Chapter 13: Amelia, I want

Liam blinked, for a few seconds, he just stared at her, before clearing his throat. “No. That’s not what I meant.”

What he wanted to say was you matter to me.

“I was joking,” Amelia said quickly, brushing her wind-blown hair back with a flick of her fingers. “Don’t take it seriously.”

Liam nodded, his expression still calm.

But beneath the blanket, out of her sight, his hand was curled tightly into a fist.

After a few more exchanged words, Liam left.

Amelia remained at the door, standing quietly in the wind. Her mind wandered until something soft brushed against the back of her hand.

Audrey had walked over without her noticing. She was toying absentmindedly with her curly hair, and the little bell bracelet on her wrist jingled softly—its clear chime especially distinct in the stillness of the night.

“Sis… are you really going to get engaged to him?”

Amelia turned slightly. “Why are you asking me that?”

Audrey walked over and snapped her fingers. The dog, who had been sitting loyally by Amelia’s side, perked up and padded over to her.

Crouching down to stroke the fluffy fur beneath the dog’s neck, Audrey said, “There’s a story in his eyes.”

As a novelist, she couldn’t help but try to read people—unpack their lives from a glance, a glance that told her more than words ever could.

The moment she saw Liam, she knew. He was not a kind man without shadows.

“I know,” Amelia said.

“Sis, if you don’t actually like him… Mom, Dad, Grandpa—they won’t force you.”

Amelia smiled. “I don’t dislike him.”

Audrey looked up sharply. “Is that just because of his face?”

“Mhm. He checks all the boxes for me, visually. You can’t deny he’s handsome,” Amelia said as she reached out and ruffled Audrey’s curls, like teasing a dog.

Audrey swatted her hand away, sidestepping. “Ugh.”

Their dog darted ahead excitedly, tail wagging. The two sisters followed, laughter trailing behind them. Under the streetlights, their shadows stretched long across the path.

“Aren’t you worried he’s hiding something?” Audrey asked.

“I am,” Amelia answered honestly.

Audrey walked a few steps ahead, then turned back around, her voice firmer now. “I’ll protect you, Sis.”

Amelia nodded. “Our little Audrey has grown up.”

“We’re literally the same age,” Audrey said, stepping in front of her and blocking her path.

“What now?”

“Hug me,” Audrey said, holding her arms wide. As she moved, the little pendants on her sweater jingled again.

It had always been like this. Every time Audrey came back from a trip, or Amelia returned from military leave, they hugged like this—like nothing had changed.

“Just said you’ve grown up.” Even as she teased, Amelia stepped forward and wrapped her sister in a warm embrace.

“You’ve gotten thinner,” she murmured.

“You too.” Audrey pinched her shoulder lightly. “You need to eat more.”

From just outside the entryway, Grandpa August watched them with quiet satisfaction.

Seeing the two of them like that, even the dogs seemed delighted, wagging their tails, circling around their feet with joy.

On the guest room balcony above, Maverick stood silently, swallowed by the shadows. He had never known what family warmth felt like—never dared to even imagine it.

One glance was enough. He turned away and stepped back inside.

The moment in the yard didn’t last long.

“Ugh, gross! You got mud all over my clothes,” Audrey grimaced as she pulled away.

“You hugged me first, don’t blame me!”

They started bickering again, their words fast and familiar, the dog barking right along with them.

Watching the overexcited pup join in made them both laugh, genuinely and loud.

On the walk back, Amelia fell a step behind. In a rare, quiet voice, she said, “I’m not afraid of what Liam might do. I’m afraid of what I might do.”

Audrey turned back, flashing a smile. “A grandmother I met on this last trip told me: ‘Love makes people brave.’ Now I’m passing that along to you.”

Love makes people brave.

Amelia turned the words over in her mind. But this doesn’t feel like love. Not yet.

What she felt for Liam was mostly a mix of curiosity and sympathy—and, if she was being honest, a strong attraction to his looks.

As for the pheromone compatibility everyone made such a big deal about… it hadn’t really hit her that hard.

Audrey walked up behind her and hooked an arm around Amelia’s shoulder, tiptoeing to reach. “Yeah, my brave sister should always stay brave.” At that moment, she sounded like a therapist. “But don’t be like Tyson, okay? I’ve got tons of experience—want me to teach you a thing or two?”

“Your experience is all secondhand. Book smut doesn’t count in the real world.” Amelia gently shrugged her shoulder free and kept walking. “I’m me. Liam is Liam. Tyson is Tyson.”

Before Audrey could press further, Amelia had already walked off with the dog trotting beside her.

Audrey stayed in place, her gaze lingering on her sister’s retreating back. In her mind, Liam’s face surfaced—the man in the wheelchair not long ago. There was a warm smile on his lips, but his eyes... his eyes were pitch dark. In that fleeting moment, his expression had been perfect. Too perfect. And perfection like that always meant something....

......

