Chapter 47
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Zoe
The sound of glass shattering jolts me awake.
I listen, straining to hear anything beyond the pounding of my own heart. There it is. A faint groan, followed by a muffled curse. Someone’s in the kitchen.
My first instinct is to burrow deeper under the covers and pretend I didn’t hear anything. It’s probably just one of the alphas getting a midnight snack, knocking something over in the dark.
But that groan didn’t sound like someone annoyed at their own clumsiness. It sounded like pain.
I slip out of bed, pulling on a robe over my sleep shorts and tank top. I try my best to be silent as I pad down the hallway toward the kitchen, keeping to the wall. The penthouse is dark except for a faint glow coming from up ahead.
When I round the corner, I freeze.
Diego is on the floor, on his hands and knees, surrounded by shards of broken glass.
A puddle of water is spreading across the marble tiles.
He’s trying to push himself up, but his arms are trembling so badly he can barely support his own weight.
And his face is contorted in a grimace of pure agony.
“Diego!” I rush forward, heedless of the glass.
His head jerks up at the sound of my voice, and the look in his eyes stops me in my tracks. There’s pain there, yes, but also shame. Humiliation at being caught like this.
“It’s alright, carino. You can go back to bed,” he says, his voice a raw, strained whisper. “I’m fine. Just dropped a glass.”
“You’re not fine,” I say, stepping carefully around the glass to reach him. “Let me help you.”
I crouch beside him, putting a hand on his shoulder. Sweat beads on his forehead, and his pupils are dilated, nearly swallowing the warm brown of his irises.
“The static?” I ask softly.
He closes his eyes, a small, jerky nod his only response.
“How long has it been this bad?” I ask, sliding my arm around his waist, trying to help him up.
“It’s not—” he starts, but the lie dies on his lips as another wave of pain hits him. His entire body goes rigid, a strangled sound escaping his throat. “Fuck,” he gasps when it passes. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” I say, my heart twisting at the sight of his suffering. “Come on, let’s get you to the couch.”
Together, we manage to get him to his feet, though he leans heavily against me, his usual strength gone. I guide him toward the living room, his steps unsteady.
We’re halfway there when the lights suddenly come on. I blink against the sudden glare, and when my vision clears, I see the other three alphas standing at the far end of the living room.
They look terrible. All of them.
“What happened?” Rett asks, his voice rough with both concern and what sounds like his own pain.
“He fell,” I say simply. “He needs to sit down.”
They move then, all three of them coming forward to help.
Dane takes Diego’s other side, his large frame easily supporting his brother’s weight.
Tristan hurries ahead to clear the way, moving the coffee table and arranging pillows on the couch.
Rett hovers close, his eyes never leaving Diego’s face.
“I’m fine,” Diego insists weakly as Dane and I lower him onto the couch. “Just a bad... moment.”
“Bullshit,” Tristan growls. “You’re not fine. None of us is fine.” He runs a hand through his curls, gripping the roots tight for a second.
I look from one to the other, really seeing them for the first time in weeks. They’ve gotten better at hiding it, at functioning through the pain, but it’s still there. The static is eating them alive.
“It hasn’t eased up. Has it.” I say, this time directing the words to all of them.
None of them answers immediately.
“It’s been... difficult,” Dane finally replies.
“Difficult?” I repeat. “Diego just collapsed! That’s not difficult, that’s dangerous!”
“We’re managing,” Rett says, but the strain in his voice betrays the lie.
“Managing?” I shake my head, anger rising. “Is that what you call this? Taking just enough painkillers to function during the day, then suffering in silence all night?”
Another exchange of glances. Another unspoken agreement.
“We didn’t want to worry you,” Diego says softly from the couch. He looks marginally better now that he’s sitting down, but his face is still ashen, his hands trembling where they rest on his knees.
“Well, that plan failed spectacularly,” I say, my voice sharp with concern. “I’m extremely worried right now.”
“We’re fine, Zoe,” Rett insists, but there’s a tremor in his hand as he reaches up to rub his temple.
