Chapter 2

Chapter

Two

IVY

T he first rays of dawn filter through the curtains, rousing me from the deepest sleep I've had in years. For a moment, I'm disoriented, my mind struggling to piece together where I am. The plush fabric of my nest cocoons me, and the mingled scents of my alphas—pine, smoke, leather, and spice—envelop me like a familiar blanket.

The thought both thrills and terrifies me. I've spent so long running, fighting against the very idea of belonging to anyone, let alone a pack of hardened soldiers. But here, nestled in the safety of their makeshift den, I can almost believe things could be different.

Almost .

Valek shifts beside me, his arm tightening around my waist. On my other side, Whiskey's soft snores tickle the crook of my neck. I take a moment to study them, these fierce men who've become my unlikely guardians.

Sleep has smoothed the hard lines of Valek's face, making him look younger, almost vulnerable. My chest tightens at the sight. I know the darkness that lurks behind those fathomless eyes, the violence he's capable of. But right now, he's just a man, warm and solid against me.

Whiskey, too, seems transformed in the soft morning light. His usual cocky smirk is gone, replaced by something softer, more genuine. Chestnut hair falls across his brow in messy waves. I fight the urge to brush it back, to let my fingers linger on his strong jaw.

What the hell is wrong with me? Getting attached is dangerous. I can't let myself get attached.

Won't let myself get attached.

But even as the thought forms, I know these men, this pack, have already wormed their way under my skin, burrowing deep into my bones. The idea of leaving them, of striking out on my own again, aches like a physical wound .

A sound from outside snaps me to attention. I tense, straining to listen. Footsteps crunch on gravel, accompanied by low murmurs. Throughout the night, I'd heard the alphas coming and going, changing shifts, their hushed voices drifting up from below. But this sounds different. More urgent.

Valek's eyes snap open, instantly alert. He's already reaching for the knife strapped to his thigh. "Stay here," he growls, voice rough with sleep.

I shake my head, pushing myself up. "I'm coming with you."

He arches an eyebrow. "Like hell you are."

I open my mouth to argue, but he's already out of bed, moving with fluid grace. And then he's gone, slipping out the door and closing it firmly behind him. I hear the click of the lock, and I grit my teeth, fighting the urge to scream.

Bastard.

I stalk back to the bed, throwing myself down with a huff. Whiskey watches me, his eyes glinting with amusement. "You know," he drawls, rolling onto his side to face me. "I can think of a few ways to pass the time while we wait."

He reaches out to touch me and I bring my knee up into his padded gut. His breath leaves his lungs in a pained wheeze .

"Fuck!" he groans, curling into the fetal position. "I take it you're back to normal after your heat passed."

Heat .

Memories crash over me before I can stop them. Desperate need. Skin on fire. The alphas' hands, mouths, cocks... My face burns, shame and the echoes of wanting more warring within me.

I glare at him in response and sit up on the end of the bed.

He holds up his hands in mock surrender, a grin playing at the corners of his mouth. "Message received, loud and clear."

I turn away from him, hugging my knees to my chest as I stare out the window. The tension is a living thing inside me, coiling tighter with every passing second. I hate this. Hate feeling so helpless and afraid.

But do I need to be afraid? I'm trapped up here, a damsel in a tower, sure. But my alphas are risking their lives to protect me.

My alphas.

The thought worries me. When did I start thinking of them as mine? When did I let myself grow so attached? When did I start accepting their strength and protection ?

It's the heat.

Just lingering effects from the heat.

Biology messing with my head.

But even as the words form in my mind, I know they're a lie. This thing between us, this bond we're forming… it's real. And it terrifies me more than anything else in this godforsaken world.

A flash of red beyond the window catches my eye. I crane my neck to see better through the sliver of light coming through the curtains, but it's impossible to see anything from here.

I hop out of bed and dart to the window to peer outside, careful not to disturb the fabric. Whiskey mutters a string of curses under his breath and I hear the mattress creaking as he gets up, but I ignore him.

The guest house door stands open. A group of men mill about outside, loading up their vehicles with barely contained urgency. My stomach clenches at the sight.

Among the milling figures, one man draws my gaze like a lodestone. He prowls the perimeter, each step deliberate, as if marking his territory. The wind whips his coat—a garish splash of crimson against the snow—revealing glimpses of lean muscle beneath .

The scar across his face tugs at his lips, giving him a permanent leer that makes my skin crawl. When he turns, scanning the area through the tinted round glasses perched on his straight nose, I duck instinctively even though I know he can't see me.

Everything about him screams danger. The way he moves, fluid yet coiled tight. The tilt of his head as he listens to his men. The casual way his hand rests near a concealed weapon.

He's clearly the leader.

Must be Nikolai.

I feel the heat radiating off Whiskey's body before I hear him or even register he's standing behind me. He throws his arms around my waist like a bear trap, pinning me against his warm torso.

My body reacts before my mind can catch up. Teeth bared, I twist in Whiskey's grip, sinking my incisors into the meat of his forearm. The taste of copper floods my mouth, and a primal satisfaction courses through me.

Fuck yes. We're biting again.

Whiskey snarls, but he doesn't let go. His arms tighten around me, lifting me off my feet and crushing me against his broad chest. "Oh, hell, no," he grumbles in my ear, carrying me to the bed as I kick and thrash against him, still latched onto his arm.

He throws me onto the bed and lands over me, the force of his weight crushing me into the mattress forcing me to open my mouth and let go of his arm. Panic surges through me, but I can't move beneath him like this, and the pressure from his body bearing down on me is strangely soothing. Or maybe it's because I can't breathe.

Either way, I melt into his warmth.

I'm pissed at myself for it.

"Easy there, wildcat," he murmurs in my ear. "No one's gonna hurt you."

A humorless laugh bubbles up in my throat. How many times have I heard that lie? But even as the cynical thought forms, another part of me—a traitorous, omega part—wants to believe him.

Especially after last night.

"I'm gonna let you up," he continues. "But I'm not letting you go. Got it? We can't risk those assholes seeing you. It's bad enough they've figured out there's an omega here. They don't need to know how beautiful you are."

My heart lurches. "They know I'm here?"

"Yeah," he says with a sigh, rolling away from me onto his side. But he keeps his massive hand wrapped around my forearm, enveloping it. I tug to test his strength.

Nope. Not getting away this time.

His gaze softens and he reaches up to brush my hair away from my eyes with his bruised knuckles. "We can't lose you, little wildcat. You know that, right?"

I lean into his touch in spite of myself.

"I know," I mutter.

For now, I'll play the part they need me to play. I'll be a good little omega and let them keep me safe. But I can't let myself forget what I am. What I've always been.

Alone.

A survivor.

He doesn't know it yet, but he is going to lose me. They all are. When the time comes, I'll do what I have to do to regain my freedom.

Even if it means leaving them behind.