Chapter 15
FIFTEEN
Eviana
The hum of the scent neutralisers is as much a part of my world as the wind brushing through the old sycamores outside. It’s steady, predictable – just the way I like it. I stand back from the canvas, tilting my head to study the streaks of soft lavender I’ve painted across the sky. The farmhouse smells faintly of fresh rain and wild mint, calming and familiar, but I can never be free of the traces of lavender. I can’t stand the smell, but still it invades my life in the sunrises that I paint, the items that I knit, the clothes that I wear.
I frown at the painting, appraising it critically. It’s not a masterpiece, but it’s mine. At least for now anyway. This piece is a commission for someone in Scotland. It’s mind blowing to think that my work has reached all four corners of the U.K., and even stranger still that people pay me for it.
I sigh and set the brush down, rubbing at a smudge of paint on my wrist. This is how I prefer things: quiet, orderly, safe. Alone. No one barges in, no one disrupts my space. Not even my sisters.
I can breathe here. Well, now I can, anyway. For the entirety of my childhood I felt like I was walking on eggshells, trapped by rules that constricted tighter than any corset strings ever could.
But the magical spell is broken when I hear it – a crunch of tyres on gravel. My hand stills, my breath catching. No one comes out here. Not without a reason. And my sisters know to always call first. So who could it be? And why does the thought of unexpected visitors fill me with stomach-churning anxiety?
Frowning, I cross to the window, pushing the curtain aside just enough to peek out.
A sleek black SUV sits in the potholed driveway, the kind that screams money and doesn’t belong anywhere near this ramshackle farmhouse. I blink, hoping it’s some sort of mistake, but the engine cuts out, and the doors swing open.
Three bearded men climb out.
My stomach clenches.
Even from here, I can feel it: they’re not just men, they’re alphas .
All tall, broad-shouldered, and overwhelming in a way that makes my pulse race. The first one – golden-haired, scruffy and irritatingly good-looking – scans the farmhouse with sharp, assessing eyes. The second, with wild red locks, is grinning like this is some sort of adventure. And the third, with dark hair and a dangerous vibe despite his easy slouch, looks around like he’s already bored.
What the hell are they doing here ? There’s no way they can know about me, surely. How could they? But what other reason could there be for their presence if they’re not here to take me away?
There are harsh laws surrounding our designations, none stricter than the rule that states all omegas must be formally registered when their designation presents.
My sisters and I are not. We’re unregistered. Ghosts. We don’t exist. We are fugitives.
My heart pounds as they start towards the front door. I stumble back from the window, yanking the curtain shut. They’re going to knock. They’re going to smell me. Everything we’ve worked so hard to protect will unravel…
No . They can’t. They won’t scent me.
The neutralisers pump steadily through the house, masking any hint of omega scent. It’s one of the ways I’ve managed to stay hidden this long.
But what if it’s not enough? What if ? —
A knock reverberates through the old wooden door, startling me out of my spiralling thoughts. I freeze, staring at it as if it might come to life, swing open and betray me.
Another knock. Louder this time.
“Hello?” A deep voice calls out. It’s smooth, confident, and thoroughly alpha . That voice alone could send an omega into an early heat, but it just fills me with terror. “We’re looking for someone. Is anyone home?”
I don’t move. Maybe they’ll think no one’s here. Maybe they’ll just leave.
The second voice pipes up, melodiously light and teasing. “Come on, mate. Doesn’t look like anyone lives here. Are you sure we’ve got the right place? It’s a bit…rough. Even with the label’s budget cuts.”
Label? They don’t sound like government officials. From my brief glance at them as they climbed out of the SUV I can admit they don’t look like officials either. They’re dressed far too casually. But maybe that’s part of their plan? They could be undercover omega hunters.
Or worse…
The thought makes me quake.
There’s a pause, and I imagine the first man glaring at him. “The GPS says this is the place.”
“Well, maybe the GPS is wrong. We are in the middle of bum fuck nowhere.”
They certainly don’t talk like government officials.
“Or maybe,” the third one says, his tone dry and velvety, “they’re hiding.”
Hiding. Fuck. I curse under my breath. Maybe they are here to find me after all.
I edge back further into the room, careful not to make a sound and not to disturb my freshly finished painting. If they cause me to mess up the piece I’ve spent weeks working on, I’ll be so mad. I can’t afford to lose or even delay this commission. I have a long waiting list, sure, but I still need the money. Desperately. And this is one of the few revenue streams I can follow without needing to leave the house or show my face to strangers.