“Stop saying that!” My voice rises, frustration and fear making it sharp. “Stop lying to me! You’re not fine. None of you is fine!”
My outburst is met with silence. Four pairs of eyes stare back at me, varying degrees of surprise and resignation in their expressions.
“How bad is it, really?” I ask, my voice quieter now. “The truth, please.”
It’s Tristan who answers, surprising me.
“It’s bad,” he admits. “Worse than before. Like... before it was a persistent noise. Kind of like a grating tinnitus. Now it’s like someone’s drilling directly into our skulls with a rusty jackhammer.”
“All the time?” I press.
“It comes and goes,” Dane says. “Good days and bad days.”
“Today was a bad day,” Diego adds from the couch. “For all of us, I think. But I’m the one who couldn’t handle it.”
I look at him, at the shame and self-recrimination in his eyes, and my heart breaks a little.
“That’s not weakness,” I say firmly. “That’s just... being human.”
I move to the kitchen, stepping carefully around the broken glass, and fill four glasses with water. When I return, I find they’ve all settled in the living room. Diego still on the couch, Tristan perched on the arm beside him, Dane in an armchair, and Rett standing, his gaze on the city lights.
I distribute the water, then stand in the center of the room, looking at these four men. These powerful, stubborn alphas who are suffering in silence rather than risk making me feel pressured or obligated.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask softly. “About how bad it really is?”
“What would that have accomplished?” Rett asks, turning to face me. “Making you feel guilty? Responsible? That’s not what we want.”
I look at him, at the quiet resolve in his eyes, and I feel a surge of both admiration and frustration. “But you shouldn’t have to ‘manage,’“ I say. “Not when there’s a solution.”
As soon as the words leave my mouth, I realize what I’ve implied. That I could fix this. That I could let them claim me again, rebuild the bond that would ease their pain.
The tension in the room shifts, becoming something heavier, more charged.
“That’s not why we’re telling you this,” Rett says, his voice low and fierce. “We don’t want you to feel obligated. We don’t want you to agree to a claiming out of pity or guilt.”
“I know that,” I say. “But—”
“No,” he interrupts, pushing away from the couch to stand directly in front of me. “No buts. Listen to me, Zoe.” His blue eyes are intense, burning with a conviction that takes my breath away. “I would rather watch this pack fall apart than force you into a bond you’re not ready to choose.”
“We all would,” Diego adds softly from the couch.
I stare at Rett, at the fierce conviction in his eyes, the immovable resolve in the set of his jaw. He means every word he just said. He would rather suffer, would rather watch his entire pack suffer, than have me choose them out of obligation or pity.
They’re willing to endure this. For me. Not because I’m their cure, but because they... love me.
All my doubts, all my fears, they evaporate. Burned away by the sheer, overwhelming evidence before me. This isn’t an arrangement. This isn’t about being their aspirin. This is real.
I take a step closer to Rett, closing the space between us. I stop directly in front of him, looking up into those deep-blue eyes that have haunted my dreams for weeks.
I place my hands on his face, my palms against the rough stubble of his jaw, forcing him to look at me.
“You’re wrong,” I say, my voice shaking but clear. “The choice isn’t yours anymore. It’s mine.” I rise on my toes, bringing my face closer to his. “And I choose you.”
His eyes widen, a flash of disbelief quickly replaced by a burning hope. “Zoe—”
I silence him with a kiss.
My lips press against his with all the pent-up desire, all the frustrated longing, all the certainty I’ve finally found.
He freezes for a split second, his body going rigid with surprise. Then, with a low, desperate growl, he responds, his arms wrapping around me, pulling me against the hard planes of his body. His mouth moves against mine, hungry, demanding, giving and taking.
His tongue sweeps into my mouth, claiming it as his territory. I match his intensity, my hands sliding up to tangle in his hair, tugging at the thick strands.
When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing hard, our chests heaving. His eyes are wild, the blue almost swallowed by the black of his dilated pupils.
