Page 182 of Unmarked
But this is something else entirely - something bigger.
Because Rhea isn’t just a piece of the puzzle, sheisthe puzzle. She’s the thread tying all of us together, and I don’t think she even realizes it.
Back in the field, bonding meant survival. Instinct. You covered each other’s blind spots or you died. This? This is messier. Hotter. More… emotional.
Which I wasn’t briefed for, by the way. No one in basic covered “What to Do When Your Omega Has Bonded Three Other Alphas and You’re All Weirdly Okay With It.”
And yet... we are.
Mostly.
If you would've asked me six months ago -shit,if you would've asked me ten days ago - then I would have sworn that I'd never bond again. I thought the damage was too deep. That I’d burned too much of myself away to be worthy of something this good.
But now, she’s in my blood, and the thought of losing her feels worse than anything I ever saw in combat.
She shifts again, pressing a little closer, and my heart does something I’m not proud of.
Great. Now I’m the guy who flutters.
I should get up. Do a perimeter check. Make sure the OMB isn’t circling the edge of the expansive property in black vans with nets and bad attitudes.
But I can’t.
Because she lets out this sound - a small, sleepy sigh - and my whole damn body forgets how to function.
This woman ismine, and I’ll burn the world down to keep her safe.
Even if it means figuring out how the hell to exist with a man like Lucian.
Even if it means holding my tongue when Kai pushes every button I have.
Even if it means letting Theo in further than I thought I’d ever let anyone again.
Because she’s worth it. Every goddamn feral second. And if this is what home feels like now, then maybe I’ve been lost longer than I realized.
I don’t know what she’ll want when she wakes up. She could scream. Cry. Kiss me again. Bite me. All viable options, honestly.
But when she opens her eyes, I’ll be here.
Because this time, no one’s getting left behind.
Not even me.
*
Every time she shifts in her sleep - hips twitching, legs parting, that soft little whimper in her throat - it’s like the universe is personally daring me to be the problem I swore I wouldn’t be.
Her body remembers, apparently. Everything. What it had. What it wants again.
And look, I’ve survived desert deployment, training under literal sadists, and eating powdered eggs for six months straight without breaking rank. My control is legendary. Medals were involved.
But this Omega? Wrapped in Lucian’s shirt like she’s a five-alarm fire dressed in smug cotton?
She is not in the damn handbook.
She stirs, not away - of course not - but toward. Her hips flex back against me in a slow grind that’s technically illegal in at least three countries. My hands tighten around her waist like they’re hoping to preserve what's left of my sanity.
“You awake?” I murmur into her hair, which, by the way, smells like temptation and poor decisions.
