25. Bianca
BIANCA
I wake to the sound of car doors slamming in the driveway.
My eyes crack open to late afternoon light slanting through my childhood bedroom windows. The house sits empty around me, Mom and Dad both at the hospital, leaving me alone with the silence I desperately needed.
Everything hurts. My knuckles throb where skin split against bone.
My shoulders ache from the tension I’ve been carrying since I returned to Emerald Hills.
Even my fucking soul feels bruised. But crashing for three hours was exactly what I needed.
It was time to shut out the world for a little while.
More car doors slam outside. Heavy footsteps on the gravel.
Are my parents home?
I roll over and grab my phone from the nightstand. The screen lights up, showing a string of missed calls. All from Weller. Twelve of them over the past hour.
Shit .
I drag myself to the window and peer through the blinds. A black SUV sits in our driveway. Tinted windows, aggressive lines, the kind of vehicle that screams money. I roll my eyes.
My heart kicks into overdrive because I know who’s here.
The front door rattles with sharp, insistent knocking.
“Bianca. It’s us.” Weller’s voice carries through the house, tight with tension. “Your parents said you were here.”
I consider ignoring them. Pretend I’m still asleep. But I can tell they’re not leaving without talking.
Another round of knocking, harder this time.
“Open the fucking door,” Owen snarls, and there’s a raw edge in his voice that makes my skin prickle. Not anger. Desperation.
I pad downstairs in bare feet, still wearing the oversized t-shirt and shorts I crashed in. My hair’s a mess, pillow creases mark my cheek, but I don’t care. If they want to show up unannounced and be demanding assholes, they get what they get.
Along with the mood to match.
I unlock the front door and pull it open, leaning against the frame like I’m bored.
They’re all here. Crowding my parents’ porch like they’re staging an intervention. Their stress hits me before I even step outside, bitter and overwhelming in the afternoon heat. Four alphas wound tight, and apparently I’m the reason why.
“Well, well,” I drawl, crossing my arms. “This is risky, isn’t it? What if Whitney checks your trackers?”
“We tried calling,” Weller says, voice flat.
“I was sleeping.” I shrug. “Sue me.”
“We need to talk.” Freddie rubs the back of his neck, that sunny smile nowhere to be found.
“About what?”
Owen steps forward, and his approach sends a little thrill down my spine. He takes a step closer, eyes dark with frustration. “You know what.”
“Do I?” I cock my head, letting sarcasm drip from every word. “Because last I checked, I’m not accountable to any of you for how I spend my afternoons.”
“Cut the shit, Bianca.” Tristan tilts his head like a raptor sizing up dinner. “Rebecca Wells quit her job this morning. Funny timing, considering you stopped by yesterday.”
Heat spreads through me. Four intense alphas and my body’s getting the wrong idea. “And?”
Weller goes very still. “Did you hurt them?”
“I gave them a little lesson in keeping their hands to themselves,” I say with a devious smile. “They were very receptive students.”
“You could be arrested for this,” Freddie says, panic bleeding into his scent.
“There will be consequences,” Weller’s voice drops low, nostrils flaring slightly.
Red edges my vision.
“You’re lecturing me?” I snap, voice rising. “You came here to scold me about handling what you couldn’t?”
“Bianca—” Freddie begins to protest.
“No.” I hiss, chest tightening. “You don’t get to waltz into my life and start giving me orders.”
“We’re trying to protect you,” Weller insists.
“From what? The consequences of my own choices?” I let out a bitter laugh, the sound harsh. “News flash, boys. I’ve been taking care of myself. I don’t need you getting involved in my affairs.”
Owen bristles. “The hell you don’t.”
“You have no rights over me.” Their faces say they find the sentiment adorable, but I keep going. “None of you do. I’m not your omega. I’m not your responsibility. And I’m sure as hell not going to stand here and be scolded like a child.”
I turn and walk back into the house, but I don’t close the door. I’ll let them decide if they want to follow or leave. Heavy footsteps on hardwood tell me they chose to follow.
Freddie calls after me. “Bianca, wait.”
They want to what? Give me a talking to? Tell me I fucked up? That I should be scared of Whitney?
Fuck that.
What I’m not going to entertain is the idea that I did a damn thing wrong.
“Where are you going?” Weller demands to know.
I don’t answer, already moving toward the back door and slipping outside into the yard, heading for the tree line.
“Bianca, stop.” Owen’s voice carries a warning that makes my pulse spike.
