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But I can’t.

I toss and turn, yanking the duvet up, then kicking it off again. The bed’s comfortable enough, but my head won’t stop spinning, replaying every moment from earlier tonight.

Her.

The omega in the farmhouse.

She’d been a vision standing there in the doorway, framed by peeling paint and the soft glow of a single yellowed bulb. Her hair was long and fair, wispy, and a bit messy, like she’d been pulling it back and forth from her face all day. And her eyes – blue with flecks of something warmer, gold maybe, catching the light when she scowled at us – were quite captivating.

I groan, rubbing a hand over my face. I shouldn’t be thinking about her like this.

But the details won’t leave me alone: the way her floral skirt brushed her ankles, swishing when she shifted, and the pastel blue of her toenails peeking out beneath it. The thin band of silver circling her second toe. It was oddly delicate, soft in a way that felt like a secret. Something she probably hadn’t meant for us to notice.

Something I definitely shouldn’t have noticed.

My mind betrays me, looping back to the flash of fire in her expression when she cracked the door open and snapped at us. It was sharp, controlled, but behind it…

I see it again.

The fear.

Hidden behind the fierce scowl, buried beneath the snarl in her voice, but there all the same.

The memory hits like a bucket of cold water, snuffing out whatever spark of arousal had crept up on me. My stomach coils, and I roll onto my side, staring at the faint moonlight spilling across the wooden floor.

She was terrified of us.

I swallow hard, my throat dry. We’re alphas, and we know what that means to an omega – a presence that’s impossible to ignore, a constant weight pressing down, even when we’re not trying. And three of us showing up on her doorstep, uninvited, overwhelming her with our size and energy? It must’ve felt like an invasion.

She held her ground, though. As much as she could. That little rolling pin in her hand, her shoulders drawn tight, her lips pressed into a line that said she wouldn’t let us win.

And yet, it wasn’t strength I saw when she looked at me. Not really.

It was desperation.

“Shit,” I mutter under my breath, scrubbing both hands through my hair. My chest feels tight, the weight of guilt settling heavy.

I don’t even know her name. I don’t know why she’s living in that wreck of a farmhouse, or why she’s got scent neutralisers pumping through the air like she’s trying to erase herself.

But I know this: she doesn’t deserve to be alone out there, scared and –god, is she scared all the time? Or was it just us?

The thought makes my fists clench, my jaw tightening as I try to push the images away.

It doesn’t work.

By the time the first light of dawn creeps in through the curtains, I feel like I’ve been wrestling with myself all night. My body aches from the lack of sleep, but my mind is clear about one thing.

I need to see her again.

Not to bother her. Not to push. Just to…check. To make sure she’s all right. To apologise, maybe and make amends.

The thought settles over me as I sit up, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. My movements are careful, quiet, as I grab my jumper and pull it over my head. Blaise isstillsnoring in the next room, and Dane will no doubt grumble about me being up so early, but I don’t care.

I need to do this.

I splash water on my face to clear the grogginess, brush my teeth, dress and lace up my boots, my thoughts constantly drifting back to her.

The beautiful omega in the farmhouse.