4. Jasmine

I've always told myself that inaction is as bad as making the wrong move. If you plan carefully and you pivot well, it's better to take a leap than to sit on the fence. Predators might enjoy the hunt, but there are plenty of alpha who are just as likely to command their prey. Cornered, frozen, you don't stand a chance when they take away your ability to fight. Which, if I follow my own advice, means I should be grabbing that door key and getting the hell out of The Alpha Club.

But instead, I fall asleep.

I don't realize it at first, because I'm deep in a dream.

I have three nightmares that I seem to rotate through, depending on how bad my day has been. The first is my mom's funeral, which never happened, since my dad had her cremated without informing me, even though I was eighteen at the time. But in my dream, I'm only about three or four and staring down into a big empty grave, a white lily in my hand. I'm sniffling, calling for my mom, my feet moving helplessly in my tiny, buckled shoes. Rain drips down my collar, but I don't know what real misery is until an unseen hand shoves me in the back. I tumble into the grave with a shriek, but there's no coffin, no mourners, and no way out. I lie in the bottom of that hole all alone, and it doesn't take a mind reader to know it's a symbol of my loneliness and abandonment.

The second dream is a newer one, but even more disturbing. I'm tied to a chair, blindfolded and gagged, but I can feel hot breath on the back of my neck. They don't talk, but I know it's Kayden or one of his jackals. I think he's about to bite me, claiming me in a way I'll never escape. But then he laughs, low and cruel, and I realize I'm too late. I can feel the sting of the bond in my neck, and then I feel the echo of that smug laughter in my soul.

The third dream is the worst, but it's more memory than nightmare. I'm sixteen and it's the morning of my birthday. My father has invited me into his office, which is a rare treat. I think he's going to give me my present – I've been angling for a necklace just like the one my friend Trish got for her sweet sixteen – but instead, his chief scientist is waiting. My dad is a famous chemist in his own right, but Dr. Tampa is an uber alpha and has always been intimidating. I'm trying to arrange my features into a polite expression when he orders me to lie down on the sofa. I don't have a hope of resisting his command, and I'm shaking and crying as he injects something into the back of my neck.

And that's not the end of the nightmare. While I sniffled and stared at my father with betrayed eyes, Dr. Tampa explained the nature of the enhancement he'd given me. It was a revolutionary new drug that overrode my hypothalamus, stimulating the production of very specific hormones. An irreversible boost to my endocrine system that only needed to be topped up every four years. And just like that, I was a guaranteed goddamn omega.

"Hey, wake up, Jasmine! Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. I'm fine." If I say it enough, will my heart stop trying to pound its way out of my chest?

"You were having a nightmare." Casper is a warm weight beside me, his thigh resting snugly against mine. His shirt rides up between us as he twists to peer into the corner. "Are the lights on?"

"No. Um… it's dark, but there's still some wood burning in the fire."

"Erik must have come in and taken care of it." I shudder to think of the huge alpha creeping around the room while I whimpered through my nightmares. Casper must sense my distress because he grabs my fingers, only to give a pained grunt. "Shit, you're still freezing. Come on, we're gonna take a bath."

"We?" I feel so rattled, I don't even try to resist when he pulls me to my feet. "You mean, together?"

"Don't tempt me." He shoots a quick grin over his shoulder as he feels his way past the bookshelves. "Nah, you can soak, and I'll sit on the vanity and keep you company." He waves a hand at his sightless eyes. "It's not like I can invade your privacy, right?"

"I'm not worried about that." And I'm not. Living in a college dorm, there's always someone around. And when I'm not there, Kayden has me under surveillance 24/7. "I'm used to being watched."

"Ugh." Casper gives my hand a sympathetic squeeze. "Worst part of performing was all the eyes on me. I hated it. I was there for the music, you know, not the sleazeballs who were imagining me naked. And the crazy fans who thought they were in love with me were just as bad. Creeped me out."

I hum in agreement. I might not be a performer, but I know what it's like to have people look at you and think they know you just because of your appearance. The truth is, they're not even scratching the surface.

Casper has no issues opening the door and then we're out in the corridor, his bare feet dragging slightly on the floorboards. It takes me a moment to realize he's counting. "Eighteen steps to the bathroom," he says, stopping in front of the room next to the one I was locked in. "It connects the suites on either side, and there's also a spa room up on the terrace."

I'm trying to picture that as he leads me into an omega oasis. It consists of a huge soaking tub, a rainforest shower, and a vanity worthy of a Hollywood starlet. I admire all the marble and brass fittings, softened by downlights and thick, fluffy floor mats. "This is nice," I tell him.

