“Who says I haven’t?” Brody picks a crumb off his shirt and flicks it away. “I’ve been hanging by a thread since she fogged up her window watching me bake.”
“And she’s my scent match,” Jakob declares like it’s news. “Pretty sure she’s all of ours from our reaction to her, but she’s definitely mine.”
“We’ve clocked it,” I say, Brody nodding.
“So what are we doing about it?” he pipes in.
I crack my knuckles. The energy in my body is electric. I want to pace, hit something. Maybe rush next door, cook her breakfast, and just ravage her. Instead, I plant my feet and channel it into stillness because that’s what Alphas do when the feral part of the brain starts running the show.
Sometimes, when an Alpha finds his true scent match, instinct stops asking permission. The hunger turns wild, all teeth and possession, a brutal need to claim her, protect her, rut her until there’s no part of either of us left untouched by the other. I used to think Alphas who talked like that were losing their minds. Now Claire is buried in every one of my senses, and I understand the danger of wanting someone badly enough to let the primal, savage Alpha side of me take over.
“Not to mention,” I say, my jaw tight, “I need to track down that prick Louis from last night and teach him a lesson.”
“Should’ve dealt with him at the wedding for making her cry,” Brody states, and the grin is gone. What’s underneath is cold.
“Not the place.” Jakob’s hands are fists on his thighs. “Claire asked us not to. We respect that.”
Claire in that storage room, tears on her cheeks, shaking, because a man who promised her a future treated her like trash, and it fucking burns me up every time I think about it.
“So. Claire.” I pull us back. “What’s the play?”
“We don’t rush her.” Brody’s fingers tap against his folded arms. “She’s been shattered, and her anxiety runs deep. The wall she’s built is thick, so if we come at her with possessive Alpha bullshit demanding that she accept this, she’s gone.”
“We let her see the real us,” Jakob murmurs. “I was gone for her before I even caught her scent.”
Our scent match is undeniable. But what I felt when she laughed at my stupid joke, grabbed my shirt during the kiss, I knew I’d lose my mind.
“Shit.” Brody’s staring down at his cell phone in his hands. “That photo from the storage room.”
“Where?” I ask. “I mean, I’d love a copy so I can blow it up and hang it on my ceiling, then stare at her every night as I jerk off.”
“Fuck, man,” Jakob mocks, nudging me with a hand against my shoulder.
“Everywhere. It’s blown up. Massively.”
“That’s what she said,” I blurt out, laughing at my own joke.
“I’m serious,” Brody pushes, and I’m at his side in two strides, Jakob as well. The screen shows the image that makes me grin at how gorgeous Claire is. She’s pressed against the wall, flushed, glasses tilted, and around her, three of us. I need to frame this photo in my room.
The post already has hundreds of thousands of shares. And it’s not just one account. It’s everywhere as Brody scrolls. Reposted, screenshotted, captioned.
Then he pauses on a comment by Louis Deck.
That’s my ex-fiancée. Claire Darling. The TV disaster who said food bloggers can’t cook. Now she’s dating three? I call bull! She’s faking the whole thing for publicity because her book tanked. She’s always been performative, always needed an audience. Guys must be desperate.
My vision narrows, and I see red, hands clenching at my side.
“She stays off social media,” Brody explains, his voice tight. “She won’t have seen this. And I’m going to murder this prick!”
“But she will,” Jakob says. “Eventually, someone will send it to her.”
“Fuck that. We get ahead of it.” I’m already pulling up my account, thumb hovering. My followers have grown fast this year, closing in on two million, and right now every single one of them is about to learn what happens when you go after someoneI care about. “This asshole doesn’t even know who we are. He’s punching blind.”
Brody nods once. “Do it.”
I type in response to Louis. My fingers are steady even though my blood is roaring.
@CoreyLockFit: Quick PSA. If your move after a breakup is lurking in comment sections to trash the Omega you left, you didn’t move on. You just got bitter. Claire Darling is a bestselling author and an incredible human being. The only person embarrassing themselves here is you.