But I’m not done.
I move my lips to his jaw, trailing a path of open-mouthed kisses along the sharp angle, up to the sensitive spot just below his ear. I feel him shudder against me, his hands tightening on my hips.
“Zoe,” he breathes, the word a mix of question and plea.
I don’t answer with words. Instead, I move to his shoulder, to the juncture where it meets his neck. The spot where an alpha would claim a mate. The spot where, in traditional pack dynamics, a beta would never dare to mark.
I bite down.
Firmly enough to leave a mark. My mark. On him.
Rett goes utterly still, a sharp intake of breath the only sound in the room. Beneath my lips, I can feel the thundering of his pulse, the heat of his skin.
When I pull back, there’s a perfect imprint of my teeth on his shoulder. A claiming mark. A beta claiming her alpha.
His eyes, when they meet mine, are filled with a wonder so profound it takes my breath away.
I turn then, to find the others watching with varying degrees of shock and desperate hope. Diego has managed to sit up straighter, his eyes wide. Tristan sits still, but his chest heaves as his gaze locks on to my lips. Dane is on his feet, his pale eyes intense, hungry.
I move to Diego next, drawn to him by the lingering pain in his expression. He needs this, needs me, more than the others right now.
I kneel on the couch beside him, my hands framing his face. “You’re mine,” I whisper, before capturing his lips with mine.
He responds immediately, a soft, broken sound escaping him as his mouth moves against mine. His kiss is different from Rett’s. Softer, more giving, but no less passionate. His hands come up to cradle my head, his fingers tangling in my hair with a gentleness that makes my heart ache.
When I break the kiss, his eyes are damp, a sheen of emotion making them bright in the dim light. “Zoe,” he whispers, my name a prayer on his lips.
I don’t hesitate. I move to his shoulder, to the same spot I marked on Rett, and bite down. Diego gasps, his body arching slightly beneath mine, his hands tightening in my hair.
Another mark. Another claiming.
Tristan is next, already moving toward me as I release Diego. His expression is a raw, desperate need that matches my own.
Our lips meet in a clash of heat and hunger. His kiss is pure Tristan. Creative, unpredictable, teasing one moment and deeply possessive the next. His hands roam my back, my waist, my hips, as if he can’t decide where to touch first, wanting all of me at once.
“You’re mine, too,” I murmur against his mouth before trailing my lips down to his shoulder.
“Zoe,” he breathes, his voice tight with anticipation. “Please.”
I bite down, marking him as mine. His response is immediate. A low moan that vibrates through his chest against mine.
Three down. One to go.
I turn to find Dane watching me, his pale eyes burning with an intensity that sends a shiver down my spine. He doesn’t move toward me, doesn’t reach for me. He waits for me to come to him.
And I do.
I cross the room slowly, my eyes never leaving his. When I reach him, I have to tilt my head back to meet his gaze. He’s so tall, so solid, a mountain of a man who could crush me without effort but instead looks at me like I’m the most precious thing he’s ever seen.
“Mine,” I say, my voice steady despite the rapid beating of my heart.
His only response is to lower his head, bringing his face closer to mine. But he doesn’t kiss me. He waits, giving me the final choice, the final move.
I rise on my tiptoes, closing the last inch between us. Our lips meet, and it’s like completing a circuit. Electricity courses through me. His kiss is controlled, but beneath it is a banked fire that threatens to consume us both.
His large hands span my waist, lifting me slightly to bring me closer. I wrap my arms around his neck, deepening the kiss, pouring everything I feel into it.
When we finally break apart, I don’t wait. I move to his shoulder, my teeth finding purchase on the solid muscle. I bite down.
Dane’s response is a low, rumbling growl. A vibration that travels from his chest into mine.
Four marks. Four claims. My pack.
I step back, looking at the four of them, at the matching marks on their shoulders. My marks. My claim.
“Now you,” I whisper, tilting my head to expose my neck, the smooth skin where their claiming marks once resided. “It’s your turn.”