1. Too Soon

1

Too Soon

“Isobel.”

Her name was a gentle croon of sound in a voice she was intimately familiar with. It was a voice as soft and silky as the glide of fingertips against her thigh, as light and teasing as the touch that skirted where the seam of her panties hugged the curve of her ass. Her leg had crept out of the sheets to hook around a soft, plump pillow while she slept, but there was now a body on the other side of the pillow. Whoever it was, they must have only just joined her, otherwise her leg would have been hooked around him instead. Her sleep-heavy mind stalled, forgetting everything except the heat of a big male hand pushing up her shirt and cupping her hip, fingers digging into her spine, thumb pressing into her stomach. She arched into the touch, waiting for him to yank away the pillow and hook her leg over his hip.

Sweet, tangy bergamot coated her throat, spraying her tongue with the slightest burn of citrus. She loved it when their scents were strong enough for her to taste. She arched forward, pushing her suddenly aching, cotton-covered breasts to a hard chest. A low, distinctly male chuckle fell against her cheek, and the grip on her hip flexed.

Kilian .

“Time for a …” He trailed off, his nose brushing across her cheek, her jaw, before burrowing into her warm neck. “Hmm,” he groaned, his voice muffled, “a group meeting.” He pushed her suddenly to her back, his beautiful face appearing above hers in the dark as her eyes flew open.

His eyes were a stunning, soft meld of pale green and yellow. Sometimes, they reminded her of a snake—not a real one, but the sly, cartoon snakes with narrowed, glowing pale eyes. Those beautiful eyes were currently heavy-lidded, pupils dilated, brows lowered in concentration. His tongue ran along his lush lower lip, making the light pink flesh shimmer, and his chest began to rumble.

“Huh?” she slurred sleepily, her nails running lightly over the soft T-shirt covering his chest.

That was what she wanted to wear today.

“Meeting,” he murmured, his perfect, symmetrical features barely illuminated by the light sneaking into her room through the open bedroom door, a glazed, distracted look falling over his face.

Wait … open door?

His pale eyes crawled slowly down over her flushed neck to her rumpled shirt—well, Theodore’s rumpled shirt that she had stolen—to the stretch of toned stomach he had bared by pushing up the faded blue cotton, and then to her matching blue panties.

“Can we dye these green?” he asked, pinching the elastic waist of her panties and snapping them back against her skin.

She grinned at him. “I’m always green for you.”

It was true. They hadn’t had time for any moments like these in a few weeks, and she missed him. She missed the way he took her gently but firmly, thrusting into her with ownership while kissing her with such tender care.

He groaned, his thoughts likely travelling in a similar direction, his forehead falling to hers. His erection dug insistently into the soft skin of her thigh as he lowered his weight over her, forcing her legs to part as he pressed her deliciously down into the mattress. Taking his full weight made it hard to breathe, and she loved it.

“I swear I came in here for a reason,” he whispered, his soft lips lowering to hers, his sweet breath fanning her mouth.

For a brief, beautiful moment, it was easy to believe this was her life. This beautiful room, with the giant, carved bed and the fluttering silken canopy, moonlight slanting over the shadowed edges of a velvet chaise and gleaming softly from the marble floors. This warm body, so sweet-smelling, so heavy and hard and comforting, so safe and familiar.

This could be her life.

This bliss, this sweetness.

“Group meeting,” Elijah snapped loudly, passing by the doorway, a tight edge of annoyance to his voice.

Kilian’s growled sound of frustration was so fierce, it had her body flushing with heat. He dropped a quick kiss to her lips, making her skin tingle, before he rolled off the bed and held out his hand to help her up.

It took her a few moments to regain her composure and clear away the hazy remnants of sleep before she allowed him to pull her out of bed and back to reality.

Her life was not bliss and sweetness. It was forced smiles and aching muscles, with stolen moments snatched from closets and bathrooms. There was a type of sweetness and softness in those secret, hidden moments, but they could also be as painful as they were pleasant and, as soon as they were over, she felt the sting of wondering when she would be able to snatch another.

