Chapter Eight
Rhea
H e steps into the corridor as if the shadows had to let him go.
Not fast. Not aggressive. But his presence fills the space - quiet, steady, undeniable.
Ash.
He’s still a few paces away, but close enough for the air to get ideas. It thickens between us, heavy with something ancient and unfortunate.
I stand tall. Or at least, tall-ish.
Heroic, if you ignore the wreckage of my exploded purse around my ankles and the fact that my knees are currently doing the macarena.
He stops.
Stares.
And not in a oh hey, cool hallway way. No - this is the kind of look that’s 70% alpha instinct and 30% trying not to salivate.
His gaze flicks over me, and I can feel him seeing it. The truth. The cracks.
“You’re not a Beta.”
The words grind against me like sandpaper.
“Wow,” I snap. “Should we get you a medal for that incredible display of scent-based detective work?”
His nostrils flare. His fists curl. His jaw locks like someone just whispered the word feelings in his ear.
He blinks, slow, and when his eyes reopen - boom .
Pupils blown. Color gone. Alpha brain fully booted.
My scent’s hit him like a truck doing 90 on an instinct highway, and Ash?
Ash is getting flattened.
He doesn’t look horny. He looks freaking possessed.
I try to back up. The wall says absolutely not, bitch.
My hand slaps behind me for balance, for space, for literally any kind of divine intervention.
“Don’t,” I manage, my voice tight. “Don’t come closer.”
“You’re fighting it,” he says, hoarse and reverent, like I’m rewriting biology in front of him. “ Hard .”
“No shit, genius,” I hiss.
Something flickers in his gaze. It might be regret. Might be admiration.
Might be the last working brain cell he’s got.
"I don’t want this," I snap. "I don’t want you. I don’t want any of you."
The words punch through the heavy air, and Ash flinches like they land somewhere he didn’t expect.
“You’re unregistered,” he says.
And then -
Another scent.
Colder. Sharper. Ruder.
The scent of a man who probably charges extra for eye contact and isn't familiar with the concept of waiting in line for anything.
It slithers around my ribcage like a noose: sharp berries, cold metal, and that smug, expensive aftershave.
I exhale through my nose, slow and shallow, fighting every tremor in my body. My heat is rising like a tide, hot and heavy, demanding I yield.
Submit. Sink. Soften.
Let them take it. Let them in.
Lucian steps into view wearing the smugness of a man who thinks his mere existence is a public service.
“She’s not just unregistered,” he says, tone dripping with silk and spite. “She’s unmarked, and going into heat.”
Ash growls low in his chest, stepping subtly in front of me - protective. But Lucian doesn’t even look at him ; he only sees me.
Correction: he catalogues me.
His gaze drags across my skin like a price tag scanner, calculating ownership with every blink.
The air goes dense. Thicker than before. My heat pulses at the base of my spine like it’s trying to crawl out and shake hands.
Lucian’s mouth twitches. Not a smile. More of a don’t worry, I plan to ruin your life politely kind of expression.
Ash's restraint strains while Lucian's patience fractures.
One Alpha is dangerous, but two Alphas, clashing over the same Omega?
That’s a bloodbath waiting to happen.
“You’re barely staying upright,” Lucian observes. “What are you waiting for? An engraved invitation?”
“I’m waiting for you to fuck off,” I snap.
His brow lifts. Classic. Arrogant.
Annoyingly symmetrical.
“Fiery,” he muses. “That’ll burn itself out.”
My rage flares. So does my heat.
God, it’s getting hard to tell the difference.
“Not if I put a heel through your throat first.”
Ash makes a noise that could be surprise. Could be respect.
Could be him mentally ordering popcorn.
Lucian, unfazed, tilts his head.
“You think this is strength?” he asks, tone sharp enough to trim hedges. “This little performance?” “This resistance,” I bite back, “is the only thing keeping me from kneeing you in your designer balls.”
He steps closer.
Ash growls. I burn.
Lucian doesn’t flinch.
“Your body knows what it is,” he says. “You can fight it, but that won’t save you.”
“Newsflash,” I snap, “biology isn’t destiny. You don’t get to play caveman just because my hormones decided to throw a rave.”
Lucian’s gaze goes flat.
“You’re wasting energy,” he says. “You’re going to break.”
“Maybe,” I admit. “But I’ll break on my own terms - and preferably not into a puddle beneath you.”
Ash shifts again, subtle and protective, and Lucian notices.
He turns his attention toward the other alpha for the first time, gaze narrowing with aristocratic disdain.
“Go,” he says coolly. “Before instinct does something you’ll regret.”
Ash growls again, louder this time. The air hums with threat and testosterone as the alphas stare each other down.
And I swear, if someone doesn’t either fight or kiss soon, I’m going to scream.
But I don’t fall.
Not yet.
My body is fraying at the edges, but I hold.
Because Lucian Vale doesn’t get to win. Not by scent. Not by threat. Not by sheer alpha smugness.
And especially not on my goddamn birthday.
“I don’t want an Alpha,” I whisper, voice raw.
Lucian’s expression sharpens.
“I don’t want you ,” I add.
He steps forward again, and this time, I meet him head-on.
“Then you should’ve stayed hidden,” he murmurs.
“Too bad,” I counter, eyes blazing despite the heat burning me from the inside out. “I made a terrible secret.”