Chapter Twenty-Five
Lucian
T he night presses heavy against the windows like it’s trying to get in. Which is ridiculous.
Nothing gets in. Not here.
Not unless I let it.
I’ve already checked the perimeter. Twice. I reset every alarm like a paranoid grandfather and did a full security sweep of the estate despite the fact that it’s built like a fucking fortress.
Still, I don’t trust it. I don’t trust anything right now. Not the motion sensors. Not the infrared. Not the biometric-coded doors.
And certainly not the three other alphas currently orbiting my omega like a pack of scent-drunk idiots.
I tried to choke it down. The heat in my blood. The bond clawing at my spine. The knowledge that Ash has already been inside her and Theo - Theo, of all people - had his tongue in her slick like she was communion. Holy. Untouchable. Devourable.
God help me, I need a drink. Or a punching bag.
Or an exorcism.
I pace the hallway like it insulted me. Every step is too loud, too sharp. My jaw’s clenched so tight I think my molars might fuse. I told them one at a time. One . Singular. Clear. Basic instruction.
And still they moved in like a tag team with excellent coordination and no regard for my blood pressure.
Part of me - let’s call him Rational Lucian - knew this would happen.
She’s an omega in heat, they’re alphas.
She’s perfect, they’re idiots.
The other part of me - the one currently two seconds from shifting into a full-blown rut - wants to rip the door off its hinges and stake a claim so hard it echoes through her bones for the rest of her goddamn life.
But I can’t .
Because I gave orders. Because I’m not like them.
Because I don’t share.
Except I have . Except, apparently, I do .
And the bond? It doesn’t care. It hums under my skin like an exposed wire, sparking every time she moans a name that isn’t mine.
I drag a hand through my hair and try to think about anything else - global economic collapse, war crimes, my father's disapproval.
( Actually, never mind. That one just made it worse. )
He would be thrilled about this. My father, that cold-blooded bastard, would stand at the edge of her nest like a vulture in a three-piece suit, ready to monetize the entire situation.
“Ah yes, Lucian. Your omega is being claimed by three other men. How… progressive of you.”
Fuck that.
Fuck him.
Fuck this entire situation.
I can feel it - the rut starting. It's low in my gut, thick in my throat. My skin's too tight, my blood too hot, my thoughts not thoughts at all; just flashes of scent, slick, sound.
Her name, over and over.
I’m going to lose it.
And worse? I’m going to lose it without her.
I slam the heel of my hand against the nearest wall. Not hard enough to break it - yet . But the drywall flinches.
I should be in there. She should be calling my name. She should be mine.
She is mine.
And if I step through that door right now, she’ll know it. Every inch of her will remember. Every nerve will scream for me. And I won’t leave until I’ve filled her with so much of me, it rewires her fucking DNA.
But I don’t.
Not yet.
Instead, I stalk down the hallway, fangs bared to no one, rut hot in my blood, dominance leaking from every pore.
If Ash or Theo so much as looks smug when I walk in there, I swear to God I will black out and wake up wearing their skulls as decorative art.
But I’m fine. Totally fine.
Absolutely, one-hundred percent, in-control alpha behavior.
...Right up until I smell her again. And then all bets are off.
The sound of a door creaks open down the hall, and I don’t even turn around.
I know it’s him . Who else would be stomping through my house like he’s on a guided tour with no concept of indoor voice etiquette?
"Wow," Kai drawls behind me, clearly seeing the way I’m braced against the window like I’m debating whether to leap through it or fuck it. "That posture says, ‘I’m contemplating murder,’ but the fogged-up glass says ‘wistful Regency heroine.’ Should I come back later?”
I exhale slowly, jaw clenching. “You’re back early.”
“Traffic was light,” he says cheerfully. “Lexi says hi, by the way. And she also says, and I quote, ‘Tell Lord Broodsalot to pull the stick out of his ass before he chokes on it.’”
My head turns. Slowly.
Kai’s holding a duffel bag in one hand and a hoodie slung over his shoulder. His grin is pure mischief.
“She also said,” he adds, “if you try to ground Rhea for having a sex drive, she’ll punch you in the dick.”
“She threatened my genitals last time,” I mutter. “This is not new information.”
Kai shrugs. “I think she means it more now.”
I stare at him, hands curling at my sides. “Why are you talking?”
He steps further into the hallway like I didn’t just deliver a very direct warning.
“Because I’m trying to distract you before you start punching drywall. Again.”
“I don’t punch -”
“You do. I saw the pantry door, man. That wasn’t a hinge issue. That was a ‘ Lucian lost a staring contest with his emotion s and took it out on a flat surface ’ issue.”
I glare.
“Just saying,” he adds, voice light. “Maybe instead of brooding out here like a vampire with a trust fund, you go in there and talk to her.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
I exhale, sharp. “She already asked for someone else.”
“Look, she just -”
I glance down the hallway as I interrupt him, my jaw clenched.
“Ash went in. Theo, too.”
Kai tilts his head slowly. Sniffs. Blinks again. “Wait. Seriously?” Another sniff. “Oh - yeah. Yeah, that’s definitely sex. Jesus Christ. That’s layers of sex.”
I say nothing.
“I leave for a few hours, and suddenly it’s the orgy channel in here?”
I narrow my eyes. “You think this is funny ?”
“No. I think you let someone else go in that room, and now you’re throwing a silent tantrum about it.”
“I am not -”
“You are,” he interrupts. “This is peak silent tantrum. You’re fogging up the windows like you’re auditioning for a tragic opera.”
I glare harder. “You weren’t here.”
“And now I’m wishing I brought popcorn,” he mutters. Then louder, “Look, I didn’t realize it turned into a heat-fueled dominance trial while I was gone, but if she’s already with them -”
“She’s not with them,” I snap. “She was with them. It’s done.”
