Chapter 4

Alastor

I round the long winding halls, the lights growing dimmer and dimmer the deeper I get into the service quarters beneath the estate. It’s how Idris likes it. Keeping the staff hidden from the public eye like some sort of dirty secret. As though the rest of Anddad believes he’s cleaned this entire palace by himself.

I scoff.

The closer I get to her room, the sharper my instincts become. My vision is more focused. My hearing and sense of smell are keener. I don’t need any of it. I could walk these halls with my eyes closed, but due to the tight quarters and minimal light, my alpha demands my attention.

We aren't safe here.

No one is.

So many times, I’ve taken this path, walked these dark halls, and sought out the familiar door. So many times, I’ve wished things were different. Wished it wouldn’t be so hard to just exist.

Wished I could throw her door open and barge inside, demanding she escape with me. With us.

Fuck the designations that will likely lead us to ruin.

Fuck the families we were born into and the roles we’re forced to play.

Fuck it all.

My nose tingles as I turn the final corner. The scent of ammonia-filled cleaning products and bleach is so potent, I choke on a ragged breath as my nose burns. I shoot a glare at the offending storage closet and stop in front of the door next to it.

Her room.

I’ve never understood how Aleksandra, Indie’s mom, who also works here, could subject her eldest daughter to such living conditions. I understand having to work to provide for your family, but no one forced Aleks to work for the infamous cartel boss—so infamous, there is no way she came here unknowingly.

No one forced her to bring her young daughter into a pit of vipers, and chose to stay.

And no one gave Indie a voice. No one asked her what she wanted. No one told her what her future would become.

They just shoved her into a goddamned concrete cell and looked the other way.

Rolling my neck and shoulders, I suck in a sharp breath and slowly release it, trying to calm the instincts raging inside me like a hurricane. My nerve endings are firing rapidly, the lightning in the storm that is me, Alastor Drakas.

My right hand drops to the worn brass handle, gripping it hard enough to force the metal to bend. My other rests on the door, my palm pressed in tightly as though I can feel her through the flimsy wood.

I can’t, but I can hear her.

And she’s sobbing.

The growl I’ve been teaching myself to suppress since the day my alpha presented ten-plus years ago threatens to release. Even after all this time, fighting my instincts is still one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.

It feels unnatural.

Being the son of a prominent alpha father and a beta mother, there was a fifty-fifty shot of what my designation would be, but given my massive size and dominance, we all knew early on. Alpha.

It was the same for Calix and Malachi. All three of us presented earlier than usual. Typically, designations make themselves known around a person's twenty-first birthday, but occasionally, it can happen sooner, the way it did in the early days. Back then, people would present when their alphas or omegas were ready to make themselves known. If they never did, the person would remain a beta.

For Calix, it happened when he was eighteen and Malachi at twenty. Neither of which was a shock considering their father's an Alpha Supreme—one of the strongest, most dominant alphas in Anddad.

My situation, however, was a surprise. Just after my seventeenth birthday, I was walking down the hallway in Idris’s mansion when a sudden scent wafted from the kitchen, nearly knocking me on my ass.

Chocolate-covered strawberries and fresh, warm vanilla cupcakes.

It was so powerful my knees buckled. My throat rattled, and a loud growl spilled from my lips before I even realized what was happening. It battled with a shaky, rough, and ragged purr inside my chest, confusing the ever-loving shit out of me.

It smelled like home, and the need to find it, protect it, and cherish, was beyond overpowering.

I practically sprinted to the kitchen in search of the scent that would have likely turned me feral if it weren’t for the confused staff staring back at me.

The scent immediately disappeared, and my only explanation was that it must have been a lingering odor from the previous night’s dessert preparations.

I slowly came back to myself, and like a coward, I ran and hid in my room, but not before one thing became glaringly obvious. I was an alpha at the young age of seventeen, and a strong one at that, which is saying a lot considering how weak our species as a whole has grown since the world became sick.

None of that matters, though.

Nothing matters but her and my family.

