Page 26 of Unmarked
Especially not with an OMB official somewhere behind the walls, possibly filling out a warrant on scented stationery.
My fingers curl into fists.
I will not fall apart in front of this.
Slowly, I rise to my feet. My legs shake. My head spins. My mouth tastes like panic and fondant frosting.
But Istand.
Shoulders back. Chin lifted.
Even if I’m vibrating like a wet cat in a thunderstorm, I’m upright. I’m breathing.
And whoever’s coming?
They don't get to see me on my knees.
Chapter Eight
Rhea
He steps into the corridor as if the shadows had to let him go.
Not fast. Not aggressive. But his presence fills the space - quiet, steady, undeniable.
Ash.
He’s still a few paces away, but close enough for the air to get ideas. It thickens between us, heavy with something ancient and unfortunate.
I stand tall. Or at least, tall-ish.
Heroic, if you ignore the wreckage of my exploded purse around my ankles and the fact that my knees are currently doing the macarena.
He stops.
Stares.
And not in aoh hey, cool hallwayway. No - this is the kind of look that’s 70% alpha instinct and 30% trying not to salivate.
His gaze flicks over me, and I canfeel him seeing it. The truth. The cracks.
“You’re not a Beta.”
The words grind against me like sandpaper.
“Wow,” I snap. “Should we get you a medal for that incredible display of scent-based detective work?”
His nostrils flare. His fists curl. His jaw locks like someone just whispered the wordfeelingsin his ear.
He blinks, slow, and when his eyes reopen -boom.
Pupils blown. Color gone. Alpha brain fully booted.
My scent’s hit him like a truck doing 90 on an instinct highway, and Ash?
Ash is gettingflattened.
He doesn’t look horny. He looks freakingpossessed.
