The tension between the Alphas snaps through the room, a reminder that for all our careful planning and growing trust, we're still navigating primal instincts that evolved long before civilization.
"I'm quite capable of marking what's mine," Darius replies, stepping fully into the room and closing the door with decisive finality. "When the time is right."
The possessive claim should irritate me—I've spent my life fighting against being considered anyone's property. Instead, I find myself responding to the certainty in his voice, to the promise beneath his words.
"The time is now," I say, surprising all of them and perhaps myself most of all. "If we're going to convince The Society tonight, I need to carry all three of your scents."
Something shifts in Darius's expression—surprise followed by approval and something darker, more primal. He moves toward me with the controlled grace that makes him so dangerous, stopping close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his body.
"You're certain?" he asks, one hand rising to cup my face, his thumb brushing across my lower lip in a gesture both possessive and questioning.
"Yes," I answer, meeting his gaze steadily. "We do what's necessary to make this work."
The corner of his mouth lifts in a rare, genuine smile. "Always the strategist."
His scenting is different from both Lucian's and Ronan's—more thorough, more deliberate, a clear statement of his position as Prime Alpha. His lips trail along my neck, across my collarbone, his breath hot against my skin. The contact is calculated to leave his scent where it will be most noticeable to other Alphas.
When he finally steps back, I'm surrounded by the mingled scents of all three of them—a pheromone signature that will announce our pack bond to any Alpha who comes near me tonight. It's temporary, a performance for The Society's benefit, but the effect on all of us is undeniable.
"Well," I say, working to keep my voice steady despite the flush I know is visible on my cheeks, "that should be convincing."
Lucian's amber eyes glint with amusement and something darker. "Very."
Ronan's smile is pure predator. "The Society won't question our claim after tonight."
Darius simply nods, his composure regained though his eyes remain intense. "Perfect. Now let's go take the first step toward dismantling everything they've built."
As we exit the suite together, I feel the weight of what we're attempting settle across my shoulders. Tomorrow, we'll challenge the power structure that has dominated our world for centuries. Tonight, we play the roles The Society expects—threeAlphas and their claimed Omega—while secretly preparing for revolution.
The most dangerous creature isn't the one that bares its teeth first, but the one that waits for the perfect moment to strike.
And our moment is almost here.
28
ISLAND OF BROKEN BONDS PART I
~SERENITY~
The morning light crept through Darius's penthouse windows, casting long shadows across Serenity's bare shoulders as she stood before the full-length mirror.
Her reflection stared back at her—golden eyes with those distinctive red flecks appearing brighter, more intense than usual. Something was off. Her skin felt too sensitive, a prickling heat spreading beneath the surface that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room.
"Twelve hours," she whispered to herself, tracing the marks that three Alphas had left on her neck during last night's scenting. "Twelve hours until this is over."
But her body disagreed. The low, insistent hum of discomfort that had been building since dawn was unmistakable. Symptoms she'd spent years suppressing were emerging with alarming clarity. Her suppressants should have lasted another week at least, but the constant proximity to three compatible Alphas had accelerated her cycle.
Serenity splashed cold water on her face, trying to clear the fog that threatened to descend over her thoughts. Today of all days, she needed clarity. Everything they'd planned—the financial maneuvers, the Society takedown, their entire revolution—hinged on perfect timing and execution.
A pre-heat now would be catastrophic.
She dressed with methodical precision, selecting clothes that would allow her to move quickly if needed: tailored black pants, a silk blouse in deep crimson that complemented her eyes, and ankle boots with enough heel to maintain the expected feminine appearance without sacrificing mobility. The weight of her father's gun, secured in a concealed holster at her lower back, provided a small measure of comfort.
When she emerged from the guest suite, Darius was waiting in the hallway, his imposing frame leaning against the wall with deceptive casualness. His gray eyes scanned her face, immediately narrowing as he registered what she was trying to hide.
"You're showing symptoms," he said, not a question but a statement of fact.
Serenity's chin lifted. "I'm fine. We have more important concerns."