I rap softly on the door, even as my other hand turns the knob. Usually, I stay outside of her room, keeping the thin wood between us when possible. She knows I stand sentry. Knows I sometimes sit in the hall when the nights are rough, and she can’t sleep. When the day’s been particularly bad, or she’s sick.

But today is one of those days where even the thought of a door between us has me ready to lose my shit.

"Indie," I murmur, finding the door locked. She sniffles, and I hear her shift before a small, devastating whimper fills the space between us. My heart rate picks up at the sound, and my need to comfort her becomes unbearable. "Indigo, open the door."

"I’m okay," she whispers, the sound so quiet, I don’t think she intended me to hear it. " I’m okay. I’m okay. It’ll be okay. "

Yeah. She definitely doesn’t realize I can hear her.

Swallowing another growl, which is becoming harder and harder every damn day, I push on the door. "Open the door, or I’m breaking it down." There’s a hint of a bark in my voice, and I hate it. I would never force anyone to bend to my will…especially her. But some instincts are impossible to curb fully.

She huffs a breath that vaguely sounds indignant, and I smirk. There she is . There’s my warrior.

Indie shuffles again; the sound of her climbing from her rickety bed before padding across the cold cement floor reaches me, and I step back, giving her room to breathe.

That is until I hear her cry out as her hand connects with the door lock. Fucking hell.

It must be worse than I thought.

A point that’s only proven when she slowly opens the door to her small, cold room, and the overwhelming scent of her blood hits me like a ten-ton truck.

I lose my fight to swallow my growl then, and for the first time in over ten years, it builds thickly in my chest and pours from me without conscious thought. It’s loud, angry, and terrifying, even to me, but especially to her.

Indie’s knees weaken, and her head drops at the same moment she bares her neck to me.

I hate and love it in equal measure. Nature battling with my desperate will to control myself. It fucks with me, making my gums ache to dig into her sweet flesh.

She makes a ragged, choking sound in her throat. My growl grows, and even though my feet are rooted to the spot, my body surges forward. I barely catch myself on the door frame, my nails digging into the wood before I collide with her tiny body.

"Indie." The one word causes her body to shiver visibly. My breathing is labored and raspy. Her’s a rapid pant.

We stand stock still in some sort of trance, neither of us able to move as we fight our natural instincts–Indie’s to submit and make herself smaller, mine to protect and dominate. Her body shakes with the force of it, breaking my heart and making my hindbrain puff its chest out in victory.

I've never lost myself to my alpha. Never even had the desire to.

I inhale sharply, doing everything I can to get myself in check. I’m usually better than this. Stronger.

The deep breath does multiple things to me at once. It sends a shock through my system as the faint tendrils of delicate chocolate fill my nostrils, making my mouth water and confusion prick at my mind. Indie has an incredibly faint berry smell, sweet but light, like inhaling sugar from the bag.

This is different, causing my mind to whirl.

But then she sniffles again, and the sharp, bitter scent of her blood and pain smash into me like a hammer, shattering this weird spell.

For the first time in minutes, I take her in, finding her neck still exposed, but no longer bared in offering. Her head is cast downward, her long, thick black hair loose and hanging heavily to one side of her face, shadowing it from my view. Her body is curled in on itself as she cradles her hands to her chest.

"Indigo," I murmur again, trying to keep my voice quiet when every cell inside my body is screaming at me to rage. To kill. To hunt down the man who hurt her. "Let me see, little one. Let me take care of you."

I reach out, giving into the nearly painful desire to touch her. My palm grips her shoulder softly before sliding down her arm toward her injured hand. Her body stiffens once more but almost immediately softens as I step closer—into her room. Her space.

Into her.

"Let me see," I repeat. I don’t know what I’m doing here. Don’t know why, but I can’t stop. "I’ll take care of you." In more ways than one, if you’ll let me.

Slowly, so damn slowly, she shakes her head, her hair swaying gently with the movement. It sends another wave of something sweet in my direction. Is that– strawberries ?

We've always tried to place what berry she smells like, and the confirmation settles deeply inside me with a rightness I'm unprepared for.

