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I ditched my fishnets last night, but at the moment, that feels like a mistake. Sure, they didn’t exactly cover me. But having bare legs while I stand here, invading these alpha’s private spaces, somehow feels worse.
Silly little slut.
What was I thinking?
Spencer awaits an answer to that very question, raising one of his silvery-blond brows in a stern arch. It pairs nicely with the hard set of his chiseled lips and the sharp cut of his ticking jaw.
I try to tell him that Jonah left me a note, but my voice suddenly cuts off as my Omega snatches the controls from me.
His rain-soaked scent simmers, turning darker and more electric. It’s difficult to process what, exactly, he smells like. Lightning. O-zone. The way the air cracks when static splits it. Either way, it tingles in my nose, and my body reacts, releasing an embarrassing tidal wave of perfume while my entire core contracts.
Spencer’s features look just like Tristan’s—straight and aristocratic, if more severe. And more beautiful, too. His nostrils flare, inhaling me. A low, rumbling growl starts in his chest.
I flinch, my head turning to hide against my shoulder and the black hoodie bunched there. My body folds in on itself, cowering against the wall I’m using to keep myself upright.
But he doesn’t come at me.
Instead, he takes a measured step backward and locks every muscle into utter stillness. Until only the hard bulge at the back of his jaw twinges.
“I will not touch you.”
The way he snaps the words makes me peek at him. It sounds less like he’s trying to convince me and more like he’s reminding himself. Those dark eyes—a bottomless brown instead of Tristan’s deep blue—snap down my body and back up again. They zero in on the piece of paper crumpled in my left hand.
Since I can’t find my words, I force my arm to jerk out straight, offering him the note I found next to my bedroom door when I woke up.
There’s no doubt it was Jonah who slid the paper under the crack. His haphazard handwriting and crude drawings made me smile when I first saw them.
It’s a map. Their whole townhouse, laid out and labeled, with a dotted line for me to follow up to Avery’s room and a note reminding me that Jonah would be home at three.
Spencer studies the page, his shoulders unwinding a fraction. “I see.” He pins me in place with his dark eyes, brows crouching low. “You came up to find Avery?”
I try to force a swallow, but I feel like I might gag. Instead, I settle for a lightheaded nod. Spencer’s frown deepens.
“He typically sleeps well past noon.” The alpha’s tone is brusque, but matter-of-fact. His eyes skate over me again, a hint of uncertainty flaring in their depths. “Did you… need something?”
Can I admit the shameful fact that my body is wired and the only thing I can think of to quiet my mind is Avery’s cool eyes and inked fingers?
I really don’t think I can.
But, again, my Omega seems to have other ideas. She peers out of her hiding place, eyes wide on Spencer’s handsome face.
And a new gulf of perfume pours out of me. Along with enough slick for all four of these alphas.
Plus maybe like three of their friends, too.
Such a silly little slut.
Spencer looks like he would agree with Wally. His scowl pulls into a snarl. “Miss Swanson.”
It isn’t a sexy snarl. Not a Serena-what-are-you-doing-to-me-you-gorgeous-creature sort of snarl. It’s pained.
Pissed.
Appalled.
I don’t blame him. I’m appalled.
Stupid, weird, silent Omega. It’s like she wants him to bite us, too.
