Page 110 of Bitter Truths

“Because we worry.” Owen’s scent darkens, spice and blackcurrant turning heavy in the air.

“I can handle myself.” My chin lifts automatically.

“We know you can. We just...” Freddie stops, raking fingers through his curls in frustration.

I’m used to the freedom living at the refuge has given me. The ability to get lost in the woods for hours alone… without the pressure of needing to check in.

“We need to know where you are.” Weller returns from his call, voice casual. “When you disappear, we...” He trails off, but his eyes say what his words don’t.

A bitter laugh escapes me. “What I do and where I go isn’t your business...”

Tristan arches a brow, that lazy, infuriating smirk of his stretching wider. “Sure, sweetheart. Keep telling yourself that.”

I roll my eyes.

My dress rides up when I cross my legs, and their eyes freeze on the jagged scars carved across my knees.

Shit.

I yank the fabric down, but it’s too late.

Weller moves before I can say anything. He crosses the room and drops to one knee in front of me, quiet and composed in that way that always feels like a warning. His thumb brushes over the scars, and my whole body reacts. My thighs press together on instinct, trying to quiet the ache his touch sparks to life. My breath catches in my throat.

“Bianca, what happened to your knees?” His voice is low, but I can hear the strain in it.

“Those are old scars. I fell on glass.” My fingers smooth fabric against my thighs, pressing hard enough to feel bone beneath skin.

“Bianca.” My name on Owen’s lips is both command and plea wrapped into one sound.

“It’s ancient history. Leave it.” I keep my voice deliberately light.

Tristan leans forward, bracing his elbows on his legs. “How ancient?”

“Five years, give or take.” The words stick in my throat.

Freddie shifts closer, the cushion dipping beneath his weight. Heat radiates from his thigh, almost touching mine. “Please tell us how it happened.”

I always did find it hard to say no to Freddie.

“Three alphas caught me alone one night after group therapy. Commanded me to kneel…” I stare at the crescents my nails left in my palms. “There was broken glass on the ground… someone stopped them before they could— anyway, like I said, old shit that’s irrelevant now.”

I hear the collective intake of breath, the way their scents sharpen with anger.

“Where?” Owen growls.

I shrug without looking up. “Hunter’s Creek... where I lived for a little while after everything.”

“And these alphas… what happened to them?” Weller’s thumb keeps moving over the scars like he’s memorizing them, but the pressure has changed. Firmer now.

I bite down on the inside of my cheek, hard. My fingers curl into the cushions beside me, trying to anchor myself against the heat creeping up my thighs.

His touch is making me dizzy. I don’t think I should be getting turned on right now while discussing my own trauma.

But I am.

They feel so safe.

“It doesn’t matter.”