They congregated in the lounge room, where most of the other Alphas were already waiting. Elijah, Gabriel, and Niko wore dark workout clothes; it had been their turn to guard the dorm. They always took turns in groups of three so that one person could watch the Ironside feeds Elijah had hacked into while the other two were stationed in blind spots along the outside of Dorm A. During the day, Mikel and Kalen kept an eye on the cameras. Nobody would be getting near the dorm without one of them witnessing it.

The two weeks since receiving Teak’s message had been chaos. The bond specialist had warned them that the officials planned to kill them, urging them to announce their bonded status, and it had derailed everything. It felt like they were all stretched too thin, hanging off the edge of a cliff with their stiff fingers slipping one by one. Ironside trying to control them was one thing. Ironside trying to kill them was a whole other matter. It was a wrinkle in their plan they hadn’t prepared for.

They spent every night paranoid and hyper-vigilant. They survived on very little sleep while acting carefree and unbothered by the cameras during the day. The situation was growing rapidly unsustainable, but they had to be sure that the tip Teak had sent them was real.

Mikel and Kalen had debated the best course of action for a week, pulling in favours with their contacts to determine if there was a credible threat. It was a painfully slow process, especially since they were adamant they shouldn’t expose Teak with their probing. After confirming the threat as best they could, they spent another few sleepless nights exploring every available course of action before finally devising a plan.

The lingering vestiges of Isobel’s lust cooled as the reality of their situation settled back into her restless mind like a fog slowly creeping through her thoughts, but it didn’t cool completely. She was surrounded by partially undressed and rumpled Alphas with adorable pillow marks on their stern faces, their hair so silky and dishevelled it made her fingers itch to reach up and touch the strands. She was sure she had never seen Kalen so disordered.

Gabriel looked like he slept standing upright, with a comb in his hand just in case a strand of hair fell out of place. He looked like wrinkles apologised to him, like night terrors were careful to respect his boundaries. She was convinced that if she checked behind his door right now, she would find a photo studio instead of a bedroom, outfitted with a camera crew and bedroom props that were never actually used. She desperately wanted to peek in there, just to see if he had made his bed even though he would be returning to it in an hour. Maybe he had done a little light dusting as well.

Cian was only wearing black sweatpants, though he had decided to pair them with teal slippers and a matching teal headband to keep the tousle of his golden hair from his face. The outfit was at complete odds with his inked chest, arms, hands, and neck—not to mention the nipple piercing, the brow piercing, or the lip piercing. Or the cock piercing—not that she could currently see it, but her imagination was never not seeing it. That was Cian. A beautiful contradiction of dangerous hard edges and lazy, flirty softness.

Theodore was in boxers, stretching his neck from side to side, a hazy look in his stormy eyes. He was struggling to wake up. His frown was etched deep, making his square jaw flex as he swallowed. Mikel was also in boxers, and she felt like she had to avert her attention from him completely, her cheeks pinking when their eyes caught for a moment.

Kilian, Kalen, and Moses all wore actual pyjama pants, though Kalen’s looked suspiciously like he pressed them after he washed them, and Kilian’s looked just perfect enough for her to want to steal, even though they would slide right off her.

“Absolutely not,” Kilian said, a smile in his voice, his gaze on her face, reading whatever expression was there. “The day you start wearing pants to bed is the day I stop letting you borrow my clothes.”

She bit her lip to hold back her laugh because he was obviously joking.

“She can wear whatever she wants,” Niko snapped, his face twisted with annoyance.

The rest of her soul pieces still hadn’t been located despite Oscar going back to the Stone Dahlia every night in search of them. Niko’s aggression problem had grown steadily worse. The sickness that had taken up residence in his mind fed off chaos and discord wherever he could find it. He had begun sleepwalking, the restless belligerence inside him persisting even while he slept. Both Moses and Theodore had gotten into violent fights with him as he tried to escape the dorm while they were on guard duty.

“Oscar isn’t back yet?” Isobel asked, peering around the room.

“He got back a few minutes ago,” Mikel answered. “He needed to stop by his room.”

“He was bleeding all over the foyer,” Niko added carelessly.

Isobel stiffened and tried to flee the room, but Elijah gripped her shoulder, gently turning her back to the group. “He’ll be out in a minute. It wasn’t that bad.” He gestured to one of the plush armchairs. "You’re going to want to sit down for this.”