"I’m okay, Tor," she murmurs. "You can go."

I click my tongue disapprovingly. "Don’t lie to me, little one. Let’s try that again."

She sucks in a breath and sways further into me, pressing the slight weight of her arm against my palm, sending zaps of awareness throughout my body. My thumb swipes over the black button-down she’s required to wear, and I find myself hating a simple article of clothing more than I have any right to.

It shouldn’t be like this.

I’m not a virgin. I’ve fucked around plenty, with both men and women. But they meant nothing. They were just a body to satiate the ache. We used each other, and then we parted ways. But Indie is different. She’s not just a body to fill a need.

She’s years younger than me. My best friend’s stepsister, for all intents and purposes. She’s the help—as much as I wish she wasn’t, she is, and anything happening between us is forbidden. She could get in trouble. She could be punished in ways much worse than today.

More than that, Indigo is a beta and always will be. Genetically, there’s no way she’ll present as an omega or alpha when she’s of age. Though I wholeheartedly disagree with Idris’s way of thinking and callous words, he’s not wrong. Indie is the child of a nobody alpha and an orphan beta. She’ll never be anything more than what she is now. And while I have no problem with that, there is no physiological reason I should be as drawn to her as I am.

Because goddamnit, I am.

That’s a lie, Tor, and you know it, my brain scoffs . You can be just as drawn to a beta as anyone else. Look at the way you crave—

Nope. I cut that line of thinking off immediately, refusing to allow it to grow.

"Come," I murmur, gripping her wrist and guiding her to the small attached bathroom on the opposite side of her tiny room. She walks mindlessly behind me, trailing me like an obedient little duckling. I’d laugh if I didn’t despise her sadness so much.

Turning, I let go of her wrist and grab her narrow hips, lifting her and dropping her onto the small vanity before she can protest.

"Hey!" she screeches, her head snapping up in shock. Her eyes finally meet mine, and for a split second, nothing else exists.

Bright, bold, powerful green.

No. Green isn’t a strong enough word to describe Indigo’s eyes.

Emerald, like blades of fresh, summer grass. Deep jade–a precious gem. Dark pine. A forest in the middle of winter.

They captivate me.

Wide and doe-like with flecks of gold.

Beautiful.

Just as quickly, she’s blinking rapidly and dropping her gaze from mine. I step forward, pressing my big body between her thighs.

I’m so much larger than she is. I’m six foot five and covered in thick muscles, a product of my addiction to working off my anger in the gym. Indie’s barely five feet, at most. When we’re standing next to each other, she doesn’t even reach my chest. Here, with her on top of the vanity, I still tower over her.

It’s heady. Empowering. It calls to something primal inside me. Something I’ve never felt before.

Maybe that’s why I don’t stop moving, even when she chokes on her next breath. I don’t stop when my hips meet her inner thighs. I don’t stop when my hands find her legs or when my fingers dig into her skin, leaving tiny indents.

I just don’t stop.

My skin prickles with her closeness, my senses going haywire. I keep moving, and I don’t stop until my cock is flush with the counter. With her hot center.

Even then, I can’t help but let my hands glide up her thighs, especially when I feel the way she trembles beneath me.

My eyes snap down, taking in her exposed legs. I groan, low and deep. My thumb flicks her long, oversized shirt up at the edge, and I spot a pair of old, worn pajama shorts. I don’t know if I’m happy or angry to find her covered from my view.

What am I doing?

"Tor?" she questions with a squeak, as though her thoughts mirror mine.

I have no fucking clue, little one.

"Look at me, Indie," I demand, my voice thick with an unnamed emotion. I’m crossing so many lines right now. So many, but I still can’t stop. The guys would kill me if they knew.

I feel dizzy. Restless and shaky. My shoulders are tense. My gut is clenching tightly, and my senses are screaming for more.

Slowly, she cranes her neck back, removing her gaze from somewhere around my chest and up to my eyes, making me feel like I’ve been punched in the stomach. She bites her thick lower lip.

