Page 117 of Unmarked

The night presses heavy against the windows like it’s trying to get in. Which is ridiculous.

Nothing gets in. Not here.

Not unless I let it.

I’ve already checked the perimeter. Twice. I reset every alarm like a paranoid grandfather and did a full security sweep of the estate despite the fact that it’s built like a fucking fortress.

Still, I don’t trust it. I don’t trust anything right now. Not the motion sensors. Not the infrared. Not the biometric-coded doors.

And certainly not the three other alphas currently orbiting my omega like a pack of scent-drunk idiots.

I tried to choke it down. The heat in my blood. The bond clawing at my spine. The knowledge that Ash has already been inside her and Theo - Theo, of all people - had his tongue in her slick like she was communion. Holy. Untouchable. Devourable.

God help me, I need a drink. Or a punching bag.

Or an exorcism.

I pace the hallway like it insulted me. Every step is too loud, too sharp. My jaw’s clenched so tight I think my molars might fuse. I told them one at a time.One. Singular. Clear. Basic instruction.

And still they moved in like a tag team with excellent coordination and no regard for my blood pressure.

Part of me - let’s call himRational Lucian- knew this would happen.

She’s an omega in heat, they’re alphas.

She’s perfect, they’re idiots.

The other part of me - the one currently two seconds from shifting into a full-blown rut - wants to rip the door off its hinges and stake a claim so hard it echoes through her bones for the rest of her goddamn life.

But Ican’t.

Because I gave orders. Because I’m not like them.

Because I don’t share.

Except Ihave. Except, apparently, Ido.

And the bond? It doesn’t care. It hums under my skin like an exposed wire, sparking every time she moans a name that isn’t mine.

I drag a hand through my hair and try to think about anything else - global economic collapse, war crimes, my father's disapproval.

(Actually, never mind. That one just made it worse.)

He would bethrilledabout this. My father, that cold-blooded bastard, would stand at the edge of her nest like a vulture in a three-piece suit, ready to monetize the entire situation.

“Ah yes, Lucian. Your omega is being claimed by three other men. How…progressiveof you.”

Fuck that.

Fuckhim.

Fuck this entire situation.

I can feel it - the rut starting. It's low in my gut, thick in my throat. My skin's too tight, my blood too hot, my thoughts not thoughts at all; just flashes of scent, slick, sound.

Her name, over and over.

I’m going to lose it.

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