“Oh,” Kai says, lips twitching. “Damn. So you’re saying I missed the group bonding session?”
“You’re disgusting.”
“You can’t exactly call me disgusting while looking like you’re two seconds from hulking out because you didn’t get to be her first,” he snorts.
I grit my teeth as my nails bite my palms.
Kai pauses, his tone dipping low. “She still wants you. You know that, right? It’s written all over your face - and your scent. You think she’s forgotten you exist because someone else made her come? Trust me - that girl could be mid-orgasm and still pick your footsteps out of a lineup.”
“I don’t want to share her,” I admit, low and bitter. I don't even know why I say it - why I tell him. “But I already have.”
Kai steps forward, quieter now. “Maybe. But you haven’t lost her.”
I don’t move. Don’t speak.
Then he adds, gentler, “Go to her. Before you convince yourself this is about losing, when it’s actually about choosing.”
“She deserves better than what I am right now,” I snap. “I’m close.”
Kai blinks. “To what? A meltdown, or a rut? Because I’ve got towels for either.”
I actually growl .
He holds up both hands. “Okay, okay. But can I just point out something? You’re acting like if you go in there, you’ll wreck her. And yeah, maybe you would. But maybe that’s the point.”
I shoot him a look.
“Look - you can control yourself, but you can’t control her. And if she wants you, if she’s reaching for you, then maybe the most alpha thing you could do is stop acting like her feelings are a liability and just show the fuck up.”
For a moment, the hallway stretches quiet again.
Then I mutter, “You always talk this much, or is this a new affliction?”
Kai smirks. “You bring it out in me. Like a rash. Or poetry.”
I snatch the hoodie off his shoulder and shove past him down the hall.
“Tell her I said hi!” Kai calls from behind me.
Every step feels like I’m grinding my bones into dust, and underneath it, something worse is rising. Something deeper, darker.
A rut.
The signs are there, clawing up through me. My blood too hot, every scent slicing me open like a blade. My skin itches for contact I can’t allow myself to take. My fists are twitching like they’re waiting for a throat to find. I’m pacing like a caged animal, and I hate that I know what I look like: one unprovoked comment away from reenacting a scene from my deeply repressed boarding school years. Again .
I’ve fought it before. Forced it down. Starved it until it broke.
It almost killed me.
It might still.
Because this time, it’s her.
I stop at the end of the hall - the one that would take me to where she is.
And I try to think.
Try to remember who I am.
Lucian Vale. Heir to a dynasty of cold-blooded alphas and terrifying wine cellars. A man who once fired an executive for wearing novelty socks - not some panting idiot vibrating out of his skin because a gorgeous omega thought about him too loud.
But what the fuck am I supposed to do now?
My father - if he ever found out about this - wouldn’t just disown me. He’d fly in personally to deliver a monologue about legacy, blood purity, and social deviance masquerading as instinct.
He’d probably bring a presentation. Full slides. Maybe a graph.
And then he’d personally burn this entire estate to the ground for allowing pack dynamics under its roof.
Because to a man like him, packs aren’t just strange - they’re grotesque. Unnatural. Proof of emotional instability and moral decay; an indulgent experiment for alphas who’ve lost their edge and omegas too soft to demand better.
He’d call it regression. A shameful throwback to some half-feral past that should’ve been bred out generations ago.
He’d ask me if I’d taken up interpretive dance. Or group therapy.
And the worst part?
He might be right.
Not about her. Not about what I feel -
But about what this means. About what I’m becoming.
Because I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing anymore.
I’m standing in my family’s ancestral home - on land that’s passed from alpha to alpha for six generations - and I’m thinking about a world where I might not be the only one. And that? That’s not just rebellion. That’s heresy .
And i f he knew what I was even considering …
The shame burns hotter than the rage.
Because this thing with her - it’s not singular, and it’s not sacred. It's not an alpha claiming his omega. It's -
Sharing .
The word curdles in my mouth like rot.
I’ve never associated with anyone who claimed to live that way. I've never even considered it to be an option. Why would I?
Packs are pathetic . Weak. Disorganized. Shattering strength into fragments because no one has the balls to lead alone.
What alpha worth the title would share what should be his?
And this... situation is a disaster waiting to happen, with four alphas, no clear hierarchy, and no strategy. Just scent and need and instinct and - heaven fucking help me - Kai .
Who I just had a conversation with. An actual, honest-to-god feelings conversation with a man who moisturizes and gets into fistfights for fun.
He basically called me emotionally constipated, and I didn’t even kill him.
What is happening to me?!
I shove the thought away, but then - it hits me.
A pull. Gentle. Hesitant.
It’s her.
Rhea. Reaching for me without even knowing it, through whatever fragile, fraying thread the bond has become. Not commanding, not demanding. Just… asking.
The air thickens. My knees go weak, my mouth dries out like I’ve swallowed sand -
And my rut - fuck , my rut - is right there, coiled and snarling, ready to take the wheel.
It claws up through my chest, demanding I move. Demanding I stalk down this corridor and go to her, throw open that door, lay her out in that nest she’s built and remind her, with teeth and cock and instinct, who she’s already started choosing.
The rage flares. The possessiveness spikes.
And beneath it, something I hate even more: the ache. The want. The part of me that doesn’t just want to be hers, but wants her to want me back.
I slam my palm against the door behind me so hard it rattles.
Not like this.
Not when my vision is tunneling to red. Not when the rut is so close I can taste it.
I meant what I said to Kai: she deserves better than the monster clawing its way out of me, and she deserves better than the man I am tonight.
So I shove the connection down - lock it behind the steel-and-marble cage I was raised in - and force myself to turn away.
Not yet.
Not. Like. This.