Page 8

Chapter eight

VIOLET

There’s only an hour and a half left of my shift but it’s going to be the most stressful. Xavier purposely had me work the later shift because I’m a lot more people friendly than the other two employees he has and while his son, Marion, is a people pleaser, I tend to be easier on the eyes. Xavier’s words, not mine.

That being said, the gallery is packed, all designer suits and silk dresses and hushed conversations mixing with the soft clink of champagne glasses. The scent of expensive perfume clings to the air, failing to mask the undercurrent of wealth and quiet competition that lingers beneath every carefully measured smile.

The bombardment of scents only makes it worse. I’ve slathered a bit of Sofie’s scent blocker beneath my nose because I can’t be bothered to suffer while also not grimacing at the wealth in this room. Just one of their watches would pay rent for like the next six months.

I grant a small smile to a patron, hoping it’ll be enough for them to keep moving. My only job is to answer questions should they arise and clear off the tables set up for food and drinks. Marion’s job is to actually converse with them, entertain them, and get them to buy paintings I’m almost sure are fake. He’s much more of a charmer than I am and currently, most of my attention is on Sofie.

She’s barely left my side all night, her small frame brushing against mine in fleeting touches, pressing closer every chance she gets. But every so often, without warning, she disappears, slipping through the crowd toward the bathroom down the back hall, her movements growing more frantic as the evening drags on.

Her scent is shifting, becoming syrupy sweet, coating the back of my throat, demanding attention. Every time I look at her, I can see it—see the way her pupils are blown wide, the way her breathing comes faster than it should, the way her hands tremble slightly at her sides. And every time, she gives me that tight, nervous smile, the one that doesn’t reach her eyes. ‘ I’m fine ’, she says.

Which is bullshit. But I won’t call her on it yet because no one else seems to be as affected by her scent as I am. Pushing will only make it worse, will only send her deeper into whatever mess she’s drowning in. So, I keep her close instead, my arm brushing against hers, my hand twitching at my side, ready to steady her if she suddenly falters, if she loses the fight she’s barely holding onto.

I’m already on edge, my mind racing through possible next moves, when I feel them. Lance, Hawk, and Puma. I expected the older Alpha to be here but I wasn’t prepared having all three of them here.

They move through the gallery exuding the kind of confidence that makes people step aside without a second thought. Their presence shifts the air, sends an undeniable ripple through the space, something unspoken but felt . The Ashford Pack. There’s sudden whispers, greetings, and smiles as everyone points toward three members of the most famous pack in this arena. I’m not sure what would happen if Gray was here.

Not that it matters as Sofie stiffens beside me. Her fingers curl into the fabric of her dress, gripping it so tightly her knuckles go white. Their attention roams the gallery before falling on us, their gazes dragging over my skin before moving to hers. The predatory looks behind those fierce eyes and the way their nostrils flare just so tell me they know exactly what’s happening .

And fuck, the last thing I need is their attention. The last thing I want is them getting any ideas, thinking they should step in, thinking this is their problem to handle.

But then—Sofie makes a sound. Soft. Barely there. A tiny, broken whimper that slips past her lips before she can stop it. Her eyes go wide, her breathing shuddering, panic flashing across her face for half a second before she bolts, disappearing through the crowd, her body moving before her mind can catch up. I don’t miss the way Lance reacts to it .

The way his muscles tense, the way his body shifts before he can stop it, drawn to her like she’s calling him without meaning to, like the sound reached something deep inside him, something instinctive even across the goddamn gallery.

Seconds later, her thick scent hits me full force, heat bleeding through me as well. I don’t even think as I weave past people, cutting through the slow-moving crowd without a single thought for the mess I’m making. I head the same way she did, heart pounding, praying to whatever cruel god might be watching that I can get to her before this gets worse.

The chaos from the gallery fades behind me, a muted hum of conversation barely reaching this far down the hallway. Each step echoes against the polished floors, a steady rhythm that does nothing to slow the tight coil of panic twisting in my stomach. My pulse pounds against my ribs, a dull, insistent beat as I move, scanning the back rooms for my Omega.

I’m nearly at the end of the hallway when a sharp, broken whimper heats my ears. Barely there, but enough to make my blood run cold. I follow it, my steps quickening, my breath catching when I spot the cracked door at the end of the hall. Another soft, agonizing little cry fills the hallway, ripping me apart.

