Page 27 of The Forgery Mate (Taken by His Alpha #6)

L ight spears through my closed eyelids, dragging me from a deep sleep. A bitter, cottony taste fills my mouth, and my skull throbs with each beat of my heart.

The whiskey. Ezra’s expensive whiskey that I drank too much of while he stayed frustratingly sober.

I groan and shift, soft sheets rubbing over my bare skin, trying to escape both the light and the knowledge I’m still in his bed.

Memories from last night flicker through my mind, confessions I made while not having to look at him, hands mapping my skin to distract me while I spilled truths I never intended to share.

I squeeze my eyes tighter, fighting both the hangover and the vulnerability of knowing I’ve given too much of myself away.

The bed dips as I roll onto my side, burying my face in a pillow saturated in Ezra’s pheromones. The scent sends heat coiling through my stomach despite the pounding in my head, and I reach up to rub my neck in a futile attempt to massage away bone-deep tension.

My fingers encounter cold and unfamiliar metal that hugs my nape.

My eyes snap open, hangover forgotten as I trace the contours of a collar locked around my throat. Panic surges through me, awake now as I scramble to sit up, sheets tangling around my legs.

“What the fuck?” I claw at the solid band, fingers searching for a clasp, a seam, anything that might release it.

The nape guard sits flush on my skin, covering the sensitive scent gland at the back of my neck where an Alpha’s bite would leave a mating Mark. It’s not tight enough to choke, but snug enough to make its presence known.

“Morning.”

The greeting cuts through my panic, and my head whips toward it to find Ezra standing in the doorway to his closet, dressed in low-slung sweatpants, his chest bare. His expression is neutral as he tracks my movements.

“What did you do to me?” I spit the words, still fumbling with the collar.

Ezra crosses the room, barefoot and silent on the hardwood floor. “It’s a nape guard.” He stops at the foot of the bed. “Custom-made. And the key is stored somewhere else right now, biometrically coded to only work with my fingerprints.”

“Take it off.” I try to sound steady, but fear and anger bleed through.

He tilts his head, studying me. “No.”

The single syllable lands between us, heavy with finality.

My heart pounds hard, a caged animal sensing danger. “You put a fucking collar on me while I was unconscious?”

The betrayal cuts deeper than I want to admit. Last night, I let myself believe we could build something real, and now this.

“I’m not risking you getting Marked by another Alpha before I can get my teeth into you.” He delivers this explanation with such matter-of-fact confidence that it takes a moment for the meaning to sink in.

“You’re insane.” I gather the sheets around my naked body to put a flimsy barrier between us. “I’m not your property.”

“Aren’t you?” Ezra steps closer, one knee rising to dent the mattress. “You came back, Ren. You always come back.”

“This is illegal.” My fingers move over the smooth metal band in search of any weakness.

“It’s protection.” He leans forward, weight shifting onto the bed. “How many Alphas have you let close over the years, playing your games? How many almost got their teeth into you before you disappeared?”

None. The answer sticks in my throat. In all my years of deception, I’ve never let anyone close enough to risk a Mark. No one except Ezra.

“Take it off,” I repeat, hating how shaken I sound.

“I was crazy to ever let you out of my sight before.” He moves closer, and I scramble away until my back meets the headboard. “I won’t make the same mistake a third time.”

“You can’t collar someone without their consent.” I tug at the nape guard again, fingers slipping on the smooth metal.

“I can when that someone has a habit of vanishing the moment things get real.” His hand reaches out, not touching me but hovering close enough for the heat radiating from his skin to seep into me. “Twice, Ren. You’ve walked away from me twice already.”

A charge fills the air between us, urging me to move forward, to close the distance and put myself back in his hold. It would be so easy to become the man Ezra needs, to paint myself over into a new person.

Instead, I clutch the sheets tighter, aware of my nakedness beneath the thin cotton, of my vulnerability in this space where Ezra holds all the power.

“Why don’t you freshen up?” he suggests, his focus unwavering. “There’s a new toothbrush in the bathroom. Towels in the cabinet.”

The abrupt shift throws me off-balance, this mundane offer of hospitality clashing with the reality of the collar around my neck.

“You think I’m going to go about my morning routine with this thing on?” I gesture at my neck, incredulous.

“I think you need time to process.” He stands to put distance between us, but a slight tension in his stance belies the victory of this moment.