I break into a run.
The trail I hit is familiar as breathing.
My escape route from childhood. From Winston’s perfection.
From the critical voices in my head. It leads toward the waterhole, but I won’t be going that way.
Behind me, they crash through the underbrush like a pack of predators.
Heavy footsteps pounding dead leaves. Branches snapping under their weight.
The alphas are hunting me through terrain I know like my own heartbeat.
Adrenaline floods my system.
God, I love this.
“Bianca!” Freddie’s voice echoes through the trees, pitched higher with panic.
I veer off the main trail, following another path that winds deeper into the woods. I scan for every root, every rock, every hidden puddle that could trip me up. The refuge taught me how to move through the forest like a ghost.
Their voices grow more distant as I put space between us, but I can still hear them calling my name with increasing urgency. The sound is making me tingle all over.
They are really desperate to find me.
I scramble over a fallen log and duck under low-hanging branches, moving on pure instinct while something primal awakens in my chest.
Not just anger at their audacity anymore.
Something that makes butterflies explode in between my legs.
Their combined anxiety makes my nostrils flare.
I’ve put them in a frenzy .
This is what I wanted without realizing it: to make them fight for what they want. The desire to give them what they want only if they’re willing to do whatever it takes.
“Bianca!” Owen roars, closer now and obviously losing it. “This isn’t a fucking game!”
But I don’t stop. Can’t stop. Because stopping means facing what comes next, and I’m not ready.
Not when they still see me as something fragile to shelter instead of something wild to tame.
If they want me docile, they can fuck the defiance out of me.
But that’s the only concession I’m giving.
I climb up a rocky outcropping, using handholds I remember from childhood adventures. My breath comes in chopped rhythm, muscles burning with exertion.
From up here, I can see them through the trees. Four dark shapes moving with increasing urgency, calling my name like a prayer and a curse.
Owen snarls from below. “Fuck. Where the hell did she go?”
“She knows how to hide,” Tristan’s voice sharpens with frustration. “She could be anywhere.”
Freddie sounds breathless. “She’s fast. How is she so fucking fast?”
Because I learned to run from things that wanted to hurt me. Because I learned to survive in places that would break softer people.
Because I became someone who doesn’t need saving.
But as I crouch on the rocks, watching them search with growing urgency, realization crystallizes in my mind.
I don’t want to keep running.
Not from them. Not anymore.
Winston’s words echo in my head—about being pre-bonded, about these alphas belonging to me as much as I belong to them, about taking what’s mine instead of waiting for permission.
“Bianca, please.” Freddie’s voice cracks through the trees, and the raw desperation in it is sweet. “Come back. We can figure this out.”
No, we can’t. Not while they’re still thinking we have no other options but to hide what we are out of fear.
Maybe it’s time to remind them that predator and prey can switch roles in a heartbeat.
Whitney will be back tonight.
In hours… everything changes.
I’ll lose access to them for an unknown amount of time, and the window to claim what’s mine is closing fast.
They’re going to need the fuel for what comes next, so I’m going to let them get their fill.
If I give them what they so desperately need… they’ll be willing to die to get back to me.
Instincts over fear.
That’s the kind of energy we need.
Whatever it takes.
I close my eyes and let my heartbeat slow. Let my breathing steady. Let the sounds of the forest wash over me until I can pinpoint exactly where each of them is based on the rustle of leaves and the snap of twigs under heavy bodies.
My anger has transformed into heat that vibrates through my body—primal, needy. Rooted in the same instincts that made me hunt down those women.
I need to remind them what we are. The pull between us goes deeper than any chemical bond Whitney can fake. The connection that led me back to them despite every rational reason to stay away.
When I open my eyes again, I’m not prey.
I’m the hunter.
And it’s time to collect what’s always belonged to me.
I make my way down from the rocks, moving carefully through the underbrush until I find what I’m looking for... a small clearing, well hidden beneath thick tree cover but open enough for what I have in mind.
Perfect.
I pull off my t-shirt and hang it from a low branch where they’ll be sure to see it. My shorts follow, draped over a fallen log like a flag of surrender. My underwear falls to the ground.
But this isn’t surrender.
This is a well-laid trap.
I position myself in the center of the clearing, sinking down onto my hands and knees in the soft earth. The position scorches my nerves, making me dizzy with need.
An omega presenting for her alphas.
Now all I have to do is wait.
Whitney wants to kill me?