THE PACT
1906 Words
CHAPTER 2: THE PACT**
I don’t sleep that night.
How the *fuck* am I supposed to? Every time I close my eyes, I see Knox’s dark gaze, feel his breath on my neck, hear his voice rough in my ear like a *goddamn* promise. And the worst part? My body’s still *thrumming* from it—my skin too hot, my core too *empty,* my mind too full of *them.*
So when I hear the low murmur of voices outside my door at *f*****g* 2 AM, I’m already wide awake. Already *listening.*
I shouldn’t eavesdrop. I *know* I shouldn’t. But the way Knox said *thirty days* like it was a countdown to my *ruin*? Yeah. I need to know what the *hell* is going on.
I creep to the door, pressing my ear against the wood. The voices are hushed, urgent.
*"We can’t keep doing this,"* Cole’s voice is tight, like he’s barely holding himself together. *"She’s *f*****g* killing me."*
Jax lets out a rough laugh. *"You’re not the only one, man. The way she looked at me tonight? Like she *wanted* me to touch her. Like she *needed* it."*
My breath catches. *f**k.* They’re talking about *me.*
*"The pact’s the only thing keeping us from tearing each other apart,"* Zane’s voice is quiet, but there’s a *edge* to it. *"And from *hurting* her."*
Micah scoffs. *"Or from *fucking* her senseless. Let’s be real."*
A growl rumbles through the hallway—Knox. *"Enough."* His voice is a whip-crack. *"The pact stands. Touch her before her birthday, you’re *out.* No exceptions."*
My stomach *drops.* *Out?* What the *hell* does that mean?
*"You’re serious?"* Jax sounds *pissed.* *"After all this time? After *wanting* her for *years?* You’re telling me if I so much as *kiss* her, I have to walk away? Forever?"*
*"Yes,"* Knox snarls. *"That’s exactly what I’m telling you."*
A beat of silence. Then Cole, voice raw: *"And after?"*
The question hangs in the air, heavy with *promise.*
Knox’s answer is a dark chuckle. *"After? All bets are *off.*"*
My knees *buckle.* I have to press my hand to my mouth to stifle the gasp. *All bets are off.* That’s not a threat. That’s a *f*****g* promise.
I should step back. Should *run.* But I’m frozen, my heart hammering, my mind *racing.* They’ve been *wanting* me for *years?* They have a *pact* about me? And in twenty-nine days, it *ends?*
The hallway goes quiet, and I realize they’re *moving.* s**t. I scramble back, but my foot catches on the rug, and I *stumble*—right into the *f*****g* doorframe.
The wood *creaks.*
Silence.
Then—
*"Lena?"* Cole’s voice is low, *knowing.*
*Fuck. f**k. Fuck.*
I don’t have time to react. The door swings open, and there he is—Cole, all golden hair and green eyes and *sin,* filling the doorway like a *goddamn* wall. His gaze locks onto me, dark with *realization.*
*"You heard,"* he says. Not a question. A *statement.*
I lift my chin, even though my hands are *shaking.* *"Heard what?"*
His jaw tightens. *"Don’t play dumb, little omega."* And then he’s *moving,* stepping into my room, shutting the door behind him with a quiet *click.*
My back hits the wall. *"Cole—"*
*"Shh."* His finger presses to my lips, his eyes *burning* into me. *"You *know* what you heard."*
I *do.* And the *worst* part? I’m not *mad.* I’m *wet.* My panties are *soaked,* my body *aching* with the need to know *more.* To feel *more.*
His thumb traces my bottom lip, and I *whimper.* *"Cole, we can’t—"*
*"I know."* His voice is a growl. *"The pact. The *f*****g* rules."* But his hand doesn’t move. His body doesn’t *pull away.* If anything, he *leans in,* his chest pressing against mine, his heat *searing* through my thin nightgown. *"But *f**k,* Lena. Do you have any idea what you do to me?"*
I *do.* Because I can *feel* it—the hard ridge of his cock pressing against my stomach, the way his breath hitches when I *arch* into him. The way his eyes *darken* when I lick my lips.
*"Cole,"* I whisper, but it’s not a protest. It’s a *plea.*
His other hand slides into my hair, tilting my head back. *"Tell me to stop,"* he murmurs, his lips a *breath* from mine. *"Tell me to *walk away.*"*
I *should.* I *know* I should. But the words *die* in my throat.
Because the truth is, I *don’t* want him to stop.
And that makes me the *worst* kind of *slut.* Or the *best* kind of *omega.*
His mouth crashes onto mine, *hard* and *hungry,* and I *moan* into him, my hands flying to his chest, my body *melting* against the wall. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, *claiming* me, *owning* me, and *f**k,* it’s *everything* I’ve ever *fantasized* about and *more.*
His hands are *everywhere*—my waist, my thighs, my *breasts*—and I’m *gasping,* my nails digging into his shoulders, my body *aching* for *more.* For *him.* For *all* of them.
*"f**k, Lena,"* he growls against my lips, his hand sliding up my thigh, his fingers *teasing* the edge of my panties. *"You’re *soaking* for me."*
I *whimper,* my hips *bucking* into his touch. *"Cole—"*
And then—
*"What the *f**k* is this?"*
Knox’s voice is a *whip-crack,* and we *freeze.*
Cole tears his lips from mine, his chest heaving, his eyes *wild.* And when I look past him, there they are—Jax, Zane, Micah, and *Knox,* all standing in the hallway, their expressions a mix of *rage* and *hunger* and *betrayal.*
Knox’s gaze locks onto Cole’s hand on my thigh, and his jaw *clenches* so hard I’m surprised his teeth don’t *shatter.* *"The *pact,* Cole. *Remember?* Touch her, you’re *out.*"*
Cole’s grip on me *tightens,* like he’s *daring* Knox to make him let go. *"I *remember.*"*
The air is *thick* with tension, with *fury,* with *need.* And I’m *trapped* between them, my body *on fire,* my mind *screaming.*
Because the *worst* part?
I *don’t* want Cole to let go.
And I *sure as hell* don’t want Knox to make him.
And in twenty-nine days, I won’t *have* to choose.
Because the pact will be *dead.*
And the *war* will begin.
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