
“Yes.” I say, staring at the floor. I don’t want to see the disappointment in his eyes. “This morning.”
“It bruised pretty bad.” Martin’s fingers brush my shoulder. “It looks like it bled under your skin.” I glance down and see the blue bruises along my shoulder. They’re deep and blooming. I hadn’t even noticed them. “Does it hurt?”
I bite the inside of my cheek as I nod.
“It looks fucking awful.” Martin leans in, pushing into my space.
I think about telling him how savage Brayden was when he pinned me down without warning, then sank his fangs into my neck. It felt like he was trying to tear me apart. I was so scared, and it hurt so much—for a second, I thought he was going to kill me.
But I don’t say any of that.
The fact is, all of this is my fault—my delayed heat, my body’s refusal to create a mental bond with my pack alpha, and now Douglas leaving.
Both Brayden and Martin have been so angry since our beta left us, and I don’t blame them. They were a perfect pack before I came along.
“This bite looks exceptionally deep,” Martin says, tipping my head up so he can get a better look.
The motion makes my raw skin pull, then pinch, and more blood trickles over my collarbone.
“This might be his deepest bite yet,” he says, almost thoughtful.
Then his gaze snaps back to mine. There’s a flicker of hope in his expression.
“Do you feel Brayden at all? A whisper of his emotions? Or…” He trails off, shaking his head. “Anything at all?”
I drop my head, shame and fear squeezing my ribcage. “No.”
Like the flick of a switch, Martin’s whole demeanor changes. A rough sound of disappointment cuts from the alpha’s throat, making me jump. Then he steps back, balling his fists up tight. His rushed movements are crazy fast. Almost violent.
This is how both alphas have been lately—their anger rising without any warning. They go from zero to furious in seconds.
And I understand why.
Bonding with an omega is supposed to calm alphas. Anchor them. But there’s no tether in our pack. We’re simply four people adrift in a house that feels more like a prison with each passing day. And the longer we stay unbonded, the worse it gets.
If I was a good omega, my alphas would be calm and settled, finding comfort in my presence, but all I’ve brought them is heartache.
“We can’t do this much longer, Skyla.” Martin grits his teeth as he channels his fingers through his already unkempt hair. He looks unhinged. “We have to figure something out. There has to be a way to fix you.”
I curl my shoulders inward, staring at his big, black boots. “I…um…,” I mumble, my words barely audible. “I’m sorry.”
“You know,” Martin suddenly closes the space between us once again, his voice rising like a wonderful idea popped into his head, “Brayden hasn’t tried this side in a few months.
” He cups the other side of my neck, where our pack alpha first bit me.
The mark is completely healed. A thin silver scar.
“Maybe he should try here again.” His thumb presses against my skin as his gaze falls to my neck. “Or maybe, I could…”
He doesn’t finish his thought, but he doesn’t have to.
I see it in his eyes. He wants to bite me. To force a bond of his own. He’s wanted to for months now, but Brayden won’t allow it. Not until I connect with the pack alpha first.
But it won’t work.
I know it won’t.
Something inside me is broken.
"I’m sure Brayden will try there again," I whisper, dropping my gaze to the floor. Shame curls tight in my gut like barbed wire. “Maybe it’ll work this time.”
“But what if—” Martin’s voice lifts, louder than before, and faster like he’s trying to talk himself into something.
I stiffen as his hands grip my upper arms and he jerks me closer, making my breath catch.
“It’s possible that Brayden is the problem.
” His eyes flash with excitement in the low light.
Then his voice drops, speaking to himself more than me. “And the wound is still open.”
I shake my head, trying to find the words to either talk him out of this or to somehow change the subject, but nothing comes to me.
“What if...” Martin leans down, his face inches from mine. His dark eyes slip over my face, then down to my neck. “What if I try marking you over the fresh bite?” He licks his lips. “Brayden will never know.”
Shock rips through me, and my mouth goes dry. “No,” I whisper, but it comes out thin, like my voice doesn’t belong to me. “You can’t.” My hands begin to shake and terror takes over. “It’ll kill me.” Tears blur my vision. “Please don’t. I can’t—”
“Calm down, omega,” Martin says flatly, annoyed. “I know it’s unpleasant for omegas to be bitten outside of their heat, but it’s not that bad.”
Unpleasant?
It’s agony.
“M-martin.” My voice is rising now, frantic, thick with panic. Hot tears spill over as I clutch his shirt, desperate. “You can’t bite me. Brayden will kill you. He’ll—”
“Stop it, Skyla!” Martin growls loudly. “You are so fucking overly dramatic.” He looks down at me with so much hate. “Brayden would never kill me. We’ve been with him for years, and you—”
“Are you sure about that?”
A deep voice slices through the room, and Martin’s eyes go wide with fear.
I inch backward as Martin glances over his shoulder, and my blood goes cold.
Brayden.
The pack alpha stands in the entryway to the living room, one hand in his pocket and the other balled up at his side. Every inch of him radiates fury.
“Don’t let me interrupt.” Brayden’s eyes lock on Martin like a predator sizing up a threat. His body is coiled tight, nostrils flaring, hands clenched into fists at his sides.
The scent of sharp sandalwood rolls into the room, pungent and spiked with dominance.
“Bray. I’m sorry.” Martin releases me like I’ve burned him. But it’s too late. Brayden’s already moving, slow and deliberate, rage building with every step.
“Touch her again,” Brayden growls, voice low and lethal, “and I’ll break your fucking jaw.”
My breath hitches. I can’t move. My whole body is shaking.
The air feels like it might crack open.
“Please, don’t fight,” I whisper, voice trembling—but neither alpha hears me. They’re locked on each other, like the rest of the world doesn’t exist.
“I don’t mean any disrespect,” Martin squares his shoulders, jaw tight, “But we have to do something, Brayden.” His fists clench at his sides. “Your mating bites aren’t working. It only makes sense for us to try something different.”