THE ALPHA'S DEADLY ADDICTION

Chapter 7: Brothers In Blood

Jason’s pov

The ice pack was doing f**k-all for my cheekbone.

I pressed it harder against my face anyway, wincing at the sting, and tried to focus on what Creed was saying instead of the way Angel had felt in my arms over three hours ago. My hands, my clothes, everything still smelled like her. She smelled so sweet. Sweeter than I could have ever imagined. Like f*****g cookies and cream. f**k, I shouldn’t have let her go.

"—pulled me out of the anniversary dinner with my wife." My brother's voice cut through my haze, sharp and seething. "Do you have any idea how f*****g frustrating all of this is, Jason? Of all the f*****g days!”

"Mmm," I said, non-committal, my mind still replaying the sounds Angel had made when she came.

"Are you even listening to me?" Creed snapped. "Do you have any idea what could have happened if they'd decided to make an example of you?"

"Jason." Creed's hand slammed down on the kitchen counter, making the ice in my drink rattle.

I blinked and looked up at him properly for the first time since he'd started his lecture.

Creed Talaverra, my brother—technically my half-brother, though we'd never used the "half" part—stood on the other side of the kitchen island with his arms crossed and bloody murder in his black eyes. Where I'd inherited my father’s blonde hair and blue eyes, Creed got his father’s dark intensity: black hair, black eyes, a face that could have been carved from granite. He looked like the kind of man who'd gut you for looking at him wrong.

Mostly because he was that kind of man.

Back home, Creed was one of the most feared figures in our territory. He'd single-handedly brought the entire black market under his control during the deadly spread of bloodrose—a drug that had been tearing through our community like wildfire. Where our fathers preferred political maneuvering and our mother preferred diplomacy, Creed preferred a more... direct approach.

And right now, that direct approach was focused entirely on me.

"You're lucky you escaped with just a beating and a warning," he continued, his voice dropping into that dangerous tone that made lesser wolves submit on instinct. "They could have killed you. Should have killed you, honestly, for the disrespect of walking into their territory like you owned the place."

I adjusted the ice pack, my expression sobering slightly.

"And you’re even lucky I was the one who got the call. Because when mother finds out about this—when they ALL find out abou this," Creed went on, his frustration barely contained, "they are going to lose their minds. Do you understand that?" He stopped, his jaw working. "Did you even think about what would happen to the girl? Or were you too busy thinking with your d**k to consider the consequences for her?"

That got my full attention.

I set down the ice pack and met his eyes directly. "I would never put Angel in harm's way."

"Really? Because from where I'm standing—"

"She's Aleksander's favourite," I cut him off, my voice firm. "He sees her like the daughter he never had. As long as he runs that club, she's protected. He won't let anything happen to her." I leaned back against the counter. "I wouldn't have gone near that place if there was a chance it would put her at risk."

"Because what? You just had to see her?" There was something almost mocking in his tone now.

"Yes." I didn't flinch from his gaze.

"You're too naive. Too impulsive. This isn't like back home where the world is your oyster. You were supposed to clean up your act!"

“All semester, I've been squeaky clean and the one time s**t happens–”

“One time that could have cost you your life! You risked everything! Our family's standing, a potential war, your own life! For what?" His expression turned cold. "For a piece of ass."

The air in the room changed instantly.

I set down the ice pack very carefully and straightened, meeting Creed's eyes with a look that wiped the irritation off his face and replaced it with firm alertness.

"Her name," I said quietly, my voice dropping several degrees, "is Angel. Angel Steele."

The temperature in the room plummeted.

Creed's eyes narrowed at my steely voice.

"I thought you, of all people, would have the decency to respect her." I kept my voice level, controlled, even as fury simmered just beneath my skin. "Considering she and Cora are cut from the same cloth."

It was a low blow, and I knew it.

Creed's wife, Coralie, had been a captive when they met—a siren held prisoner by some of the worst scum in Shadow Cove's underworld. They'd used her, made her perform, made her service men who paid enough. It had taken Creed months to dismantle that operation, to burn it to the ground and everyone involved with it.

He'd married Cora within a year of freeing her.

So yeah. He of all people should understand.

But instead of softening, Creed's expression hardened into something cold and ugly.