"Wait until you see these goodies," he tells me, opening a panel above the tub to reveal a plethora of bath products, all neatly stacked according to scent. There are bombs, oils, salts, and candles, all bearing the familiar House of Omega logo.

A kind of homesickness crashes over me as I think of my best friend and soul-sister, Grace. We were once united in our hatred for her stepbrother Kayden, but now she's part of the international luxury goods company, both as a talented designer and a beloved member of the Rose Pack. I couldn't be happier for her, since she's not only finally free of Kayden, but she's also been given the chance to shine in her own right. The only downside is that while she's living her happily ever after, she won't rest until she thinks I've found mine. And that's simply not on the cards for me.

"There should be some jasmine in there," Casper tells me as he gets the water running. "Or you could go with your natural scent. Vanilla, pink pepper, and honeysuckle, right?"

I grimace, glad he can't see my face. "You have an impressive nose."

"That's one of the upsides of not being able to rely on my eyes. Everything smells clearer."

I nod, grabbing the closest bottle and pouring some into the tub. A rich scent – black cherries and rose oil, according to the label – curls up at me and I grab the zipper on my bodysuit. "You don't have to stay if you don't want to."

Casper backs up to the vanity, gripping the edge. "You want me to go?"

"No." As I peel my way out of my clothes, I shiver. That nightmare is still licking at me, like a nasty little flame I can't quite stamp out. "I could do with the company, too."

"Cool." He perches on the edge of the counter, pulling his long legs up and fiddling with the hem of his jeans. They're faded black and cling lovingly to his lean muscles. "How's the water feel?"

I've only dipped one foot in, but I'm already groaning. "Like heaven." I quickly sink down, pressing my back against the curved edge of the tub. "I know I should be out there, putting as much distance between myself and Kayden as I can, but…" I ruffle the gleaming surface with my fingers as I tip my head back, sighing in pleasure. "If this is my last bath, I want to make it count."

Casper makes a dismissive sound. "We don't ration water here."

"No, I meant…"

"I got it." He cocks his head, the downlight above him bathing his black hair in golden streaks. "But until you trust me enough to feel safe, I'm going to keep reminding you of the silver linings."

I smirk. "Then you've got your work cut out for you. I don't exactly have a sunny disposition."

"I like a challenge," he assures me as he slides off the counter and comes over to me, bobbing down at the side of the tub. "Want me to wash your back? I'm happy to give you the full-body service, although I might fumble a few parts."

He waggles his brows at me, and I surprise myself by laughing. "Dial it down, Romeo." But I grab a loofah and press it into his hand. "Start with my back, and we'll see how we go from there."

He grins at me, and I study his face as he dips the sponge in the water. With his perfect bone structure and soft lips, he must be devastating under a spotlight. Which makes me a damn hypocrite, but I get why people want to look at him.

"Do you want to tell me about your nightmare?" he asks, nudging me forward a little so he can drag the loofah over my shoulder blades.

I shiver at the sensuous feeling and hug my knees. "It's not a silver lining story."

"Mmm. I get that." He swipes the sponge down my spine, the mix of warm water, fragrant oil, and perfect pressure making my toes curl. "But if you want to share, I was a good listener even before I developed my advanced aural skills."

I dip my head and smile against my knee. "Your back washing skills are pretty good, too."

He uses the edge of the loofah to tickle the nape of my neck. "Are you relaxing yet?"

"Maybe."

He makes a humming sound. "Then do you want to tell me about that nightmare?"

I'm tempted to brush him off, but what harm can a bit of sharing do now? Maybe I can think of it as preparing him for my worst-case scenario. Because if Kayden comes looking for me, I won't be the only one he wants to hurt.

"Nearly a year ago, my dad traded me to the Sawyer Pack. He owns a drug company with my uncle – Crenshaw Pharmaceuticals - and one of their trials got them in hot water with the FDA. My dad was sued, got into debt, and took a loan from Kayden to pay off his creditors. When he couldn't pay it back, he offered me up to the Sawyer Pack instead."

"Fucking hell." Casper sets the loofah aside and wraps his fingers around my shoulder, holding me tight. "Who knows about this?"

"My uncle, obviously. And I'm guessing most of the members of this club."

Because the Ferro Club is the original alpha network. Established by ubers, but welcoming any alpha who's deemed vile enough to fit in.

Casper's silent for a while, then asks, "So, what now? Will Kayden come looking for you, or will he go for your dad?"

"Both, most likely." I stare at my oil-slicked knees for a moment, but I can't force myself to tell him what really terrifies me. The truth is, there's something both Kayden and my dad can leverage which will tear my resistance to shreds.

"Are you warmer now? All those goosebumps feel like they're gone." Casper's fingers trail down my arm, then he playfully flicks water at me. "How about we go see if Kelly left any of her famous cheesecake in the fridge?"

