Page 91 of Unmarked
The marble beneath my feet echoes like a threat. Clean, cold, and polished to hell - like everything else in this architectural monument to my own dysfunction.
I stride through the east wing, past curated silence and a grotesque number of Renaissance busts - none of which are helping.
This house was designed for order, for control - for the kind of legacy that saysI don’t share snacks, parking spaces, or omegas.
And yet, here we are.
Becauseapparently, Rhea has decided we’re running some kind of charity cuddle co-op now.
Everyone gets a turn. Step right up: comfort the omega. Don't forget to bring a flannel!
My jaw’s locked so tight it feels like my molars are trying to fuse. I’ve spent two nights parked outside her door like a rabid doorman with unresolved feelings, whispering like some deranged alpha Shakespeare, trying to talk her through the worst of it while every molecule in my body was screamingmine.
And I held it.
I held the line. I gave her space.
Because I thought she'd ask for me.
But now she’s asking for all of us?
All ofthem?
Kai, who thinks discipline is a safe word. Theo, who looks like he’d apologize for breathing too loud. And Ash - grumpy, brooding, permanently armed Ash.
Great. Fantastic.
She’s collecting alphas like they’re fucking Pokémon.
My temper crackles like static behind my ribs.
I stalk through the southern corridor, past ten-foot arched windows showing off the estate.
The gardens are perfect. The perimeter’s sealed. Everything is secure.
Except me.
Excepther.
I can feel her. Even now. Through walls, through wings, through steel.
It’s like an itch in my bones. A tether pulled taut between her body and mine - and she’s tugging it without even knowing.
And Ihate it.
Hate that she makes me feel unsteady. Hate that she made a nest and didn’t build it for me. Hate that I can’t walk into that room right now and drag her into my arms like some deranged fairy tale alpha.
Because the truth? I’m already halfway there.
But what if her bond doesn’t belong to just me? What if I’m not the only one on the end of it?
What if she chooses all of us?
My stomach lurches. I’m going to be sick. Or violent.
Possibly both.
I stop in front of the north gallery. It's filled with portraits of Vales going back six generations.