"No," he said flatly. "Her name is Anzhela Zhakarov. A stupid girl with daddy issues who decided to sell her body to the Konstantins instead of getting a real job and paying off her debts like a responsible adult." He leaned forward, his voice cutting. "I don't care if she's your hyperfixation for the week, get your s**t together and never compare her to Cora ever again."

Something in me snapped.

My hand tightened on the edge of the marble countertop, and I heard the c***k before I felt it—the stone breaking under the pressure of my grip like it was made of chalk instead of solid rock.

Creed's eyes dropped to my hand, then back to my face.

"The only reason," I said very, very softly, "that you still have your head attached to your shoulders right now is because you're my brother." I released the shattered counter and stepped back, my wolf pressing against my skin, demanding violence. "But if you ever speak about her like that again, I will forget that fact.”

The air between us crackled with tension.

Two alphas. Two dominant personalities who'd never backed down from anything in their lives.

Neither of us moved.

Creed stared at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable.

“You're serious about her.”

Silence.

Slowly, he straightened.

"I see I'm not going to get through to you," he said, his voice carefully neutral now. "Not tonight, anyway. We'll table this conversation for when you're thinking with your head instead of your dick."

He headed for the door.

"You're making a mistake," he said over his shoulder. "And when it blows up in your face—and it will—don't say I didn't warn you."

Then he was gone, the door closing behind him with a quiet click that felt louder than a slam.

I stood there in my kitchen, surrounded by shattered marble and melting ice, my entire body vibrating with barely contained rage.

It rattled inside me like a wild beast inside a flimsy cage.

I wanted to punch something. Break something. Hunt down something and tear them apart with my bare hands.

The need to coat my hands in blood was overriding my common sense, tiptoeing the edge of madness.

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

I pulled it out, ready to ignore whatever it was, and then I saw the name on the screen.

Angel: hey

Just that. One word. Lower case. No punctuation.

And just like that, the fury drained out of me like someone had pulled a plug.

I stared at the message for a long moment, a stupid smile spreading across my face despite everything. Despite Creed's warning, despite the black eye throbbing under my skin, despite the fact that I'd nearly gotten killed tonight for touching her.

None of it mattered.

Because she'd texted me.

Which meant she was thinking about me.

Which meant whatever had happened between us tonight hadn't just been in my head.

I stared at the message for a long moment, a stupid smile spreading across my face despite everything.

Me: Hi

Me: Are you okay?

Three dots appeared immediately, and my heart did something complicated in my chest.

Angel: yeah

Angel: you?

I glanced at the shattered counter, the melted ice pack, the probably spectacular bruise forming on my face.

Me: never better.

Sasha and I had come to an understanding

That was... generous. "Understanding" was a nice way of saying Sasha had threatened to mount my head on a spike if I ever stepped foot in the Scarlet District again, and I'd told him he was welcome to try.

Then Viktor and two other guys had "escorted" me out through the back, where they'd made it very clear-with their silver knucklebraced fists- that the Beauregard name wouldn't protect me if I came back.

Hence the black eye.

Feeling courageous, I continued.

Me: I'd feel a lot better if I had you in my arms right now

I hit send before I could second-guess it.

Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.

Then nothing.

I stared at my phone, waiting for her response, my heart doing something complicated in my chest.

A minute passed.

Then two.

Maybe I'd been too forward. Maybe I'd scared her off. Maybe—

The doorbell rang.

My head snapped up, and for one wild, ridiculous second, I thought—

Angel.

She'd come here. She'd actually come to check on me.

It didn’t occur to me to think of the mechanics of things, like how she knew where I lived or why she'd decide to be at my beck and call. I was halfway to the door before my brain caught up with my body, my pulse racing, that stupid smile back on my face as I yanked the door open.

"Angel, I—"

Reid stood on my doorstep, one hand raised like he'd been about to knock again, an easy grin on his face.

"Hey, man," he said, his smile faltering slightly when he saw my expression. "You good? You look like you just saw a ghost."

I blinked, reality crashing back in.

Not Angel.

Just Reid.

We were friends. Teammates on the hockey team.

"Yeah," I said, forcing my disappointment down and stepping back to let him in. "Yeah, I'm fine. What's up?"