Page 87 of The Alpha Under My Bed

Claudia straightened, reaching into her pocket with a smooth, practiced motion. She pulled out a small vial—glass, delicate, filled with liquid. The color was a light gold, almost glowing, and the texture of it seemed thicker than anything that should have been in a tiny bottle like that.

My throat went dry as the reality of what she was holding settled in.

No.

No, no, no.

Claudia twirled the vial between her fingers, watching it catch the light. “You know, I spent years perfecting scents. I can make a beta smell sweet like an omega.” She sighed, lifting the vial higher, admiring it. “But this? This is the last missing piece. With you, I can make alphasbelievethat a beta is an omega.”

My blood turned to ice.

I struggled, twisting against the bonds, but my limbs were still weak—still too fucking slow.

Claudia gave me a mocking pout. “Oh, don’t struggle, sweetheart. You’ll just waste your energy.”

I bared my teeth, snarling. “You can’t bottle fucking pheromones.”

Her eyes gleamed. “Not yet.”

Pure, suffocating horror choked me.

She leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper, like she was letting me in on a secret. “But don’t worry. We have time to figure it out.”

The world spun.

The humming bond inside me reacted—flaring, snarling. Mal. His fury coiled hot and sharp through the connection, but he was too fucking far.

I was alone.

And Claudia wasn’t done.

She turned, striding toward a tray of gleaming tools. Needles. Syringes. A scalpel. A fucking IV drip.

My stomach lurched.

“You see, sweetheart,” she went on, too casual, too light, like we were just having a normal fucking conversation. “Your body is… unique. I had all these test samples, all these theories, but synthetic pheromones? They never worked quite right.”

She turned back to me, her smile sharp. “But you? You’re the real deal.”

I yanked at the restraints so hard my wrists burned.

“I’ll fucking kill you,” I spat, breath ragged, my entire body shaking. “I swear to fucking God?—”

Claudia sighed, pressing a hand to her chest like I had wounded her. “Ellie, Ellie, Ellie,” she tsked. “You keep acting like you have a choice.”

I clenched my teeth, every muscle in my body screaming for me to move. To fight. To do anything.

She smiled, slow and triumphant. “But you’re already mine.”

And then?—

The needle sank into my skin.

Heat slithered through my veins, coiling at the base of my spine, unfurling low in my belly like an ember catching fire. My limbs felt heavy, my skin too sensitive, my breath coming in slow, uneven gasps. Something was wrong. So fucking wrong.

My head lolled to the side, my cheek pressing against cool, slick vinyl. Sweat dampened my skin. I was hot. Too hot. My body hummed with something I didn’t understand, something I couldn’t fucking fight. I tried to move, to breathe, to do something—but nothing responded the way it should have.

The restraints were gone.

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