Page 21 of Psycho Alphas: Part One

Holy shit Bunny. Hedoeswant me.

No Alpha had ever spoken to me in that way.

Dan and his pack were cruel, their words laced with hatred and viciousness, designed to make sure I never felt good enough. This didn’t feel like that—not at all.

He grinned at my stunned expression.

“You’re going to be so good at treating me, aren’t you, Little Doll?”

I nodded, feeling his hand shift. He pressed his fingers into my mouth, and I parted my lips on instinct, dropping my grip on Bunny as I curled my fists in his shirt, eyes wide as I held his.

He pushed them deep and held them long enough that my eyes watered, but I didn’t look away. I wanted him to want me—to know I belonged to him.

That was until I tasted the faint tang of iron on my tongue, right as he drew his fingers out, letting me catch my breath.

It wasn’t the blood that shocked me—he’d wiped his hands on tissues earlier, but his wounds were still cracked open. Instead, it was how it drew my attention to the wounds.

Something was… wrong.

I didn’t break my gaze and tried to hide it all from my face as he leaned forward and brushed his lips along my jaw. Even with all my senses on high alert, the touch made me shiver.

To my relief, he seemed content to wait until the drive was over for anything else. I sank into his arms again, this time focusing on the blood.

A cut.

An open wound.

And something faint came with it… It took me a long time to place it, to realise that an open wound might bypass the effects of a scent-dampening spray.

And through it came the scent of ink and antique wood. An Alpha’s scent; shockingly serene and beautiful.

But… not mine.

Told you…

I squeezed my eyes shut.

Told you not to get your hopes up, you idiot.

Too late. I was already in free fall. Brief, boundless dreams unravelling in moments. Because he was lying to me, and that meant none of this was real. Not what he’d said—even this touch… It was a trick, one I couldn’t trust at all.

I can’t fail at this again.

But…

I clenched my jaw, trying to hold it together and not let a miserable sob come from my chest, because there was nothing fixed about me at all. He was pretending.

No, no, no.

We’ve gotta hold on, Bunny.

The scent of honied bourbonwasreal.

And that meant even if Knox Wildewasn’tmy scent match, he knew who was.

FIVE

KNOX

---