My hands flex.

She swallows.

"What are you doing?" she whispers.

I cock my head to the side an inch and arch a brow. "I’m making sure you’re okay." Among other things, apparently. "Are you?" Her nose scrunches. She’s so fucking cute.

Her shoulders roll. Her cheek twitches. It’s her tell. Before she’s even opened her mouth, I already know she’s preparing to lie to me. My hand darts up and pinches her chin. I shake my head, and once more, my voice is a growl when I speak.

"Do not lie to me again, Indigo. I was there. I saw what he did to you. I saw your blood, for fucks sake. I know you're hurt, so stop being so damn stubborn for one second and let me help you."

Let me take care of you.

Indie swallows again. I can see the battle she’s waging. She’s so fucking independent. So used to taking care of herself. Aleksandra may live here, may work here like her daughter, but their situations are wholly different. Have been from the beginning, but much more so in the past few years. Aleks is a good mom. She loves Indie, it’s clear to see, but here, in the house of horrors—she has other priorities.

And the repercussions of being neglected are written all over her eldest daughter's soul.

"Okay," Indie breathes as though speaking any louder would make giving in impossible.

I take it like the life raft it is and grab it with both hands. Though I loathe moving from the sweet space I carved out for myself between her thighs, I step back and quickly collect what I’ll need.

Below her sink is a first aid kit that’s seen far too much use. Koen and I keep replacing it, making sure she always has whatever she needs, but the idea that she needs it to begin with makes me physically ill.

I drop it next to her and return to her room to find a clean towel. My eyes land on a ripped t-shirt on her bed, a smear of blood on its hem. Her work shoes and pants are on the floor next to it. It dawns on me that she was likely trying to change from her uniform when I arrived.

Anger swells in me once more, but I choke it back. I’m in her room. I’ve got her on the counter, waiting for me to take care of her. Heal her. There’s nothing more I can do. Not yet, anyway.

Soon. So fucking soon.

I snag a towel from a pile of folded linens on the tiny desk shoved in the corner, and move to grab her shirt. At the last second, I toss it across the room instead, barely resisting the urge to burn it.

I don’t want her in her clothes.

Not one damn bit.

I want her in mine.

I swallow roughly and shake my head. I’m losing it.

Indie watches me as I return to the bathroom, that damn plush lip still nestled between her teeth. I drink her in as I prowl closer, hunting her like the animal I am.

Indigo is tiny. She’s thin, lacking the natural curves most women her age have. Though betas tend to be lithe and tall, they still have some curves. Indie never grew them. She’s remained just as tiny as she was when I met her six years ago. She’s grown an inch or two in height, but her body’s nearly the same. She’s perfect, though. Beautiful in every way.

Her face is heart-shaped, like a pixie, with arched black brows that match her long thick hair. Hair that hangs down past her chest in cascading waves that make my palms itch to grab it. Her eyes are bright and bold, captivating every single person that looks at her. She has a button nose and high cheekbones that her dark, long lashes fan over with every tantalizing blink. Her jaw is soft but sharp—just like her.

But her mouth…

Fuck.

Her mouth is wide, her lips thick and luscious. Constantly stained red from the abuse she forces on them, making them pop against her pale olive skin.

Indie calls to me, but it’s more than just her looks and strength. More than her sweet personality. It’s her soul. She’s kind and caring. Her heart is two sizes too big and far too pure for this fucked up world. Despite all that she’s been through, all that she’s endured—she still puts everyone else before herself.

It staggers me.

Without realizing it, I’m back to where I’d been before, nestled between her thighs with my gaze still locked on her mouth. My cock is solid between us, and even if I could talk the fucker down, it’s dead set on making a home right where it is.

Indie’s tongue darts out, wetting her lips slowly. Sensually. Or maybe I’m just seeing what I want.

Stop it, Tor. Leave the girl. Walk the other way. Now.

Couldn’t if I wanted to.

And I don’t fucking want to.

"Tor," she breathes, her eyes dropping to my own mouth. My heart is racing, and I find my body leaning, leaning, leaning . "Please."

