Page 248 of Unmarked
“I’m sure,” I say. “I’m ready.”
Kai flashes a wolfish grin. “Hot.”
Theo shoots him a look, while Lucian just watches me - silent and burning, like he’s memorizing every breath, every shiver, every inch of me as I am now.
Because tomorrow, everything will change.
Tomorrow I’ll belong to them.
All of them.
Not as a possession. Not as a prize.
As a choice.
As their Omega.
Chapter Fifty-One
Rhea
By the time the sun climbs high enough to stain the solarium glass gold,I finally feel likemeagain.
Still a little heat-wrecked, emotionally dehydrated, and vaguely offended by my own scent profile - but functional. Upright.
Reassembled.
Lucian’s shirt is riding high on my thighs, the waistband of his sweats cinched tight like they’re holding my dignity in place. (They’re not, of course. Nothing is. I’ve been knotted three times in the last forty-eight hours. I’m basically a sentient puddle held together by spite and caffeine withdrawal.)
Still, the room smells like ginger tea, citrus, and high-thread-count redemption. I stretch, groan, flop dramatically across the bed, and consider that this might be the closest thing to peace I’ve had in years.
Until my phone buzzes.
Right. My phone. My connection to the real world. The life I ditched without so much as abrb, off to accidentally bond with four emotionally unstable alphas, text you later!
Kai had tossed it onto the bed this morning with a cocky grin and a “See? I’m useful.” He also returned my camera, bless him, although the strap’s still tangled and the screen’s slightly cracked like it personally lived through my heat.
At the time, I’d blinked at both objects like they were ancient relics from a former life. I was too wrecked to care. Too full of everything - bond-haze, post-orgasmic delirium, probably Kai.
But now?
Now I’m awake. Lucid. And emotionally ready to spiral.
I grab the phone, and the screen lights up immediately.
Eighteen messages. Twenty-seven missed calls. All from one person.
Lexi.
Oh. Shit.
My stomach drops like a bad plot twist. Lexi knew where I went, but that doesn’t mean she stopped worrying. This many missed calls can only mean one thing: she’s planning my murder. Possibly via voicemail.
I tap into our message thread like I’m opening cursed scrolls.
“You better not be dead.”
“I SWEAR TO GOD, IF ONE OF THEM PUT THEIR HANDS ON YOU -”