I look at him in surprise. I caught a glimpse of the club kitchen when Kayden brought me on a pre-bonding ceremony tour, but mostly I just remember the seedy scent of alpha. "It's safe?"

"There's a kitchen for the club members, but we have our own place downstairs." He feels his way over to the wall and grabs a fluffy towel. When he holds it out, I rise from the tub, sinking into its soft warmth. He wraps the edges around me, but his hands don't linger. While I dry off and pull on my panties, he leans against the counter and says, "The Volks like their privacy almost as much as you do, so they keep the two sections of the building separate. You don't have to ever worry about running into an alpha up here."

I grunt, although it makes sense. On the tour we took in the club rooms, ballroom, and other entertainment spaces on the second floor, along with the utility areas, private gym, and staff offices at street level. That left the top three floors, which Kayden eyed hungrily when our guide told him they were for management only. There's nothing Kayden hates more than being told something is off-limits.

But before we can leave the floor, Casper takes me into another of the suites, his steps more confident as he navigates the room. The giant bed is rumpled and there are a few things scattered about on the vanity. "You can borrow some of my clothes until we pick up your things," he tells me, heading over to an elegant wooden dresser. "Are sweats and a t-shirt okay?"

I murmur my thanks, since I'd happily wear a trash bag if it meant I didn't have to struggle back into the black bodysuit.

As I pull the gray sweatpants on, rolling up the cuffs because they're about four inches too long, I look around what has to be Casper's suite. It has the same bland palette as the room I woke up in, and I wonder if the lack of personal touches is because of his injury or something else. Does he view the club as just a temporary stop until he's better? Although now that I'm thinking about it, is blunt ocular trauma even something you can fix?

The idea that it might be permanent makes my stomach clench, and I bite my cheek as his scent swirls around me. It seems to be soaked into the soft cotton of the t-shirt he's loaned me, a sweet apple flavor with a hint of sharp peppermint. I'm almost numb to the cloying floral perfumes of the omegas in my dorm, but Casper's is intriguing.

"Ready for cheesecake?"

I nod, then feeling annoyed with myself, take his hand and give a squeeze of assent. I need to be more conscious of avoiding visual cues, but Casper smiles at the contact, and we head to the door. I'm instantly on alert for anything he could trip on or bump into, but he easily navigates our way to the stairwell, gripping the railing in his other hand. I expect the scent of strange alphas to be stronger here, but Casper assures me the stairs only link the private floors. The club has an internal staircase and the members' elevator, but neither connect to the Volks' residence.

It doesn't stop me from carefully scoping the kitchen before we step all the way inside. It's a black and white contemporary style, with dark floorboards, a raised dining bar, and a huge range with an eye-catching marble backsplash. It's bigger than some of the restaurants I've been to, and my eyes flick greedily over the high-quality appliances and custom cabinetry. I run a hand over the smooth quartz countertop of the nearest island, because this kitchen naturally has a matching pair. "This is really nice."

"Kelly seems to like it. She's not around?"

I peek into a small office next door. There's a jumble of paperwork on a desk, a navy jacket over the back of a chair, but there's no sign of the chef. "Does she live on-premises?"

"No, she has her own pack. What time is it?"

I look at the clock on the wall. "After eleven."

"Guess that explains it." He gives me a mischievous smile. "How about we see if she left anything good to munch on?"

I'm not sure about rummaging through the chef's workspace, but when Casper opens the refrigerator, I spy some neatly labeled containers and my brows shoot up. "Ooh, she makes her own sauces. What's she got?" Casper moves aside with a chuckle as I eagerly examine them. "Wow, looks like you guys are in for a treat tomorrow," I tell him. "This is hard sauce. It's basically a brandy butter you pour over warm desserts. And this is a bordelaise. Yep, looks like sirloin is on the menu."

Casper leans against the fridge door. "You can tell that from looking at a few jars?"

"I'm finishing up my Culinary Arts degree," I reply, grabbing one of the containers and hunting for a saucepan. "We really have to try this. Nothing beats a homemade chocolate sauce."

"Mmm. Strawberries." Casper almost has his face buried in the bowl of sugared fruit and I grin as I take it off him. "Straight ahead, one shelf up is what I'm guessing are vanilla custard profiteroles. That might be a bit much for a midnight snack, but…"

"We're doing it anyway," he says with a grin, carefully feeling around until he has the right container. When he peels back the lid, he gives a small groan at the scent of sugar and choux pastry. "Are these easy to make?"

"They're pretty straight-forward," I tell him as I pour the thick, glossy sauce into the pan. "I can promise to whip up another batch if you're worried."

