237 AM #2
“Well, they’re fucking gone.” Brayden’s eyes burn, wild and furious. “You refused to give us what you gave them,” he snarls, jerking his chin toward Tadeo. “These filthy fucking—”
“Careful,” Knox cuts him off, his voice a growl so deep it shakes the walls. He presses harder on Brayden’s throat, forcing a wheeze from his lungs. “I won’t allow you to insult my pack in this house.”
Alex’s grip tightens where he’s holding Brayden down, his biceps flexing as the alpha beneath him thrashes. Dakota stands close by, shoulders tense, the baseball bat gripped tight in his hands and ready to swing if Brayden so much as twitches.
“She was mine first!” Brayden turns his head so he’s staring directly into Knox’s eyes. “I claimed her first, fucked her first, marked, licked, and knotted—”
Alex jerks forward, his fist connects with Brayden’s face in a brutal, wet crack that echoes off the walls. Blood and spit spray from between Brayden’s teeth, splattering across the floor. The impact rattles through my bones.
For a second, there’s only silence—then Brayden laughs.
It’s not normal.
It’s raw and high-pitched, bubbling out of him between wet coughs. The sound is edged with pain and delight all at once. His bloody grin stretches wide, eyes shining with a feverish kind of joy.
“Fuck!” he wheezes, chuckling low in his throat. “I gotta hand it to you, Skyla,” he says, voice hoarse but steady. “You really fucked me up. You tortured me, twisted my head, refused to let our bond form—then gave your whole self to the most pathetic pack I’ve ever—”
He doesn’t finish.
Knox’s hand shoots out, slamming against his throat with a sharp, controlled fury.
The laughter cuts off in an instant, replaced by a choked gasp and the scrape of his boots against the floor.
Brayden’s eyes roll back for half a second, blood still running from his nose, but even then—even then—he’s smiling.
“Skyla.” Dakota lowers the bat. Blood drips from the cut on his temple, trailing down the sharp line of his jaw. “How about we go back to your nest?”
Before I can answer, a sharp knock echoes from the front door, the sound cracking through the tension like a gunshot.
Knox straightens immediately, muscles coiling tight, his head snapping toward the noise.
For a split second, his sweet relief slips through our bond, but it’s quickly replaced by rage when Brayden jerks violently, snapping his head toward the sound.
He opens his mouth, I’m assuming to scream, but before he can make a sound, Alex grips both sides of Brayden’s face, lifts his head up, and with one fluid, brutal motion—
Crack.
Brayden’s head slams against the floorboards, the impact echoing through the room. The thud is heavy, final. Then he goes limp.
“Dakota,” Knox whispers, his hand still on Brayden’s throat. “Check it out.” He gives a single jerk of his head toward the entryway.
The beta nods once as he rests the bat over his shoulder. He steps carefully across the living room, tiptoeing around shattered glass and the dark puddles of blood. The house is dead quiet except for the wet drag of Brayden’s ragged breathing.
My pulse spikes as Dakota pauses, looking through the peephole to see who it is. He hesitates for half a second before unlocking it and pulling it open.
The porch light illuminates the face of an older alpha just beyond the threshold.
He’s older than Knox, broad-shouldered, dressed in a dark dress shirt with the top few buttons undone.
Gold rings glint on his thick fingers, and his smile doesn’t reach his eyes.
He looks at the blood on Dakota’s face, at the bat in his hand, then past him into the wreck of the living room.
“Evening,” he says, voice smooth and lazy, like he’s walking into a bar instead of a crime scene. Then he looks right at Dakota. “What’s going on, kid?”
“Not much.” Dakota shrugs as he steps to one side so the man can step through the door.
The man’s boots crunch against shards of glass. “Well,” he exhales, hands slipping into his pockets as his tone sharpens with something almost amused. “This wasn’t exactly what I was expecting.”
Knox doesn’t move, still pinning Brayden down. “Thanks for coming, Marc,” the pack alpha says with a sigh of relief. “I didn’t expect you to personally come, but it’s deeply appreciated.”
Marc’s smile widens as his heavy hand drops onto Dakota’s shoulder. “Well, I wasn’t going to sit at home after my favorite nephew called and asked for help protecting his pack.” He claps Dakota's shoulder once—firm enough that it makes the beta sway a little—before moving deeper into the room.
The alpha walks slowly over glass and nails. He moves like a man entirely at ease stepping into a bloodstained living room with an unconscious alpha pinned to the floor.
