The Pact Of Five

YOU'RE NOT SLEEPING

THE PACT OF FIVE

CHAPTER 16: YOU'RE NOT SLEEPING

The kitchen at Blackthorn Manor is a different world at 2 AM. The marble countertops gleam under the dim glow of the under-cabinet lights, the stainless steel appliances silent and still. The only sound is the soft hum of the refrigerator and the distant *tick-tick-tick* of the grandfather clock in the hallway. The scent of cinnamon and coffee lingers in the air from earlier in the evening, but it’s faded now, replaced by the sharp tang of the lemon I’ve been absentmindedly peeling at the island.

I should be in bed. I *know* I should be in bed. But every time I close my eyes, I see *them*—Knox’s dark eyes burning into me in the shower, Jax’s smirk as he left my bed, Micah’s tears in the library. And Cole... *Cole’s* guilt in the car. It’s a goddamn carousel of memories, and I can’t make it stop.

The lemon peel curls in my fingers, the citrus scent sharp and clean. I’ve been sitting here for what feels like hours, the cold stone of the island pressing against my bare thighs. I’m wearing one of Cole’s old t-shirts—it hangs off one shoulder, the fabric soft from years of wear—and a pair of tiny sleep shorts that leave little to the imagination. Not that there’s anyone here to see.

*Or so I thought.*

The soft *click* of the kitchen door opening sends a jolt through me. I freeze, my fingers tightening around the lemon. I don’t turn around. I don’t *breathe.* But I *know* it’s him. I can *feel* Zane’s presence like a cool breeze on a hot night, his scent—cedar and rain—cutting through the still air.

He doesn’t speak at first. Just *watches* me, his footsteps silent on the tile as he crosses the room. I can hear the soft *rustle* of fabric as he pulls out the stool beside me, the *creak* of the wood as he sits. His thigh brushes mine, the heat of him seeping through the thin fabric of my shorts.

"You're not sleeping."

His voice is rough, quiet. Not a question. A *statement.* And the way he says it—like he already *knows* the answer, like he’s been *waiting* for me—makes my chest *ache.*

I set the lemon down, my voice barely a whisper. "No."

He doesn’t push. Doesn’t *demand.* He just *sits* there, his shoulder pressing against mine, his presence a *comfort* and a *torture* all at once.

I take a shaky breath, my fingers tracing the grain of the marble. "I can't... I can't *stop* thinking about them."

His hand slides over mine, his fingers *lacing* with mine. His touch is *warm*, his grip *firm.* "About *us,* you mean."

I close my eyes, my voice breaking. "*Yes.*"

His thumb traces circles on the back of my hand, his voice a dark whisper. "What are you *afraid* of, Lena?"

I open my eyes, my gaze locking onto the lemon, the bright yellow a stark contrast to the dark kitchen. "*Everything.*"

He doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t *dismiss* me. He just *squeezes* my hand, his voice steady. "Tell me."

I take a deep breath, my voice a whisper. "I’m afraid of *choosing.* Of *losing* them. Of *losing* you." My throat tightens. "Of *breaking* everything."

His other hand slides to my nape, his fingers *tangling* in my hair. His touch is *possessive*, but his voice is *gentle.* "You won’t *break* us."

I let out a bitter laugh. "Won’t I? Look at us, Zane. We’re a *mess.* Jax doesn’t *care* about the pact. Knox is *obsessed.* Cole is *guilty.* Micah is... *Micah.*" I shake my head. "And you—"

His fingers *tighten* on my nape, his voice a growl. "*I* what?"

I meet his gaze, my eyes *burning.* "You’re the only one who *seems* sane. And that *terrifies* me the most."

His jaw *clenches.* For a second, I think he’s going to *argue.* To *deny* it. But then his expression *softens,* his voice a whisper. "I’m not *sane,* Lena. I’m just *better* at hiding it."

I close my eyes, my voice breaking. "*Zane...*"

His lips brush my forehead, his breath hot against my skin. "I *see* you, Lena. The *real* you. Not the omega. Not the *prized* possession. The girl who *reads* in the library. The girl who *cries* in the garden. The girl who *laughs* with Micah and *fights* with Jax and *kisses* Cole and *wants* Knox." His voice drops to a whisper. "The girl who *haunts* me."

I open my eyes, my heart *hammering.* And that’s when I see it—the *fear* in his eyes. The *vulnerability.* The *love.*

His hand slides to my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. "You think I don’t *want* you? That I don’t *ache* for you every *f*****g* night?" His voice is rough, raw. "I *do.* But I also *know* what’s at stake. And I won’t let you *destroy* us for a moment of *weakness.*"

I swallow hard, my voice a whisper. "*Even if it’s what I want?*"

His jaw *clenches,* his eyes *darkening.* "*Especially* if it’s what you want."

I pull back, my voice breaking. "*Why?*"

His fingers *tighten* on my chin, his voice a growl. "Because you’re *worth* more than a *moment,* Lena. You’re worth *everything.*"

And then he’s *standing,* pulling me up with him, his body *hard* and *warm* against mine. He doesn’t *kiss* me. Doesn’t *touch* me beyond that. He just *holds* me, his breath hot against my ear, his voice a dark promise.

"You’re *not* sleeping tonight," he murmurs. "But you *will.* And when you do, I’ll be *here.*"

I close my eyes, my voice a whisper. "*Zane...*"

His lips brush my ear, his voice a dark caress. "Now *come to bed, little shadow.* Before I *change* my mind."

And then he’s *leading* me out of the kitchen, his hand *firm* in mine, his presence a *comfort* and a *torture* all at once.

Because the *worst* part?

I *know* he’s right.

And I don’t know if I *want* him to change his mind.