Chapter 3 #2
I can just imagine. The intensity of last night.
.. For a beta unused to an alpha pack’s focus, the morning after must feel like waking up in the heart of a supernova.
She wanted this. She wanted us. I’m certain of it.
But wanting something in the heat of the moment and living with it in the cold light of day are two very different things.
“Was she upset?” Diego asks, concern evident in his voice. “Did she seem... okay?”
Sternam hesitates, clearly trying to find a diplomatic way to answer. “She seemed... determined, sir.”
“Determined,” Tristan repeats with a snort. “That’s one way to put it. Another would be ‘fleeing the scene of a multiple claiming like her ass was on fire.’“
I shoot him a warning look. “Did she say anything?” I ask Sternam. “Give any indication where she might be headed?”
“No, sir. She didn’t speak at all, actually.”
Great. So our mate is out there somewhere, alone, probably freaking out, and we have no idea where she’s gone or how to find her. The protective alpha in me is raging for action, for movement, for something.
“Thank you, Sternam,” I say, already turning toward the door. “If she returns, call me immediately.”
“Of course, Mr. Sterling.”
Outside, the morning air is crisp, the sidewalk already filling with early commuters. I scan the street, hoping against hope to see a familiar figure in a little black dress, but there’s no sign of Zoe.
“She went east,” Dane says, already moving in that direction. The rest of us follow.
“This is insane,” Tristan mutters beside me. “We’re actually stalking a woman we collectively claimed last night. This is how horror movies start, you know that, right?”
“We’re not stalking her,” I growl. “We’re... making sure she’s safe.”
“Right. Because nothing says ‘safe’ like four alphas hunting you down on a public street.”
He has a point, but I’m not about to admit it. “She’s our mate now,” I say instead. “We have a responsibility to her.”
“A responsibility she clearly doesn’t want, given the whole ‘sneaking out before dawn’ thing,” Tristan counters.
“She was probably just confused,” Diego offers, ever the optimist. “The claiming was... unexpected.”
That’s an understatement. None of us had planned to claim anyone last night, let alone a beta. But there had been something about Zoe. Something that called to all four of us simultaneously in a way that defied explanation.
And when the moment came, there was only a raw, possessive spike of instinct. A simple need to bite down. To mark. To leave our scent so deep in her skin no one else would ever mistake who she belonged to. At that moment, it felt as necessary as breathing.
Apparently, Zoe hadn’t felt the same way.
“We should split up,” Dane suggests, his eyes constantly scanning the street. “Cover more ground.”
I shake my head. “No. We stay together. She’s our pack mate now. We find her as a pack.”
The three of them nod, accepting my decision without question. Whatever our differences, in this, we are united: we need to find Zoe.
We continue down the street. People instinctively step out of our way, omega and beta passersby averting their eyes as we pass. Under different circumstances, it might be comical, like the parting of some human sea, but right now, all I can think about is finding our runaway mate.
“Wait,” Diego says suddenly, stopping in his tracks. “What if she’s not running from us? What if she just went home?”
We all freeze, exchanging looks of equal parts hope and chagrin. It’s such an obvious possibility that I’m almost embarrassed we didn’t think of it sooner.
“Do we know where she lives?” Tristan asks.
Dane already has his phone out. “Zoe Clarke,” he says, fingers flying over the screen. “Assistant Curator at Sweetwater Modern.” There’s a long pause. “Her address isn’t listed. Give me some time. I’ll find it.”
“This feels invasive,” Diego says, though he makes no move to stop Dane.
“More invasive than claiming her?” Tristan snorts. “That ship has sailed, hermano.”
“She left her car at the gala. Maybe she’s headed back there?” Dane says, looking up from his phone.
“Let’s go,” I say, already signaling for a taxi.
That’s when I spot her.
Across the street, half a block ahead, a familiar figure in a black dress is frantically waving down a cab. Even from this distance, I can see the marks on her neck stark against her pale skin.
“Zoe!” I call out, forgetting all about subtlety and decorum. “Wait!”
She turns at the sound of her name, and for a split second, our eyes meet. Her expression is one of cold, flinty defiance. It's the look of a woman staring down an obstacle she has no intention of engaging with, only circumventing.
“Shit,” she says, loud enough for us to hear despite the traffic between us. “Shit, shit, shit.”
A cab pulls up beside her, and she dives for the door with grim determination.
“Zoe, please!” Diego calls, already crossing against the light. “We just want to talk!”
But she’s already sliding into the backseat, slamming the door behind her.
“Wait!” Tristan yells, starting to follow Diego into the street.
“Stop,” I command. My voice is low, but it cuts through the morning noise and freezes both of them in place. They turn to me, confused.
“Mierda! Rett, she’s getting away!” Diego says, gesturing wildly at the cab.
I watch as she scrambles inside, slamming the door. I can’t take my eyes off her, not even as the taxi pulls away from the curb and melts into the river of traffic. Gone.
“What the hell, Rett?” Tristan demands, turning on me. “We could have caught her!”
“And done what?” I snap back, turning from the empty space where the cab had been.
“Corner her on a public street? Drag her back to the penthouse kicking and screaming? How do you think that would have gone?” I look at them, at their frustrated, panicked faces.
“We’d just be proving her right to put distance between us. ”
The fight drains out of them, replaced by a dawning, miserable understanding. I’m right. Coming at her with brute force and alpha intensity is what got us into this mess.
A prickle starts at the base of my skull. A faint, familiar buzz. The static. It’s returning, a slow tide of noise seeping back into the blissful silence she left behind.
“Dane can find her address,” I say, my voice tight as the buzzing grows louder. “She’s not gone for good. She’s just... gone for now.”
Diego looks utterly devastated. “So what do we do?”
I turn and look back down the street to the rising tower of our penthouse in the distance. The scene of the crime.
“We go back,” I say, the noise in my head making it hard to think. “And we make a goddamn plan.”
But as we turn and start walking back, the image of Zoe’s face is seared into my mind. Not the panic I would have expected. But the pure, unflinching annoyance in her eyes when she saw us. We didn't just claim her. We didn't just terrify her.
We have become an inconvenience.
And somehow, that feels infinitely worse.