For all his possessive actions, Ezra isn’t entirely certain of what comes next. He’s caught me, caged me, but now what?

“Bathroom’s through there.” He points toward the door on the far wall. “Take your time.”

He turns to leave, his back a canvas of tattoos and lean muscle that I could trace from memory.

I scoop my pants from the floor where Ezra tossed them last night, yanking them on with jerky movements. The fabric sticks to my skin, yesterday’s sweat and today’s anxiety making the expensive wool cling in all the wrong places.

I leave the rest of Professor Knox’s outfit where it lies and pad barefoot to the bathroom, desperate for some barrier between Ezra and me. The door closes with a false sense of safety, and I lean on it, the cool wood pressed to my bare back, trying to find my center in a world tilted off its axis.

The bathroom is a testament to Ezra’s expensive preferences, all sleek lines and luxury.

White marble gleams under recessed lighting, chrome fixtures reflecting my distorted image from every angle.

Despite its opulence, the space holds a clinical quality to it, with products arranged in perfect rows on glass shelves, expensive lotions and oils I recognize from our time together, each bottle aligned, labels facing outward.

Everything in its place. Everything controlled.

My fingers find the light switch, and I squint as brightness floods the room. The hangover I forgot in my panic comes rushing back, my temples throbbing. I find a glass by the sink, fill it from the tap, and drink in desperate gulps, cold water dribbling down my chin in my haste.

On the counter sits a toothbrush, still in its packaging, placed where a guest would look for it. The sight of it irritates me, this evidence that Ezra planned for my morning after, expected my presence in his space.

I tear open the plastic with more force than necessary, the wrapper crinkling too loudly in the quiet bathroom.

The mint of toothpaste cuts through the stale remains of whiskey and sleep. I brush with furious strokes, foam gathering at the corners of my mouth as I study my reflection. Without Knox’s glasses, without Lorenzo’s swagger or Tobias’s careful invisibility, I look exactly like what I am.

An Omega caught in an Alpha’s trap.

I spit and splash cold water across my face, shocking away the last vestiges of sleep.

I blink droplets from my lashes and force myself to examine what Ezra has done to me.

The nape guard wraps around my neck in a band of brushed titanium about an inch wide.

It expands at the back, protecting my most vulnerable spot as an Omega.

I turn my head, angling for a better view in the mirror. No visible seam, no keyhole, no obvious mechanism for removal. Only smooth metal with a subtle inlay of what might be circuit boards beneath the surface. Biometric, Ezra said. Coded to open for him alone.

My fingers investigate its contours, testing for any give, any weakness, and find none. The guard is a perfect circle of captivity, as elegant and unyielding as the man who placed it there.

“Fuck,” I whisper to my reflection.

I sink onto the edge of the bathtub, head dropping into my hands.

What was I thinking coming to the gallery opening?

I should have thrown away the invitation the moment Aaiden handed it to me.

Should have packed up Tobias Crane’s meager possessions and disappeared to another city, another country, another life.

Instead, I walked right into Ezra’s trap, my feet carrying me toward him as if my body recognized its home even when my mind knew better.

And now this collar, a claim staked before I had the chance to run again.

It was supposed to be over. I made the decision to leave him behind. Why didn’t I call Rockford Manor with the information about Jade? I didn’t have to go there in person. But if I’m being honest, I had taken the excuse for one last chance to see Ezra again under the guise of doing the right thing.

I delivered myself on a silver platter, desperate to be consumed, and the irony burns, an uncomfortable heat that spreads outward with each breath.

The door swings open without a knock, and my head snaps up. Anger surges, an instinctive reaction to the only sliver of privacy I’ve been granted being taken, just when I needed it to silence the chaos in my head.

Ezra stands in the doorway, still shirtless, sweatpants riding low on his narrow hips.

In his hands, he cradles a mug that steams in the cool bathroom air.

The scent reaches me before he does, coffee with cinnamon and cream.

The perfect ratio that I never told him I liked, but he took note of anyway, cataloging my preferences to retrieve when needed.

In the brighter light of the bathroom, I see the shadows beneath his eyes, the slight pallor beneath his golden skin. He hasn’t slept. While I passed out from whiskey and orgasms, Ezra stayed awake. The realization sends an unexpected pang through my chest.

His bare feet are silent on marble tiles as he crosses to me and extends the mug.