Our eyes lock, and he nods toward the bed.Go back to sleep. Then he turns and walks out without a sound.
I lie still for a few minutes, pulse hammering, trying to figure out what just happened. Then I creep out of bed and peer into the living room.
Silas is slouched on the couch. My guard dog for the night. He sits perfectly still, eyes fixed on me. He raises one eyebrow, then jerks his chin toward the bedroom.
Yeah, yeah. Message received, asshole.
I huff, stomp back to bed, and slam the door for good measure. Then I check the window. Sealed shut. Of course.
I flop onto the mattress and consider making a break for it. But then I’d have to grab Charly, Rocky, this pillow, the sheets, and all the soap.
“Fuck it,” I mutter, burrowing into the bed. “Might as well enjoy this while I can.”
I’ll escape tomorrow.
As I drift off, my thoughts keep circling back to the way Silas touched my wrist—the tenderness in it.
What game is this alpha playing?
* * *
Of course, I wake up chained to the fucking wall again.
Silas must have slipped in and locked me back up while I was dead to the world. The bedroom door is wide open, and I can hear the alphas making breakfast in the kitchen. Plates clattering, oil sizzling, someone opening and closing the fridge.
So freaking domestic.
“Playing happy families now, are we?” I mutter, yanking at the chain. Pain lances through my body, every breath like needles in my lungs. I should’ve shifted last night when I had the chance.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Heavy footsteps approach, and Darius appears in the doorway—a glass of orange juice in one hand and a muffin in the other. Shirtless, because of course he is. All that muscle on display, like I’m supposed to be impressed. His eyes rake over me, and I can tell he notices something’s off but doesn’t say anything about it.
“Breakfast,” he says, setting the items on the nightstand.
I bare my teeth at him. “What, no latte extra foam? I’m disappointed.”
He ignores the jab and turns to leave.
I need to shift, and soon. I can feel the pain getting worse by the minute. But I’m too proud to show him how bad it really is.
“Wait.” I hate the crack of desperation in my voice. “I need to shift.”
Darius pauses, his broad shoulders tensing. “No.”
“Please.” I grit my teeth, swallowing my pride. “I’m not feeling well. You know omegas heal when we shift. I’ve got a… condition. I need to do it at least once a day.”
He turns back, eyes narrowing. “And give you a chance to escape? Not happening, little omega.”
He starts to leave again.
“Darius.”
He stops. Waits.
“I’m serious. I need to shift. Just once a day. That’s all I’m asking. I won’t try to run.”
“Not today.” Of course, he doesn’t trust me.