Chapter 3 #2
I don’t miss stupid shit like that.
“All I’m saying is, there’s no proof this girl even exists. She’s a digital ghost.”
“A digital ghost,” I echo flatly. “Is that different from a real ghost? You think she’s out there haunting MySpace, randomly reorganizing people’s Top Eights?”
“Now who’s got no idea what twenty-year-old girls get up to, smartass?”
“Maybe she’s like… off-grid?”
The girl walks back into view, and my heart kicks.
“Maybe she hates social media. Thinks the robots are taking over the world, like those super paranoid people who wear tin-foil hats.”
“She lives in a godsdamn mansion, asshole. That’s the opposite of off-grid,” He snarks. “She’s rich, hidden, and has no online presence.”
I hum. “So essentially, your worst nightmare.”
There’s a trellis on the side of the house, right up against the balcony. I consider it, debating if it’s stable enough to hold my weight. Planting my boot on the latticework, I shake it, testing the structure’s integrity.
I can make it up. Probably.
Maybe.
“My worst nightmare is Silas on five Red Bulls.” Daxen slams one of his desk drawers shut before adding, “Just for the record? This is close.”
I give up on my insane idea to climb up the trellis like some fucked up version of a Shakespearean tragedy, and cross under the balcony.
On the opposite side of the house, the wall turns sharply to the left, creating a corner steeped in shadows. That’s where I aim for a better view.
Once I’m in position, I glance up to find her facing away from me, flipping through the pages of a book.
My heart stops.
Three seconds stretch into eternity before it begins beating again, kicking wildly behind my ribs.
What the hell is going on? I rub the middle of my chest, wondering if I need to get checked out or something. Each heartbeat sends a burst of adrenaline coursing through my limbs. I feel primed to fight or fuck.
Except there’s no one attacking, and there’s no way I’m interested in fucking a human girl. And yet, I have the overwhelming sense that something inside of me just shifted. Something vital and…
Mine.
I shake my head, forcing the thought away.
Focus, asshole.
“She’s very much alive.”
My voice is little more than a croak, apparently stuck in my godsdamned throat.
“Yeah?” Dax sounds skeptical.
“I’m looking at her right now, Dax.”
I can only hope he mistakes the growl in my tone as irritation at being forced to repeat myself.
“Listen, either someone has gone out of their way to erase this girl from existence, or—”
“Or there’s something else super fucked up happening inside that house,” he finishes.
I grunt in agreement.
The feeling of ants crawling under my skin is back. My body twitches, and I have the overwhelming urge to move. For the first time in my life, I’m having trouble keeping perfectly still on a mission.
I need to run, fight, something.
Fates, get it together, Caelan.
Glancing around, I realize how far off course I’ve veered. It’s stupid to get this close. An unnecessary risk.
That doesn’t seem to matter to my instincts, which are clearly in the driver’s seat.
It doesn’t help that I can’t peel my gaze away from her. Can’t stop tracing the lines of her body with my eyes.
She’s far too thin. Even in lounge shorts and a sweatshirt that hangs on her frame, I can tell she’s too small.
Most Omegas have natural curves despite their small frame.
Her curves are there, but they seem more like a suggestion of what could be, as though her body isn’t getting enough fuel to fill out the way biology intends.
Which means she’s either a beta, or an Omega who is underfed and possibly malnourished.
A growl rattles deep in my chest. The thought of her not having enough to eat creates a red mist over my vision. My fists clench and unclench at my sides.
“It’s got to be her,” I grit out. “Unless Varenthrall remarried someone forty years his junior. It’s not staff. She’s not working, and she’s dressed too casually.”
“What’s she look like?” Dax asks. “Does she look like Varenthrall?”
My brows furrow. How the hell would I remember what her father looks like?
I mean, I have an idea, based on the photo in the dossier, but it’s not like I memorized his features well enough to know if someone’s related to him.
I sigh, humoring him.
“Long white hair. Small. Maybe five feet. Tiny thing. I can’t see her face.”
Gods… I want to see her face.
The thought slams into me like a freight train. Fast. Hard. Fucking devastating in its intensity. At this moment, I’ve never wanted anything more than to see this girl’s face.
Fuck. What is wrong with my head?
Dax exhales a frustrated breath. I can feel his irritation through the Bond.
“I’ll do more digging. I’m not conceding defeat yet. Just to be safe, finish your sweep and get out of there. We can regroup at home.”