My mind races. I could slip out the back door, but they’d probably hear me. I doubt I’d get far anyway, and besides, where would I go? The farmhouse is deliberately isolated for a reason and I’m no Olympic sprinter.
I could tell them to leave, but then I’d have to open the door, and there’s no way I’m doing that. I can’t. It’s not just about risking being discovered, it’s everything. They’re in my space. My citadel. Even if it’s ‘rough’, it’s mine. This is my safety from the world out there. If I open the door and let the world intrude, all sorts of terrible things will happen.
Breathe, Evie. You’ve got this. You don’t have to open the door. They’ll leave soon enough and you’ll be safe once more. Just keep breathing.
I bite my lip, weighing my options, when someone knocks again. “If you’re in there, we’re not murderers or anything, I promise.” It sounds like the teasing one. I bet it’s the red head.
Oh that fills me with confidence. Not.
The dry one snorts. “Great reassurance, mate.”
The first one sighs, clearly losing patience. “We just need directions. We’re lost. That’s all.”
Lost? What are they even doing out here? The nearest village is miles away, the town even further, and this farmhouse isn’t exactly on the tourist trail. And he said they were looking for someone, now they’re lost? I smell a rat.
When I don’t answer, they murmur amongst themselves, their voices too low for me to catch.
My chest tightens. They’re not leaving. Why aren’t they leaving?
Oh god. What if they try to break in?
I glance at the back door. Maybe if I’m fast enough, I can?—
A creak.
My eyes snap to the front door. One of them is trying the handle.
Panic flares, and I dart into the kitchen, grabbing the nearest thing I can find: a rolling pin. It’s not much, but it’ll have to do. I mean, it was my Grandmother’s and it’s made of solid marble with wooden handles and it weighs a tonne and could easily kill someone, so it’s not like I grabbed a dishrag. But still…
Another creak. The door doesn’t budge – thank God I always keep it locked, even out here on my own – but the deep-voiced one speaks again, more insistent this time.
“Listen, we’re not here to cause trouble. We’re just trying to find our rental property. If you could give us directions, we’ll be on our way.”
Rental property? That explains the car, at least, if they’re not government workers…and I don’t think they are. It could be a trap though. But it doesn’t explain why they think they belong here . The farmhouse is the furthest thing from a rental possible. It almost makes me snort but I won’t risk giving myself away.
I clutch the rolling pin tighter, edging back towards the hallway. The neutralisers hum louder in my ears, but they do nothing to calm my racing heart.
I should have worn a scent blocker today too. I usually save that for the days when I’m forced to leave the house and head into town, because it’s expensive and I don’t have an unending supply, but maybe I’ll have to start wearing it daily. Especially if unannounced visitors are going to become a regular thing.
The dry one mutters something I can’t quite make out, but it makes the teasing one laugh. “Yeah, I reckon she’s probably scared out of her mind right now.”
They know I’m here.
And I know one thing for certain: these alphas aren’t leaving until I make them.
I take a deep breath, steadying my grip on the rolling pin, channelling my feistier, braver sister, Evelyn. It’s ridiculous, really – three massive alphas outside, and I’m armed with nothing but a kitchen utensil. But I’ve got no intention of opening that door unless I absolutely have to.
“All right, then,” the deep-voiced one calls. “If you don’t want to talk, we’ll figure it out ourselves. But…” A pause. “You might want to check your door. The lock seems a bit loose.”
My heart stutters. The lock is old. I’ve meant to replace it for years, but I never imagined it might come to this. That’s the trouble with old properties; you’re always chasing repair after repair. There’s never any respite from it, never a day off. Something always needs doing and frankly, I’m exhausted.
My sisters wanted to sell this place and split the profits after Grams died and we eventually came of age, but unlike the others who were eager to spread their wings and start living their life, I couldn’t bear to leave the safety and comfort of the only home I’ve ever known. Even if it was a prison at times. And so I got to remain in the property when they left, but that also means that all of the maintenance and upkeep falls to me too.
However, mentally, I’m moving new locks to the top of the list of urgent shit I have to do.
The teasing one chimes in, “We’ll just…leave a note or something. Yeah?”