One word.

A plea.

And I’m gone.

"Say it, little one," I growl. "Say what you want."

"Kiss me," she whimpers.

In my mind, my mouth crashes into hers. Devours her as I drag her sweet body into mine, claiming it for all of time. But I don’t do that. I can’t. She’s too precious. Too important—too much.

Instead, I let my hands slide up her thighs slowly, methodically, soothingly, as I lean in and press my lips against hers with a gentleness I didn’t know I possessed.

She gasps into my mouth, her tiny hands clenching at my shirt in a way that has me groaning into the soft kiss. Her lips are smooth and every bit as plump as I’ve imagined.

Years. For years, this girl has called to me. When she was younger, all I wanted to do was protect her. Keep her safe, the same way I cared for my younger brother, Riven. For Calix’s younger brothers, Koen and Malachi. For all the kids that live here in the estate, both blood and not. But with her, it was different. My desire to shelter her has always been so much more.

Then she grew up, and my desire shifted from safety and care to something else. Something wild and unrestrained.

It pounds in my chest like an unending mantra with every beat of my heart.

Protect. Provide. Cherish.

My need for Indigo blossomed from keep safe to just… keep .

And now, with my hands on her body and my lips on hers, the mantra is changing once more.

Devour. Scent. Bite. Claim. Mark.

It doesn’t make any sense.

She tugs my lip between her teeth and whimpers, making my hard cock throb painfully, and all my attempts to question this disappear entirely.

My fingers dig into her thighs, their need to move, to explore, overwhelming, but I force them to stay put. Instead, I relax my body the best I can and let Indie take the lead in our kiss. I let her guide me because, for the first time in my life, I’m utterly lost.

Indie’s tongue traces my lips, my teeth, before tangling with mine. My cock pulses, precum leaking from the tip as she bites and nips, sucking my flesh into her mouth. It’s messy, tainted with a chaotic need I’m unused to. It has my body vibrating with barely restrained desire.

"Tor," she begs, saying my name like a whispered prayer. A chant. Again and again. My knot swells in my jeans. " Tor ."

She’s just as lost as I am. Just as confused.

The realization has me coming to, knowing I need to be the one to lead when all I want to do is follow.

"I know, little one," I murmur, pulling away.

I have to.

Otherwise, I’ll be fucking her for the first time right here on this counter, and that sure as hell won’t be happening. I’m so close to losing myself, I’d probably force her to take my knot. Force her to take my cum. Force her to take my bite–

Stop.

No. I can’t have her the way I want. She deserves so much more than that.

Sucking in a deep breath, she falls into me, her forehead hitting mine softly. Our eyes droop closed as we breathe each other in. Tiny tendrils of molten chocolate assault my senses with every inhale, lighting my nerve endings on fire and soothing me all at once.

It’s insane. I can’t even describe it.

Still, I keep my body in check.

I don’t know what came over me. I don’t know what’s happening here. I like Indie. No. I love her. I always have. She’s my friend…my family. But right now, she feels like so much more.

My thumb slides across her inner thigh, and she makes an adorable little mewling sound. My lip tips up. It’s such a primal sound, almost like an omega’s whine. The alpha inside me purrs loudly at the thought and she leans against me even more, her body turning to putty from the sound.

Wait.

My eyes snap open, and I jolt back, my purr dying in my chest.

"You purred," she mumbles. Her lip twitches. " It’s pretttty ." Fuck. She sounds drunk.

I clear my throat, my mouth opening and closing, but nothing comes out except a brutish grunt.

"Do it again." Indie blinks at me rapidly with her husky demand. Her eyes are heavy. Her pupils are dilated, black taking over the green.

I take another small step back, and when I do, my senses clear a fraction. It’s not much, but it’s enough for me to scent the thick aroma of my pheromones in the tiny bathroom.

"Fuck," I mutter, running my hand through my long dark hair. Indie keeps blinking at me, unable to shake herself from the fog I accidentally drenched us in. "I’m sorry, Indigo." Because clearly, whatever was happening to me caused my scent to ratchet up to a whole new level, drowning the both of us in a lusty haze.