Elsewhere, in a private viewing box at the underground boxing ring, Liam sat silently behind the glass, watching the chaos below. The two men in the ring were barely recognizable, their faces painted in blood.

The crowd had no sympathy—only bloodlust. Every fresh hit brought screams, whistles, and roars of approval.

But inside the box, everything was deathly still.

Behind him, an alpha’s voice broke the silence. “Do you want to move now?”

Liam didn’t respond right away. He watched the ring for another moment, then slowly turned. His posture was straight, effortless, exuding the quiet authority of someone who didn’t need to prove anything. He walked to the couch and sat down, legs crossed lazily.

“Lucas,” he said, voice low, “some things can’t be rushed.”

Lucas nodded. “Understood. I’ll handle it.”

Liam swirled the glass in his hand. The amber whiskey inside caught the low light, casting shadows over his knuckles. “The hospitals?”

“Ravensdale and Kensington are locked down, but our people are already inside.”

“Good. Don’t let them die yet. They’ll be useful later.”

Another nod.

Liam set the glass down with a quiet clink, eyes drifting to the massive French windows. Outside, the crowd swarmed the ring like hyenas, and the two alphas inside fought like feral animals—bloodthirsty, unhinged.

The door clicked open behind him, then shut again. He was alone now.

He poured himself another drink. The burn of the liquor scraped down his throat, dragging him away from the violence outside.

Underground fights happened here every night. Wins and losses, broken bones, broken egos. After seeing too much of it, it all started to blur together. Numbness set in like rot.

Half a bottle disappeared without him noticing.

And with the alcohol dulling his senses, the thing he’d been trying to suppress all night began to claw its way up.

He reached up, his fingers chilled by the ice in his glass, and pressed them lightly to the back of his neck—right where the gland throbbed beneath the skin.

He’d torn off the suppression patch after leaving the Langley estate. It had started itching again. A familiar discomfort.

Now, exposed to the air, his glands released a sharp, earthy scent—green hazelnut, bitter and clean—mingling with the rich smell of whiskey. The mix clung to every inch of the room.

He didn’t have to look to know how it must appear.

Scarred. Twisted. Useless. Ugly.

His fingertips brushed the damaged skin. And with that touch came memories he’d shoved so far down he thought they’d stay buried forever.

The pressure built, heavier by the second. Even after taking the suppressant pills from the drawer, the tension in his chest only grew—pressing, clawing, consuming.

He curled up on the couch, burying his face in a pillow.

But the onset of susceptibility didn’t give a damn. It hit hard and fast.

First came the burning. Then the sharp sting that crawled across his whole body. Every nerve lit up like fire. Then it sank into his bones, into his blood, into the black pit of his thoughts.

A voice slithered out from the back of his mind—his own voice, only darker, crueler, like the devil curling around his spine.

You want to see her, don’t you?

You have her number.

Why haven’t you called her?

“Shut up,” Liam hissed through gritted teeth. His forehead was soaked in sweat, eyes red-rimmed.

What are you so scared of?

You know it—high pheromone compatibility is your lifeline right now. You need her. So why not call?

“Shut the fuck up.”

His voice cracked, low and hoarse, breaking under the weight of the moment.

And still, the scent of alpha pheromones in the air grew heavier—thicker, choking—wrapping around the room like smoke from a house already burning down.

Liam buried himself deeper into the couch cushions, jaw clenched so tightly it hurt.

“Liam.”

It was like a dream—like a voice echoing from the depths of his mind. One he’d imagined a hundred times over. But this time, it was close. So close, it felt like it was whispered directly into his ear.

The tension in his body slowly eased the moment he heard it.

Then came the scent—red currants, intoxicating and familiar. It wrapped around him like a drug, and he exhaled shakily.

“Amelia? Is that you?” His eyes stayed closed, his voice rough.

“Yes, it’s me.” Her voice was soft, right by his ear.

Too close. Dangerously close.

Her breath ghosted over his skin, sank into his bones, shattered the last fragile piece of calm he’d clung to.

Still with his eyes shut, Liam found her hand—cool to the touch.

“The AC’s on... your hands are freezing. Can I warm them for you?”

She didn’t hesitate. “Okay.”

With her permission, he opened his palm and wrapped it around her fingers. His skin was burning hot, and he held on tightly, like he could pour all his heat into her.

But for an Alpha in susceptibility, holding hands wasn’t nearly enough. And she—his highly compatible Omega—was right in front of him, fingertips tangled with his, and her pheromones slowly began overtaking his.

“…Amelia, I want—”

His grip tightened.

She said nothing, just let him hold her tighter, let him fall apart in the silence.

“What do you want?”

Liam finally opened his eyes. They were bloodshot, dazed, his vision still unfocused.

“I want to hold you. Can I?”

He tried to see her clearly, but it was like she was made of mist. Still, the warmth of her hand told him she was real.

“Yes,” she said softly. “You can.”