There’s a click in my comms, and Dax is gone.
Well, not actually gone. Muting us is just his way of saying, ‘Don’t bother me unless it’s an emergency.’
Typical, really. He never has had any fucking manners.
I take a deep breath and square my shoulders. Time to wrap up and get out.
It’s honestly embarrassing how easy this place is to infiltrate. Varenthrall has the bare minimum when it comes to security—outside of the building on the back of his property, of course. Either he’s just that arrogantly confident, or he doesn’t think there’s anything in his home worth guarding.
What about the girl?
I glance back, my eyes are drawn to her small frame like a heat-seeking missile. She’s lit by the soft glow of the overhead lights in her room, hands poised to open the balcony doors. Her head is bowed, and her long white hair hangs like a curtain around her face.
Straight, white teeth bite into her lower lip. She takes a deep breath, pushes the doors open, and steps out onto the balcony.
I lurch forward and, honest to the gods, stumble over my own damn feet. Once I steady myself and glance back up, my lungs officially stop working.
I can’t breathe. I can’t move.
This girl… she isn’t just beautiful. She’s beautiful in a way that feels like being sucker punched.
Like taking a round-house kick in the diaphragm, struggling to function through the shock of the air in your lungs being forcefully expelled.
There’s an other-worldliness to her, almost like she doesn’t belong here. Like, there was a mistake after her creation, and she was placed in the wrong world. The wrong story.
Her skin is pale, and as the moonlight filters through the clouds, I swear she glows. There’s a faint luminosity, like she’s lit up from within.
My hair stands on end, every atom of my DNA pulling me toward her. I feel like I’ve been lost my entire life and have finally found home.
Every instinct inside of me roars to life, firing up all at once for the first time in centuries. I fucking need this female. I want her more than I want my next breath.
My Alpha instincts have never felt so fucking close to the surface. I usually ignore them—push them back to focus on what matters.
Not this time.
This time, I have no control. So when the Alpha inside of me snarls, I don’t fight it. I know what it wants.
It’s the same thing I want.
Her. The girl.
I fucking yearn for her. Which is insane, because I’ve never yearned for anything in my life.
Mine.
The word strikes like lightning, settling and soothing my instincts the moment I acknowledge the truth of it.
I lick my lips, absolutely enraptured as she lifts her head to the sky, taking a deep breath of the cool night air.
Fantasies of cupping her delicate jaw with my rough, calloused palms appear in my mind and refuse to leave.
I imagine swiping my thumb softly over her high cheekbones, right under those big, blue, beautiful eyes.
Eyes that are wide with excitement, as though being outside is the best thing that has happened to her in months.
My chest fucking aches. The awareness from before feels like it’s growing, shifting, and making itself a home. Distantly, I acknowledge that this should feel strange. I should be fighting back. I should be worried.
I’m not.
Whatever this is, I want it. On a primal level, I relish its existence.
You’re losing your mind, Caelan. You need to get checked out by Calder when you get back.
My logical brain tries to fight back against whatever the fuck is happening, but that voice is weak at best. I don’t want to be pulled out of this moment. The way I feel when I watch this girl is new and exciting and right.
I’ll listen to it later.
Or… never.
A hesitant smile appears on her full lips, and like a moth to a flame, I’m drawn closer. Biting on the inside of my cheek until I taste blood, I force myself to choke down the growl of possession vibrating in my throat.
I want my lips on hers. I want to taste them with my tongue. Discover if they’re as soft as they look.
I shouldn’t, but I let myself indulge in the fantasy.
I want to do so much more than kiss that perfect mouth.
I want to lick her entire body, starting with her lips and working my way down that slender neck.
I want to peel that sweatshirt off and wrap my hands around her delicate frame and mark every inch of her with my teeth.
My fangs throb in my gums, the desire to bite and mark and claim coursing through my veins without mercy.
I curse under my breath and reach down to adjust myself, my cock pressed painfully into the zipper of my utility pants. The sharp discomfort of getting hard in the middle of a mission might be the only thing capable of ripping me out of whatever the fuck is happening.
Slowly, like waking from a dream, I force my attention away from the girl. I take stock of my limbs, all of which apparently froze the moment I got my first good look at her.
I need to get my shit together.
When I think I might have myself under control, I chance another look to see her eyeing the area surreptitiously— almost guiltily— like she’s checking to make sure no one is around.
I’m instantly intrigued.