" S-ooookay, " she slurs, her pretty face flushing with a crimson stain as she smirks. Her jaw’s irritated from my long beard, her lips swollen and bruised from our kiss. She’s beautiful like this, making me imagine the same pretty mess on her inner thighs. " Sss-it was perfect. "

Shit. She’s practically delirious with lust. We both are.

My lip twitches at her adorable state. Shaking my head, I grab the towel I’d brought with me and soak it in the sink behind her, determined to focus on what brought me here in the first place instead of the goddess before me.

While the water warms up, I lift her delicate hands, inspecting the damage. She’s already cleaned them, but at some point, they’ve begun to bleed again.

"Dammit," I hiss, taking in her damaged skin. My eyes snap to hers. "Indigo." It comes out a growl. Again. Apparently, I can’t stop around her. "Why didn’t you tell me it was this bad?"

I see the beginning of the word sorry form on her lips, but before she gives it a voice, her brows dip. She stares at me for a long moment, probably trying to figure out what I’m saying. Slowly, her pupils shrink back down, the green becoming more prominent as my pheromones dissipate.

"Alastor," she murmurs, using my full name. I hate it. "I don’t mean to be rude, but—" Indie breaks off, her shoulders tipping up in a shrug like what she’s about to say will be rude anyway, and she doesn't give a damn. "Why would I tell you? Why are you even—" She breaks off again and tugs her hand from my grip, gesturing around her space. "Here?"

I’ve been asking myself the same question. It’s my first time actually inside of her room. This one anyways. I’d been in her old quarters a ton when we were younger, when we were all inseparable.

But then we got older, and things changed.

Now though…now I can’t stop.

And I can’t tell her that.

Unable to give her an answer, I carefully snatch her hands back and lay them palm-up on her bare knees. Picking the warm cloth up, I slowly remove the blood from her hands. Luckily, nothing’s actively bleeding right now, which tells me the cuts were small.

We sit in silence while I work. Indie lets me take care of her the way I’ve wanted to for so long. Other than the occasional whimper, she’s quiet. I find my eyes sliding up to make sure she’s okay far more than I need to, but her gaze remains locked on where I’m tending to her.

After what feels like forever, I’ve gotten her hands fully cleaned and all traces of glass removed. There was nothing that needed stitches, but one cut below her thumb was deep enough to need a butterfly that should heal in a few days.

It’d be much faster if she were an alpha or an omega—another weird genetic post-crash glitch—but she should be fine with proper care.

"Does that feel okay?" I ask, inspecting both palms, turning them side to side.

She nods.

"Feel like I missed any glass?" Indie shakes her head.

I pause.

"You sure?" She nods again.

My jaw clenches.

"Did you get hurt anywhere else?" Head shake.

Fucking hell.

"Your knees good?" I grit out.

"Yes," she murmurs.

Nodding, I gently bandage her hands, breathing deeply. "Thank you."

She sucks in a hiss through her teeth. "Why are you thanking me? I did nothing."

"For finally giving me back your beautiful voice," I say, smoothing on the last bandaid. Tossing the trash into the bin, I close the case and meet her eyes. "And you did everything."

Her face has a tortured expression I don’t understand. "I did nothing, Tor." She moves to push off the counter but winces when her hands meet the harsh surface. Indie huffs in irritation. "I’m useless. Can’t even get up by myself."

A rumble of laughter slips out. "Good." She glares at me, and I laugh again. "I don’t want you to get up." I brush my thumb over her wrist. "And you’re not useless. Be kind to yourself, little one."

Indie sinks back down, her body deflating. "Tor," she begins, and her tone would make my spine snap straight if I was a weaker alpha. "Why are you here? I don’t understand what’s happening right now. I know sometimes you come to keep watch when I can’t sleep."

Shit. News to me. I didn’t know she was aware of my borderline stalker tendencies.

