Page 81

DAPHNE

My head tipsback of its own accord, watching Connor’s eyes track over the screen as dread seeps through my body like winter’s chill.

I knew this would happen, but I’m not ready. If I had more time, maybe I could…

It’s too late to think about it now. The two sides of my life are coming together, colliding in a maelstrom of destruction I’m not sure I’ll walk away from unscathed.

Connor’s hands are on the back of my chair, the wood creaking as he leans in with that deathly cold scent. “Answer me, Daphne.”

I’m not scared that he’ll hurt me. Not physically, anyway. But I can see him unraveling and it makes me wary. “I don’t have a pack.”

“Liar.” The word hisses from his perfect mouth, striking like an arrow notched and loosed.

Nate growls. “Back off, Connor. Let her explain.”

“Explain what? That she lied?” He scoffs, shoving past my seat to pace the living room, every movement lithe and controlled. A wolf out for blood. When he turns back, all I see is that angry snarl. “You said you weren’t bonded. Was that true?”

“Obviously.” They had me ass up, twisted like a pretzel and spread out before them. If I had a mark, they’d have seen it.

“Then why is your mother texting you aboutyour packif you don’t have one?” He snatches my phone away and reads the text out loud. I hate every word. Hate how she twists things, turning my time with the Morgans into some scandalous affair instead of the most singularly meaningful moment of my life.

“Because she’s delusional.” That’s the simplest explanation. Anything else would take years and multiple therapists.

“Pretty sure that’s just us,” Connor sneers.

I’ve never seen someone so upset, but it’s not anger that sours his scent. It’s disappointment. Sadness. A hint of vindicated fear above a heaping mound of regret.

That stings.

Connor Morgan regrets meeting me, fucking me, inviting me here. It’s obvious he wishes he’d kept Nate at his side in Diamond’s so our paths never crossed. Maybe I do too.

Maybe my heart wouldn’t hurt so fucking bad.

And it does. My body aches like I’m sick, but in the center of me lies the inevitability of this moment. The chilling certainty that my exes were right. No one’s going to want someone with my baggage. What a fucking idiot I was for letting myself believe that a few days together and a nice, comfortable dinner could lead to anything more than disappointment when that’s all I’ve ever earned.

The tabletop holds my attention, the only thing keeping the frustrated tears at bay.Stupid, naïve omega.

“No. You look at me, Daphne.” Connor leans over the table, hair swaying as he takes these long, measured breaths. “Were you ever going to tell us? I mean, we helped you cheat on your alphas. The least you could do is let us know we’re homewreckers.”

Every word twists the sadness inside me, turning into something harder. Something that refuses to back down. The shift is fast, anger a living, breathing thing that threatens to burn us all alive. This time it really is the post-heat hormones, but I don’t shy away, I lean in.

The thing about ice is, when put again heat, it melts, leaving nothing but a puddle where barriers should be.

I’ve had enough of alphas who think they know better than me. I’ve had enough of men who can’t put their fucking pride aside to listen. I’ve had enough of people who think they deserve my truths while refusing to offer theirs in exchange.

Connor wants me to look at him? Fine. I let him see every angry, bitter piece.

“Former alphas,” I spit, reveling in each word. This isn’t the meek, silent Daphne I was raised to be. Right now, I feel like a warrior. That backbone I built the day I left the Parkers returns, forcing me taller. Stronger. “We’ve been broken up for almost a year, so there’s no home to wreck.”

Connor backs away, glaring at me like I’m shit he’s just stepped in. “Of course you’d say that.”

Condescending alphahole.

“How fucking dare you.” I shove out of my chair, seething. Scent sharp as rock candy. “You have no clue what’s going on, Connor. Who knew you were so fucking fragile that oneout of contextmessage would send you spiraling.”

My hands dig into the tabletop like I’m mining for splinters to shove under his fucking fingernails. Like I’m scrabbling for purchase so I can launch myself at this arrogant, idiotic alpha who couldn’t be bothered to fuckingaskbefore accusing me of shit he doesn’t understand.

“Fragile? Are you fucking kidding me?” His scent swells, icicles in my nose. If they were real, I’d snap one off and shove it up his?—