Page 8 of Sweetheart: Part One

He was the one who spoke out about gold pack rights on TV even when no one else would.

“Christ, Ebony.” I didn’t like the tremor of nerves in Love’s voice, even when he was so clearly trying to sound calm. “Enough.”

“Why?” Ebony asked from behind me. “She’s here for me, isn’t she?”

“Let her go!”Love’s words were a command this time. As pack lead, it held a solid punch. I felt Ebony’s grip loosen, but he wouldn’t be compelled like I might be if it were directed at me.

“Risky,” Ebony murmured, his voice low and delighted. “Don’t want the bond to show wear and tear, do you?” he asked.

A pack lead could make an order, and Ebony could fight it—but if it happened often enough, the pack bond itself would sicken.

As if to make a point, Ebony’s hand squeezed tighter around my throat. A low whine slipped from my chest, my panic getting the better of me.

I wanted to go home.

It took me a moment to realise my mistake; the sound I’d made was a response more common in omegas than betas. I could feel my hormones like an underground torrent, trying to breach the powerful drugs I’d taken.

I saw, through my haze of terror and battle with tears, Drake and Rook exchange a glance. At my back, Ebony stiffened. Love’s eyes were now fixed on me, something wild of his own in them. His next words were a vicious snarl.

“Let. Her. Go!”

FOUR

Dear Ebony: you hated me the moment you met me.

LOVE

Everything was backwards.

Ebony was antagonistic at the best of times, but when it came to Sweethearts, his habits were as predictable as he was.

He liked them here for the week—someone new to torment for a little while. But if they made it that long, even he declined the contract when the week was up. It was a routine. He didn’t want them stuck with us, he just liked taunting us with the possibility of trapping another unsuspecting soul to this pack.

So that was how it went, every single time.

Except this one.

And it wasn’t just what he was doing, with his fist tight around her throat as he clutched her against his chest. It was her, too. I tried to shake the sound of her whimper of fear, but it echoed in my mind, bouncing around endlessly.

She was unexpectedly captivating.

I’d written Sweethearts off long ago, just like I’d written off any ideas of a real relationship. Not just because of Ebony, but I became famous too young, and there hadn’t been many outside of this pack who wanted me for who I was. Sweethearts often came from families just well-off enough to raise spoiled brats, but poor enough to be desperate for fame. They were everything that made me weary.

But this one was different, and I couldn’t quite put my finger on why.

She had chocolate brown eyes—large and doe-like as she stared at us desperately. She was clearly warring with herself not to cry, her lip quivering slightly. She had light freckles, rosy cheeks, and her nose had a cute curve to it. Her face was pretty and heart-shaped, and she had dark, silvery hair with a streak of peach at the front. She was tiny, beside Ebony, whose six foot five frame made her seem far too small. The top of her head barely reached his clavicle, and his hand might be able to circle her neck entirely.

I couldn’t explain it, but she was something precious, I knew that truth down to my marrow. She was precious, and so very breakable beside him.

As if feeling the same, Rook took a step forward.

Ebony shifted back, dragging her with him. She scrabbled at his hands, and the next choked sound of distress from her pierced right down to what made me an alpha.

I could feel it from Ebony, too. His grip on the bond was shaky, and the sound the Sweetheart made sent a bolt of shock through him as well.

Nothingshook Ebony.

He was a fucking fortress at its boiling point, his darkness threatening to explode into a million vicious pieces at any given time. That, or he was perfectly silent in the bond—and he leaned on it sometimes, blowing it wide open so that we knew that quietwashim, and not his absence.

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