She goes on before I can speak. "But now you’re in my room." She jerks her chin in my direction. "You’re standing super close. And you’re—you’re" Her mouth snaps shut, and she swallows thickly. Her thighs clench around my hips.

Damn. My little one is just as affected as I am.

Unable to help myself, I step even closer than she’d accused. My hands drop to her sides, just outside her legs, and I grip the counter to hold myself back from picking her up and throwing her against a wall. Or her bed. Inside the shower.

Honestly, anywhere will do with the way my body craves her.

The way I crave her.

Another whiff of chocolate assaults my senses, and I lean into her. My nose finds her throat without my permission.

"I’m what, little one?" I murmur against her warm skin.

Fuck, she smells so good. Why does she smell so good?

It’s not like I find beta’s scents undesirable. Shit—there’s another beta in this house right now that I can't get enough of scenting. One that smells like sweet, fluffy pancakes. Buttery and warm. Syrupy. Delicious.

Goddamn, they’d smell so fucking good together.

Like chocolate-covered pancakes mixed with my bourbon scent as it leaks from both of them.

Fucking hell. My knot pulses painfully, and my cock jerks against the tight confines of my pants.

Want to fill them both with my cum. Mark them. Bite them.

A growl rumbles against her throat making her shiver.

"What am I doing, Indigo?" I breathe.

She grips my arms but jolts, releasing them with a hiss of pain. I pick her hands up one by one and press a kiss to each finger before settling them softly against my cotton shirt. Her nails dig in slightly, making my body shudder.

"Being sweet," she murmurs, clearing her throat.

I smirk. "I’m always sweet."

Indie scoffs and rolls her eyes. "Yeah, right." My cheek twitches. "Koen is sweet." He sure fucking is. "Cai is really sweet." I roll my eyes. Goddamned golden retriever is what he is. "Heck, even Calix can be sweet sometimes." I grunt. Debatable.

When it’s clear she’s gone through her list, my forehead furrows. "And Riven?" I ask, speaking of my little brother—Indie’s ex. I swallow another growl.

Fuck, if I keep doing this, I’ll get indigestion.

She bites her lip and shrugs.

I let her ignore the question and dive back into her delectable throat, rubbing my thick beard along her skin. Soft. So soft. So sweet . "What else am I doing, Indie?" I whisper, pressing a kiss to the hollow of her neck. She shivers, and I groan.

"Touching me," she breathes. I run my finger up the outside of her thigh, smiling when I feel a trail of goosebumps rise in my wake. "Kissing me." I nod into her throat, nestling deeper. Can’t stop. More. "Scenting me," Indie murmurs, a hitch to her voice. "You’re scenting me, Tor."

Scenting her. Marking her. Making sure everyone knows she’s mine.

Yes . A primal growl of satisfaction shakes the space between us, making her whimper again. Mine. She’s mine . My hand tightens on her thigh.

Wait. What?

Fucking hell, I’m losing it.

My lips slide against her delicate throat as I breathe, taking deep drags of her soft scent, wishing with everything I have that it would grow—become stronger. It’s so muted for some reason. That plus the heavy smell of chemicals from not only her work but the room next door makes it hard to tell what’s what. It’s fucking with my brain.

Indie has always smelled good to me. To all of us. Sweet and light. Innocent. Like cool berries. Muted yet alluring. The chocolate, though…that’s new. So is the distinct strawberry tinge to it.

"I can’t help it," I groan, finally responding to her questions. "I want to take care of you, Indie. Always want to take care of you." Pulling myself away is hard, but I do it. "Are you sure you’re not hurt anywhere else?" My thumb drifts over her thigh again, slipping an inch below the hem of her shorts. She nods her head. "Can you get undressed by yourself?"

Her brow cocks in a very Indie-like manner, and I smile. If she were standing, she’d have her little hip thrown to the side with her fists planted on them. "So you kiss me once and suddenly want me naked?" She clicks her tongue. "I know you’re a brutish alpha, Tor, but I never took you for stupid."