“For what?” she asked, frowning at their closed-off expressions. She couldn’t feel them—either through the bond or with her Sigma ability.

She had learned to become immediately suspicious when they all unanimously shielded themselves from her.

She glanced at the watch she wore even when she was sleeping so that any security alerts would wake her up. It was their scheduled meeting time. Their video was about to go live, and they were supposed to be watching it together. There was nothing else on the agenda, but the guys were acting like something else had happened.

She dropped into the chair just as Oscar strode into the room. He had a bandage strapped low on his torso and a fresh slew of cuts—both old and new—scattered about his bare chest, arms, and face. She was too busy tracing every inch of his skin with her eyes in an attempt to make sure he wasn’t seriously injured to notice what he was holding. When she did, she froze.

His fist was clenched around a handful of braided necklaces.

“You found them,” she croaked, suddenly faint.

She understood why the others were shielding now. So much time had passed. Reassimilating the pieces of her stolen bond had worked the first two times, but even though they hadn’t discussed it, they were all unsure if it would work the third time.

Maybe it was too late.

“Actually, it was Gabriel,” Oscar answered, stopping a few paces from her, his knuckles turning white as his grip around the necklaces tightened. “He made a trade with a well-connected client and found out which room they kept them in. I purposely lost my fight because it was right by their emergency medical room.”

She frowned, upset that Oscar had intentionally hurt himself, but then his words registered.

“What kind of trade?” she asked, her attention snapping straight to Gabriel.

“Private dance. No big deal.” He didn’t even try to look nonchalant. He was as blank as a brick wall.

“That’s a very big fucking deal,” she shot back, jumping out of the armchair, bile spilling across the back of her tongue. “I can’t believe you did that without talking to me.” She felt nauseous and horrified, the note Gabriel had left on the back of his door at the previous dorm swimming back to her with dizzying clarity. He hadn’t invited her into his room in this dorm, and since he was so particular about his space and his things, she had stayed out … but now she wondered if the notes had been put back up on the door.

I am not for sale.

Because of her, he had sold himself.

“It’s not just your bond, Isobel,” he responded calmly.

“It’s n-not just yours either.” She stumbled over the words, her eyes growing blurry.

His face collapsed just a little. “Please don’t cry.” He took two steps toward her before Niko suddenly jumped in front of him, shoving him back hard enough to almost send him tumbling over a marble side table. Elijah managed to catch him, and they both straightened, eyeing Niko.

“Don’t touch her,” Niko snarled. “Don’t even look at her. You made her cry.”

Isobel quickly scrubbed her cheeks with the sleeves of Theodore’s stolen T-shirt, desperately bidding her tears to dry.

Nobody tried to talk any reason into Niko.

They knew better than to try at this point.

Gabriel gave her a look that said we’ll talk about this later , and the tears welled up again, spilling free from the net of her lashes. Luckily, Niko had his back to her— guarding her —so he didn’t see the fresh outpouring of emotion.

She nodded at Gabriel because fighting around Niko was just a bad idea—his particular brand of madness grew infinitely worse in environments of conflict.

“Niko,” she said gently.

He tensed but refused to turn and look at her.

“The pieces of our bond,” she prompted him, hovering her hand over the middle of his tense, broad back, not quite daring to touch him. “Can I try to fix them?”

He glanced at her over his shoulder and then followed her gaze to Oscar, frowning at the braids of her hair in his grip. Either he had already forgotten, or he simply never noticed in the first place because it was shock that finally replaced the rage twisting his features.

He seemed frozen.

Oscar strode past him, motioning to the chair Isobel had sprung out of. She fell back down. Oscar considered the back of his hand for a few moments, his brows low and pinched together, before he lifted the necklaces, offering them to Niko. He stared at his own hand as though it had somehow betrayed him, and a grimace chased across his pinched features.

Niko snatched up the braids—though he did it with slightly less ferocity than they had all come to expect from him. He was fidgety and distracted, his features tight as he dropped to his knees before Isobel and stretched her arms out across her thighs, exposing her forearms.