"Kelly won't mind. In fact, she'll be thrilled." Casper leans next to me and scratches his cheek. "I haven't had much of an appetite lately."

"That makes sense." I grab a whisk and stir the sauce, but my gaze lingers on Casper's face. "You don't have to eat anything if you don't want to. I'm just playing around, really."

"I can tell." He bites carefully into the profiterole, taking a moment to savor the custard flavor. "Your voice sounds different. Lighter. And your scent is sweeter."

Something about the fact that he's noticed how I smell makes me smile. "That could just be the vanilla pods."

"No, I don't think so. It's the honeysuckle." He leans forward, sniffing the fragrant steam coming from the pan. When he tilts his head, the downlights catch the blue of his irises, making them electric. "Maybe we should be pouring this chocolate over you."

Now, there's a thought. My classes are full of omegas who brag about the wicked things they get up to in kitchens with their packs. But it always makes me feel a little ick. I like cooking because it's about order and structure. I love the chef whites, the gleaming surfaces, the way you can create beauty out of chaos. I mean, raw ingredients aren't always the most appealing, but add some heat, a few spices, mix in a little butter or wine, and you have a dish fit for a queen.

"Sorry," Casper says, a flush on his cheeks as he backs off. "That was weird."

"Wait!" I grab his sleeve, holding him in place as I swap the whisk for a strawberry and dip it into the sauce. "Hold still and let me feed you."

He cocks a silky brow but stands patiently as I bring the treat to his mouth. His red lips part, and I catch a glimpse of his tongue as it flicks out to taste the glossy fruit. I watch as he absorbs the flavors, his face going slack with pleasure. I hold on to the stem, pulling away as he chews the strawberry, his hand coming to rest on my hip. "So good," he murmurs, licking his lips and giving me a sated grin. "Like warm velvet on my tongue."

Hot damn. If that wasn't food porn, I don't know what is.

I clear my throat, but it's still husky as I say, "The best sauces are made with three types of chocolate – white, dark, and milk. Never skimp on quality. And use vanilla pods if you can get them. A touch of salt to make the sweetness pop." I grab a spoon and dip it into the sauce. "Now try it on its own, so you can taste the complexity of the chocolate."

He opens his mouth obediently, and I have to bite my cheek to smother my groan. He's blinking slowly, his lashes brushing his pink cheeks. His whole stance is languid, inviting, and for a moment I wonder what it would be like to drop the spoon and taste him instead. The urge is so strong I shove the spoon at him, clanking the edge against his teeth. "Shit. Sorry. I'm not usually such a klutz in the kitchen."

He just laughs and licks the spoon, making no effort to swallow his sounds of appreciation. "Damn, that is so good. I'm pretty sure if you leave me alone here, I'm going to lick the pan clean."

"No need for that," I tell him, transferring the rest of the sauce to a small bowl. "This way you can dip the strawberries in yourself."

"But it's much more fun if you feed me," he replies with a smile that's pure temptation. "But here I am, being a rude host and hogging all the sauce."

I watch with widening eyes as he dips a finger in the bowl, swirling it around until it's dripping. Since he can't see where I am, he has to hold his hand out in invitation, and I see a wrinkle of embarrassment settle between his brows when I don't lean in to meet him. Jesus, Jasmine, nice way to leave a guy hanging.

His shoulders stiffen, but before he can pull away, I duck my head and wrap my lips around his chocolate-coated finger. Oh, God. Casper is a sugar high even without Switzerland's best export plastered on his skin. And then his natural flavor comes through – minty apples, with just the right amount of sweetness – and I moan. I can't resist sucking a little and he shuffles closer to me, his eyes hooded and his nostrils flaring. "Do you like that, Jasmine?"

I have to pull away to answer, but I really don't want to. An image plants itself in my mind – of Casper spread out on the smooth quartz countertop, chocolate swirls on his flawless skin – and I can smell my own arousal in the air. It's enough to make me take a quick step back. "Um… We shouldn't leave a mess for Kelly to clean up."

It"s a lame response, even to my own ears, and my cheeks burn as I quickly rinse the saucepan and return everything to the refrigerator. I wonder if I've completely killed the mood, but Casper is tugging on my hand. "Want to come back to my room and snuggle?"

My heart gives an eager leap, and I smile as he curls his fingers around mine. "Is that code for doing dirty things with chocolate sauce?"

"It could be. My vote is we get some real sleep first, then see where our taste buds lead us." He squeezes my hand, tugging me against his warm chest. "Jasmine, do your nightmares want to have a sleepover with my nightmares?"

I laugh, even as a voice in the back of my mind warns me that the last thing Casper needs is to get tangled up in the nightmare that's my life. "How can I refuse an offer like that?"