Marc’s sharp gaze sweeps the space before settling on Tadeo.
“Tadeo,” he greets, his tone a mix of familiarity and command. He reaches out, patting him hard between the shoulders. “How are you holding up, young man? Is work good?”
Tadeo nods once, jaw tight. “Everything is good, sir,” he says, though his voice carries the faint strain of someone trying not to show just how not fine this all is.
Marc hums like he’s satisfied with the answer, but his eyes drift past him—to me.
The moment his gaze lands, a chill slides down my spine. There’s something dark in this alpha’s scent—polished confidence layered over something heavier. Dangerous. I squeeze against Tadeo harder without meaning to, pressing into the safety of his big body.
Marc notices and his smile softens, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “And this must be Skyla,” he says, voice smooth as silk but carrying an undertone that makes my skin prickle. “Congratulations, Knox.” He looks over at my pack alpha. “She’s beautiful.”
Knox finally releases Brayden’s throat, but his upper body stays tense. Ready to fight. “She’s shaken up, Marc,” he says. “Mind if we handle this first, and then we can exchange pleasantries?”
Marc smiles slowly, like he’s enjoying every minute of this. “Of course. I’m assuming this is the problem you need help disposing of?” He holds a hand out, motioning to Brayden’s unconscious body.
“Yeah,” Alex says, right as that pulse of victorious excitement threads through my bond. It hits like a spark—bright, electric, and almost joyful.
For a second, I think it’s Brayden—some last psychotic twitch before he fully blacks out—but when I look at him, his body’s limp. His face is slack. Out cold.
No, this isn’t him.
Then warmth rolls through me again, unmistakable now—victory, adrenaline, and a little too much satisfaction to be anyone but Alex.
He’s enjoying this.
But somehow…that doesn’t scare me. It just makes my chest tighten with confusion.
Before I can even start to sort through it, Tadeo leans down and kisses the top of my head.
“Come on, omega,” he murmurs. “Let’s get you out of here.
” His tone leaves no room for argument, and my body follows even if my mind’s still spinning.
He bends, lifting me easily so my legs dangle on either side of his hips.
Blood drips from my toes, leaving faint, dark spots across the floor. I stare at the tiny splats of red, understanding that I’m hurt, but not feeling it. There’s no pain—just the hollow thud of my heartbeat and the distant murmur of voices.
I rest my chin on Tadeo’s shoulder as we cross the room.
Alex helps Knox lift Brayden’s heavy weight off the floor. Their muscles flexing as they drag him across the wrecked living room, toward the front door. A trail of blood seeps from Brayden’s foot, leaving behind a wet, red streak, snaking across the floor.
Marc slaps Alex on the back, saying something about missing him at the warehouse, but I’m too busy taking in all the damage.
The coffee table is destroyed, the couch is shoved against the fireplace, there’s trash and glass everywhere, and there’s a single shoe—one of Brayden’s expensive loafers—lodged in a nail in the plywood.
Closing my eyes, I push my face into Tadeo’s neck, inhaling his rich aroma as he carries me down the hall and into the bedroom. The motion sways softly, dreamlike, and I let myself drift with it.
I’m vaguely aware of him setting me on the bed, his touch careful as he lifts my foot.
There’s a quick, sharp sting, but it fades almost as soon as it comes.
I hear the faint splash of water, the brush of cloth, and the rip of a bandage.
Tadeo murmurs something low under his breath, but the words slide past me.
I’m too far away inside myself to really focus.
Then he’s moving again—my lovely Tadeo—guiding me gently into my nest, tucking the blankets around me like I’m made of glass. The mattress dips under his weight as he lies beside me, pulling me close until I can feel his heartbeat steady against my back.
And then he purrs.
The sound starts low, a soft rumble deep in his chest, vibrating through my ribs. It rolls through the space between us, filling the air until it’s all I can hear—thick and warm and safe.
Somewhere down the hall, voices overlap. They’re faint and muffled. A quick laugh. The soft click of the front door shutting.
And then all I can hear is my mate’s steady, grounding purr.
Exhausted, I sink into the rhythm of Tadeo’s breathing, and the hum vibrating against my bones.
And then it happens—that thread inside me, the faint, lingering connection with Brayden, just ends.
There’s no flare, no snap, no pain.
He’s just…gone.
And with it, the awful, hollow ache that has haunted me for so long finally goes still.