He glanced down into her eyes, the fingers of his right hand trembling slightly as he lifted it to his face, combing back some of the hair that had fallen over his eyes. He had always preferred to bleach his hair lighter colours—at least as long as she had known him, but the cream, pastel, platinum, and silver tones apparently didn’t appeal to him anymore. He had dyed his hair dark, closer to the natural colour of his roots, and the strands were now a deep, burnt chestnut, longer on top with soft, tousled layers and tapered shorter along the sides. Sometimes—like now—he gathered the longer sections of his hair into a small knot, leaving stray, naturally wavy locks to frame his face, accentuating his strong jawline and sharp features. He used to have a look that screamed bold, self-assured charm, but he was more withdrawn now. There was an edge that hadn’t been there before. He still had a certain magnetism, but instead of making people flock to his charming personality, they whispered about him from a distance.

She could feel his fear, though he tried to hide it. It shivered over her skin and raised goosebumps along her arms. It wasn’t something she sensed through any ability—it was just there in his eyes, in how he held himself.

“It’ll work,” she told him quietly.

He just knelt there, frozen, the faint tremor still in his hands.

“You don’t know that.” His attention narrowed, fixing her with a cold stare—even though he leaned into her legs, his free hand wrapping around her thigh, seeking the comfort and warmth of her body.

He wanted to believe her.

She wanted to believe it too.

But … time had passed.

Possibly too much time.

She wanted to offer him some kind of platitude—that if it didn’t work, nothing between them would change, but the sentiment would be closer to an insult. Everything had already changed. His mind, his personality, his self-control, his emotions—all of it had been severely altered. His smile. His laugh. His carefree, good-natured approach to everything.

Niko was already changed.

“The video is about to go live,” Mikel prompted them quietly, patient but firm. This was a scary, vulnerable moment for them, but there wasn’t any time in their schedule to indulge in scary, vulnerable moments.

Niko sucked in a deep breath and unravelled the first thin braid of hair, settling it over the skin of her forearm.

They all waited, not so much as a breath disturbing the suddenly still, thick air, but nothing happened.

Nothing at all.

The hair didn’t glow and smoulder and burn through the remainder of her scars. It didn’t even twitch. It just sat there.

Fuck.

“Blood.” Elijah spoke so suddenly that she jumped. “The soul artefacts are activated by blood, maybe?—”

Niko picked up her other arm, tugging her wrist to his mouth.

Theodore and Kilian jumped forward, low sounds of alarm and warning bursting out of them.

Cian swore, tunnelling his hands through his hair, his eyes wide, his body tense like he was about to jump into action and tear Niko away from her.

Oscar laughed, but the sound wasn’t quite right . It was utterly devoid of humour. Oscar hadn’t been quite right for a little while. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Niko?”

Niko ignored them all, his eyes on Isobel’s face, measuring something in her expression. She realised the others didn’t even exist for him right now. It was just her and him, this limp, broken thing between them and the faintest threat of how far he was willing to go to revive it.

“You’re insane,” she told him quietly.

He smiled against her skin—thin and hard, and pressed his lips to her pulse. It wasn’t quite a kiss. More of a taste, a test. She tried to recall if it was the most intimacy they had shared since that night. The night they had crashed together in a whirl of fear and rage, finding part of their bond again and losing her virginity in the process.

“Niko—” Kalen jerked forward, a sharp command in his voice, but it was too late.

Niko had waited for her to stop him, and she hadn’t. He sank his teeth into her wrist, biting down hard enough to break the skin as she yelped, and then he lifted his head, his beautiful hazel eyes blazing as he wrapped the braids of hair around her wrist, covering the wound and holding them there, his forehead falling on top of them like he was praying.

She didn’t even realise that she had stopped breathing until she felt the hair begin to burn her skin, and then the air rushed out of her in a shaky, disbelieving rush.

She hadn’t really believed.

She hadn’t, but he had.

Niko lifted his head and quickly flattened her arms out on her thighs again, wincing as he pulled the burning, glowing strands of hair across her forearms. They were singeing his fingertips, but he still laboured to cover the remainder of the scars Eve had created on her arms.

Kalen pulled a stone out of his pocket, examining it as he stepped closer. She recognised the soul artefact that monitored the health of their bond. A sharp, multi-faceted gem small enough to nestle in the palm of the hand. It was washed with soft gold, but the longer her arms burned, the lighter the gold became, glowing brighter until it almost dispersed a glow across Kalen’s fingers … and then it faded again, back to a soft, almost rosy gold.