A scuffling sound follows – footsteps moving closer to the windows, boots crunching against the gravel. I press my back against the wall, holding my breath as the shadow of one of them passes outside the kitchen window.
“Doesn’t look abandoned,” the teasing one says, his voice closer now. “Bit of a mess, sure, but someone’s living here.”
“Thank you, Sherlock,” the deep one mutters.
The shadow moves on, and I exhale quietly. This is fine. They’ll give up eventually. They’ll?—
A loud crack echoes from the porch. My head jerks up. What the hell are they doing? Oh my god, they really are trying to break in!
“Whoa,” one of them says, laughing. “Guess we’re not welcome.”
I glance around the edge of the window, just in time to see the dry one pull his foot out of a now-splintered floorboard. Great. That’s another thing I’ll have to fix. As if I can spare the wood, the time, or the funds.
“Let’s go,” the dry one says. He sounds more annoyed now, though still oddly amused. “Clearly no one’s home.”
But the teasing one lingers, leaning against the porch rail as he calls out one last time. “Hey, if you’re in there, you’ve got about five seconds before my mate here drags us off. So…if you do want to talk, now’s the time.”
Five seconds.
Four.
Three.
I move to the door before I can think better of it, wrenching it open just enough to glare at them.
“What do you want?” I snap, my voice sharper than I intended.
Three heads turn towards me, and for a moment, the air feels too thick, too charged.
I forget how to breathe.
They’re gorgeous. Absolutely stunning, in a rough, ruggedly-handsome and absolutely terrifying kind of way.
Who are these men? They’re…they’re…holy shit.
Something trickles down my thighs, making my eyes widen in shock. Oh god, what the hell is that? What is happening to me?
I hope they can’t smell that.
These are the first alphas I’ve been face to face with in years and…well…my stirring, sleepy omega likes what she sees.
A lot.
Their eyes rake over me – curious, assessing. The teasing red-headed one grins, and the dry one’s dark brow quirks in mild surprise. But it’s the blond-haired, deep-voiced one who holds my gaze, his expression unreadable.
“Well,” the grinning one says, breaking the silence, “there she is. Thought we’d imagined you for a second there.”
“Did you?” I say coolly, gripping the edge of the door and somehow managing to sound way more pulled together than I’m currently feeling. “I don’t remember inviting you to splinter my porch.”
That earns me a laugh, low and warm, as he runs a hand through his ruffled red hair, making it glint in the light. It’s beautiful. So soft looking. I want to run my fingers through it and —
“Sorry about that. Bit of a misstep. Literally.”
The deep-voiced one steps forward, cutting off his mate with a pointed look. “We’re lost,” he says simply, his tone clipped. “GPS brought us here. We’re supposed to be renting a house nearby.”
“Well, this isn’t it,” I say firmly, shaking fantasies of silken locks slipping between my nimble fingers from my mind. I need to get a grip. “And there’s no houses nearby. So you can just turn around and try again.”
He nods once, but his eyes linger on me, sharp and unsettling. I don’t like how he’s looking at me, like he’s trying to unravel a puzzle.
“Your door,” he says suddenly with a chin nod towards the offending item. “The lock’s weak. You should fix it.”
I blink. “Thanks for the advice.” That I didn’t ask for, I silently snark, sounding like my sister in my head at least.
He doesn’t move. None of them do. The dry one leans lazily against the post now, his dark eyes flicking between me and the other two. He doesn’t look amused like the grinning one, but there’s a quiet sort of curiosity in his gaze that puts me on edge.
“Look,” I say, my grip tightening on the door, “I don’t know what you’re expecting here, but this isn’t some rental cottage, all right? You’ve got the wrong place.”
The teasing one smirks. “She’s charming, isn’t she?”
“Go,” I say sharply. “Now.”
The deep-voiced one raises his hands in a placating gesture. “We’re leaving.” He glances at the other two, his tone brooking no argument. “Come on.”
Reluctantly, they back away, moving towards the SUV. I stay in the doorway, watching, waiting. Only when the engine starts do I finally step back, shutting the door and locking it again.
I lean against it, my knees threatening to give way as my whole body trembles, the rolling pin still clutched in my hand. My heart is racing like I’ve run a marathon, and my mouth is dry with something other than just terror.
They’re gone.
For now.
But the air still feels heavy, charged with something I can’t name. And I know, deep down, that this isn’t over.