I push inside, my Omega curled on the floor, shaking so hard it makes her look smaller than she already is, her arms wrapped around herself like she’s trying to hold her body together by sheer force of will. Her face is buried against her knees, but it does nothing to hide the damp streaks on her cheeks, the way her entire frame trembles with each shallow, uneven breath.

“Vi,” she whimpers, voice barely above a whisper, so weak, so desperate. “I tried to hold on but I couldn’t. Please—please do something.”

My chest pulls tight as I sink down onto the dusty lounge chair, reaching for her, pulling her into my lap, into my arms, where she belongs. Her body folds into me instantly, her fingers fisting into my shirt, her forehead pressing against my throat as she shudders. She’s burning up. Heat pours off her in waves, sinking into my skin, wrapping around me, suffocating. Her scent is everywhere, syrupy sweet and overwhelming, thick enough to drown me, thick enough to make my head spin.

This is so fucking bad and it’s the worst possible situation we could be in.

“It hurts,” she breathes against my neck, barely able to get the words out. “Vi, it hurts .”

I hold her tighter, my fingers stroking down her back, desperate to ground her, desperate to do something . “I know, baby,” I whisper, pressing a kiss to her hair, wishing it could be enough, hating that it isn’t. “I know.”

Her body jerks in my arms, writhing, desperate for something I can’t give her. Her breath stutters against my skin, her nails digging into my waist, her body arching like she’s trying to run from it, but there’s nowhere to go, nothing she can do.

I’m not sure how long I hold her, trying to find a solution. It’s going to be impossible running her past all those people in the gallery. If the wrong Alpha gets a whiff of her, I’ll have a fight on my hands. It was so fucking stupid bringing her with me but I didn’t see an alternative. Leaving her alone all day felt worse. Because as much as she says that she can’t bear it when we’re apart, I feel the same way.

It’s like a physical pain in my heart when we’re separated. I don’t know how to explain it. All I know is that it’s not normal.

“Violet?”

I glance up to see Lance standing just inside the room, his broad shoulders filling the space, blocking the only exit. His hands flex at his sides, nostrils flaring, his entire body wired as his gaze locks onto Sofie—at the way she’s clinging to me, at the way she’s falling apart right in front of him.

His voice is low, rough, barely restrained. “Let me help.”

I go still, caught between instinct and logic, between no and yes and fuck, I don’t know . He takes a step closer, slow, like he’s approaching something fragile, something on the verge of breaking. His brown eyes are dark but focused. There’s no ill-intent resting in them. “Violet, I don’t want anything from you.” His voice is different—earnest, desperate in a way I’ve never heard from him before. “We both know that you’re aware of who I am. I can see it in your expression but this has nothing to do with that. I just want her to be okay.”

Sofie shifts against me, her fingers gripping tighter, her breath coming in short, painful gasps. Lance swallows hard, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “Her cries are gutting me in a way I don’t understand, but watching her suffer like this?” His jaw clenches, his voice dropping even lower. “I can’t .”

My throat tightens, my stomach twisting as I look down at her, at the way her body trembles, at the tears slipping down her flushed cheeks. I was pretty sure Lance and Sofie were mates with how easily she melted against him the first time. But it wasn’t my place to bring it up. And as time passed, Sofie never said anything. I didn’t force it. Maybe it was selfish of me for that too.

And now I have a choice to make to ensure my Omega’s safety, her comfort, and her happiness. Fingers shaking, I brush damp strands of hair back from her face, pressing my lips to her temple, whispering, “Sof, baby, what do you want?”

She sniffles, lips trembling, breath catching as another wave crashes through her. “I—I just—” Her voice wobbles, tears clinging to her lashes as her body shudders, her small hands gripping at my chest like she’s begging for something she doesn’t know how to ask for. She lets out a tiny, wrecked sob, pressing her face into my neck. “I just want it to stop .”

There’s no choice here. Not really. I nod , once, barely more than a twitch of my chin. Lance is already moving. He drops onto the lounge beside me, his movements measured, but his eyes—his eyes are burning with something raw, something I can’t name.

I don’t stop him. Don’t pull Sofie back as he reaches for her. Don’t say a word as he lifts her into his lap like she belongs there, cradling her against his chest, handling her like something precious, something his . Sofie whimpers, her hands immediately curling into his shirt, her body instinctively pressing into his warmth, into the relief she knows he can give her.

Lance exhales, a slow, steady breath, his fingers stroking down her spine, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve got you, sweetheart.”

I swear my heart breaks just a little more as I step outside, closing the door behind me, the first of many tears falling down my cheeks.