“No more scars,” Niko murmured, drawing her eyes back to her lap. The glowing strands had fully reassimilated, leaving her skin reddened and smooth, slowly sinking back to a pale, pearlescent colour.

She thought she had felt something—a kind of disorganised confusion, a little moment of chaos, but then there was nothing.

She felt no different whatsoever.

There was no magical sensation of a bond clicking back into place, no wash of warmth and wonder travelling through the bond from Niko. He was still closed off, still locked firmly away from her. The other Alphas drew closer, waiting for Niko or her to say something.

“Three minutes until the video starts.” Mikel’s mismatched eyes flicked between Niko and Isobel. She hadn’t realised before—likely distracted by their dishevelled clothing and bared chests—but he wasn’t wearing his contact. She could see the multihued iris with the little flecks of gold and silver spattered like stars across a dark sky streaked with an aurora of all their colours.

For a moment, it stole her breath, but then she forced her attention back to the Alpha on his knees before her, his hands on her thighs, his head lowered, hair falling forward to hide his eyes.

“It’s gone,” he finally said, looking up at her through his hair. “The void.”

“But?” There was more. There was a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach at the barely guarded devastation in his expression.

“But the damage it did … was permanent.”

Elijah let out a sharp breath. “Okay. Fuck. Dammit. Okay. We’ll deal with that later. We’ll figure something out, all right?”

He set a hand on Niko’s shoulder, and everyone in the room tensed, waiting for Niko to snarl and shove him off or start a fight. Instead, he nodded and stood, glancing down at Isobel’s wrist, ensuring his bite had healed along with the rest of the skin on her arms.

The scars from what Eve had done were gone. Like it never happened.

“We’ll figure it out,” Gabriel promised.

“Yeah, if we survive another month,” Niko muttered, moving to the couch and flopping down to face the TV, which Mikel had turned on. The professor was tapping at his phone, ready to cast to the bigger screen.

They all fell around the couches, Cian tugging her onto his lap in the corner of the largest couch, Moses beside him, and Niko at the other end. Theodore perched on the arm of the couch beside her, bending down to catch her eyes.

All right? He spoke the word in her mind through their bond.

She nodded slightly.

Now that Niko was allowing people to touch him, Elijah seemed reluctant to leave him alone, standing behind him and leaning over the couch to anchor his hands to Niko’s broad shoulders.

The screen filled with the image they had deliberated over for several days, with a countdown to the video. The comment section was full of people waiting and speculating on what the video would be about, the comments moving too fast to read properly.

The image was of Isobel, Theodore, and Elijah. Isobel sat on a stool between the two towering Alphas, her arms and legs crossed, the seat raising her to their height—not naturally, but thanks to the blocks placed beneath the legs of the stool, not that they were visible in the photo. Her body language was powerful and bold, belying her small stature—something that had taken several dozen takes and concepts to achieve.

Apparently, “powerful and bold” wasn’t an instinctual look for her.

She wore her outfit from their first official group performance: combat boots, high-waisted, dark camouflage parachute pants, a tight white tank, and a black chest harness. Her hair was in long, thick braids over her shoulders, and her chin was raised, a vague challenge in her eyes despite the slightest curve to her mouth.

Cian had directed the photoshoot. He planned the concept, dressed them, arranged them, and drew out their expressions as he drifted around with a camera and a focused frown. She couldn’t deny the effect of the image. The subtle subtext.

The hint of power.

The whisper of challenge.

The glaring fuck you and the coy, but only if you want to .

Without Cian’s direction, it would have just looked like … a Sigma sitting on a stool. He had a unique talent for drawing out the best in people.

Elijah and Theodore were also in their costumes from the performance—tight black jeans, black combat boots, dark shirts, and puffy camouflage jackets. They looked so stern and imposing. Theodore had a dark eyebrow cocked, eyes a cloudy, stormy grey. Elijah wore a cold, dead stare, his arms folded across his broad chest. Theodore had an arm wrapped around the back of her stool.

The lead singer, the lead dancer, and the lead rapper. She caught that word— leader —popping up in most of the comments.