A bark of laughter bursts from me, the deep rasp of it filling the room. "It’s like that, huh?" Grinning, I press another kiss to her pursed lips, unable to help myself. Fuck it. I’m already going to hell for crossing way too many damn lines tonight. Pulling back, I murmur, "I saw your pajama shirt on your bed." I gesture to her shorts. "You’re only half done. The shirt buttons are too hard, aren’t they?"

Her face softens. "I can do it."

Oh, I’m sure she can undress by herself just fine, but my instincts demand that I do it for her.

Who am I kidding?

It’s not my instincts pushing me to get Indie naked right now. It’s my aching cock and swollen knot.

But I’ve already pushed too much today—given in to too many desires. It has to stop here, and in order for that to happen, I need to leave. I need clean air to defog my brain so I can think. I need space, and goddammit, if I don’t need a cold shower.

Instead, I do something stupid.

Again.

"I know you can," I murmur. "But I want to do it for you." Before she can protest, I reach up and unbutton her shirt. My eyes stay locked on hers, despite everything inside me screaming to look down. She jerks back, pretty greens wide with shock. "Eyes on me, little one. Nowhere else. Don’t think about anything or anyone. Just let me take care of you."

She nods once, inhaling sharply and tucking her lip between her teeth. I swallow a groan. Shit, she’s killing me.

My fingers are quick as I move down her top. Once I’ve reached the final button, I slip the shirt from her shoulders. I’m proud to admit my eyes don’t deviate even an inch as I toss it into the sink. Indie’s shaking beneath my touch but follows my lead, her gaze never swaying from mine.

"Bra on or off for bed?" I whisper.

She twitches. "On is for the best." I know that’s a lie. I cock a brow. She makes a choking sound. " Off. "

"Such a good, pretty girl," I praise, flicking the hooks on the back of her bra. "Thank you for being honest." The soft cotton slips down her arms and pools on her lap. Without breaking eye contact, I reach behind me and tug my long-sleeved, black Henley over my head with one arm. "Hands up."

"Oh my goodness," Indie breathes, her eyes slipping an inch.

I tut her. "No looking, little one. Eyes on me." Her head snaps up seconds before her arms follow. I slip the shirt… my shirt , over her head. It settles around her thighs, swallowing her whole. I fucking love it. A rumble of approval builds in my chest, spilling out as a low, melodic purr.

I like her in my clothes. Want her in my clothes always.

"I still don’t understand," she murmurs, tugging my shirt up to her nose and inhaling deeply. Her eyes flutter closed as she sighs contentedly.

She likes the way I smell. It feels like the biggest victory of my life.

Gripping her hips, I lift her from the counter and softly drop her to the floor. I have to force myself to release her and step back. I don’t stop moving until I’m out of the bathroom, far away from her, and this insane reaction I’m having to her proximity. I’m shirtless, and knowing all that separates her body from mine is my thin shirt and her scrappy shorts is enough to have me half-feral.

I have to leave.

"Me either," I murmur, my brows dipping in confusion.

The more space between us, the easier my thoughts are coming, and with every one, clarity washes over me. My gut clenches. What have I done?

"Make sure you keep those hands clean." I swallow, shaking my head as I grip her door handle. "And take tomorrow off."

"Wait," she cries, following me into her room. "I can’t take the day off. Are you crazy?"

Probably.

Seeing her in my shirt this way…the material swallowing her up and hanging past her tiny shorts, making it look as though she’s naked beneath them, it’s too much. Too fucking sexy.

Holy shit.

"Tor," she calls, panic lacing her tone.

Growling, I squeeze the handle. "Go to bed, Indie." I turn away from her and throw the door open, my pheromones heavy between us once more. I have to go. Need out. Need to breathe. Need space. Need her . "I’ll take care of Idris. Just—" I huff, stepping out. "Just rest, little one. And take your meds."

With that, I practically sprint from her room and slam the door shut behind me, needing the shitty, cheap wood to do its job and keep us apart.

What the absolute fucking hell was that?

And why do I feel seconds from going into a rut after spending an hour with my best friend's little sister?

Shit.

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