Dalia slammed her door so hard the sound echoed down the hall. I stood just outside, arms crossed, listening to the rhythm of her rage. Drawers opened too hard, a suitcase thrown, something sharp hit the floor.
I knocked anyway.
"Not now," she snapped.
I opened the door anyway.
She sat on the edge of the bed, knees angled wide for balance, body tense. Clothes were scattered around her in uneven piles. The suitcase hadn't made it past the foot of the bed. Her breathing was nearing hyperventilation, and I swore Corey shifted at the rise of tension again. Every time one of us cracked, she kicked harder. Like he was tracking the emotional charge in the room. I couldn't blame her. The pressure radiating off Dalia was almost suffocating.
Shade lived in this energy daily. Alpha pressure, pa