ELEVEN flickered in giant neon letters behind them—an effect Gabriel had created while editing the image, though it looked like a real sign. Thanks to Cian’s photography and Gabriel’s editing, they made a striking trio, the glow from the fake sign cast over their complexions and etched into their provocative but formidable expressions.

As the seconds ticked by in the silent common room and they stared at the screen, waiting, Theodore grabbed her hand, tugging it up to his lap, his large fingers pushing between hers. “Here goes nothing,” he said as the countdown reached zero.

Ironside had cornered them and said, Checkmate , and this was their calculated countermove. This plan needed to work.

She sucked in a deep breath, hugging her other arm around her stomach, feeling Cian’s torso tighten against her back as he leaned forward, his breath stirring against the top of her head.

“This better work,” Moses muttered, so low she almost didn’t catch it.

And then the video started.

Eleven bodies gathered before a camera in a practice room. Isobel, Theodore, and Moses were at the front—the guys cross-legged, her sitting on her folded legs. Elijah, Gabriel, Niko, and Cian sat in chairs behind them. Kilian, Oscar, Mikel, and Kalen stood behind the chairs.

“You all watched us come together,” Isobel spoke first. “You watched as this group adopted me, protected me, and kept me alive at Ironside without a mate.”

“You watched as our friendships formed,” Moses continued. “As we grew closer and supported each other through every challenge we faced.”

Theodore spoke next. “You watched as Mikel Easton and Kalen West tested and assessed us. As we fought for positions in this group.”

“You’ve been here with us every step of the way,” Elijah added. “Supporting us the same way we supported each other.”

“That’s what Ironside means to us.” Gabriel’s firm lips gentled into an uncharacteristic half-smile, softening his stern expression and sending the comments flickering by even faster. “It means teamwork. Community. Connection. Support. Family.”

“We wanted to thank you.” Niko’s voice emanating from the speakers was a deep roll of comfort, the madness in his eyes expertly masked. “For helping us see what’s most important.”

Isobel barely covered a wince as she watched the video, remembering that Niko had failed the first four takes, accidentally sworn during the fifth, and had forced everyone to take a twenty-minute break while he stared at the wall and spoke furiously to himself beneath his breath.

But in the end, he had nailed it.

“For teaching us the value of valuing each other.” Cian quickly drew the attention from Niko, not wanting to push their luck. “For championing us until we championed each other.”

“We don’t make this decision lightly.” Kilian’s angelic features twisted into a gentle plea. “But we feel it’s the only way forward for us, and we hope you’ll support us.”

Oscar’s hands curled around the back of Elijah’s chair in the video as he leaned forward. “We’re prepared for the consequences. But this is what we want to do.”

On the screen, the eleven of them fell into silence as the comment section scrolled and scrolled. People began to scream in capital letters, question marks littered all over the place, the words still moving too fast for Isobel to read them, though she tried a little harder to focus during the brief silence.

Despite it being the middle of the night in Paris, in other parts of the world, it was daytime or evening time, so there were plenty of people online.

She saw Kalen and Mikel’s names pop up in most of the comments. That made sense—the viewers saw them more as professors and tutors than actual members of the group. There seemed to be a lot of people saying that they were about to quit Ironside.

The Mikel on the screen pulled in a short, measured breath before he spoke. “From this moment on, we are a unit. The nine performers you see here, plus me and Kalen West. We will be managing and producing the group. That makes eleven— we make Eleven. We aren’t asking Ironside to change the rules. Nobody has ever tried to win as a group before, so there is no legislation against it.”

He didn’t mention out loud that students’ management contracts could only be broken if they didn’t win—another oversight, as students typically don’t ask for other Gifted to represent them. Thanks to Elijah, that little piece of information now conveniently popped up after a quick Google search on Ironside policy. These fans were about to run to Google and discover that if their group won, Ironside couldn’t break them apart even though Mikel and Kalen weren’t students.

It would be too obvious now if the officials tried to change the rules after their announcement.

“We believe this is for the best,” Kalen spoke up. “Because nobody knows the Gifted better than other Gifted. And nobody knows these brilliant performers better than we do.”

“That’s why we have decided to win together or fail together.” Elijah folded muscled arms and levelled the camera with his signature blank, icy expression, his pale grey-blue eyes serious. “And if that means we’re—” He paused deliberately like he was choosing his words, hard lips pinching. “— disqualified , then so be it.”

It was borderline anti-loyalist speech.

From the looks on their faces, none of them cared. But Isobel had been sitting on her hands for a reason.

“Please support us,” Kilian said softly. “Support us, and we will dedicate our lives to you. This is up to you now.”

The video ended, and Moses dug his hands through his hair, letting out a wobbly breath. “Someone in the comments section definitely fainted.”

“The support is there,” Elijah noted, scrolling through his phone. “Kalen is a meme.”

Gabriel scoffed, also staring at his phone. “The only repercussions I want are from Professor West,” he read aloud. “Dorm Daddy has my vote. For this, for president, whatever.”

Kilian also had his phone out and was frowning at the screen as he read a comment, “‘For a hot minute there, I really thought they were going to announce that Carter’s mate was one of the Alphas, and I was this close to denouncing her and ripping out her hair. I should have known our precious, perfect princess would never betray us like that.’”

Isobel schooled her expression. “Too soon. I am precious and perfect, though.”

Kilian shook his head at her attempt at humour, flicking through the comments with a small frown. “There are more along that vein.”

“That’s exactly why we chose this plan,” Elijah reassured him, tone calm, expression a little drawn. His exhaustion was seeping through. It seemed that more than any of the others, he had serious trouble sleeping when he was stressed. “If we announced that we were mates, we would lose their support—but this way, we call attention to the fact that we’re going against the academy without dividing the fandom. The officials can’t kill us now. It would be far too obvious. They can’t even cut us from the show. Right now, we are Ironside—the viewers don’t even care about the graduating year. We just need to keep it this way.”

“Doesn’t mean the officials won’t find some other method of retaliation.” Kalen’s deep voice was sombre. “And they will. We’re not escaping this situation unscathed. We’ll be punished no matter what we do.”

Isobel glanced between Oscar and Niko—the two more volatile members of their group. Everyone was attempting to shield their emotions from her, but it must have been harder to close themselves off from her Sigma power because she could feel the muted distress and fear trickling through from so many different directions that she couldn’t possibly differentiate and assign the feelings to any of the Alphas.

They must all be reaching the limits of their exhaustion to be suddenly letting their walls slip.

She had barely tensed to rise from Cian’s lap before he stood, anticipating the subtle shift in her body and lifting her to her feet.

“We’ll stay up,” Kalen said, tipping his chin toward Mikel, who nodded in agreement. “The rest of you, get some sleep. We’ve got an early start tomorrow to deal with the chaos this video will cause.”

Isobel took the time to carefully sip away at their worry and fatigue as they all dispersed into the hallway and headed toward the large marble staircase in the foyer. The stolen emotion sat heavily in the pit of her stomach, weighing down her eyelids as she pushed into her room and fell onto her bed, sleep claiming her far quicker than it usually did.

Annalise Teak wasn’t a light sleeper, but in the past few weeks, she had developed a strange habit of jolting herself awake whenever she drifted too deep. Her brain and her body were in agreement: there was no time to relax, no space to let her guard down.

And her brain and body were right.

“Is that …?” Charlie stirred, sounding groggy, her head lifting from the pillow. Poe pounced from the edge of the bed, his hair on end, his tail stiff and alert. He gave a single meow of warning before the crash sounded in the living room of their apartment.

“Stay here,” Charlie ordered, rolling out of bed and grabbing her phone before looking around helplessly.

They were at Ironside, for fuck’s sake. In a highly secure, off-limits residential building. They hadn’t prepared for a break-in . A mass shooting, maybe, but not a break-in, and not in the officials’ residence. Annalise ignored her wife’s order, rolling to the other side of the bed and springing to her feet beside Poe, her entire body trembling.

She couldn’t feel anything in the other room, no matter how hard she searched with her Sigma ability. No fear whatsoever. “Maybe it’s just a …” she started, but the bedroom door flew open before she could finish the sentence.

Five armed men filled their bedroom, and her blood turned to ice.

“Charlie Teak,” the first man stepped forward. “We need you to come with us.”