Chapter 81: Chapter eighty one

“Brandon…”

Kingsley let go of my hand, his fingers tightening around my arm instead, like that was all he had left to hold onto. “Let her go. Please.”

I hated how small his voice sounded. Hated that he was begging—for her. Did he not see it? Did he not understand what she was doing? She wasn’t just pulling me away from her throat, she was pulling me away from him. If I married her, if I let this happen, there would be no us. There would never be an us.

“It’s okay,” he whispered again. “Let her go. Please.”

My gaze dropped to his eyes—wide, pleading, terrified for me—and something in my chest gave way. The fury drained out of my body all at once. Slowly, like it took everything I had, I loosened my grip.

She crumpled to the floor, coughing violently, dragging in air like it hurt. She keeps hitting her chest, I didn’t even spare her a glance.

“Get out!” I barked.

She didn’t even try to talk back.  She just scrambled for her bag and fled, heels stumbling as she rushed out of the room like she knew staying another second would cost her more than her pride. The door slammed shut behind her.

The silence hit me all at once.

A broken sound tore out of my chest as the memories surged back without warning. I staggered toward the corner, pressing my back against the wall. My hands flew to my head, fingers digging in hard, like I could crush the images out through sheer force.

“Stop…” I whispered, breath shaking.

My knees threatened to give way. The room tilted, the past bleeding into the present until I couldn’t tell where I was anymore.

“Make it stop.”

“Brandon…”

Kingsley—that was his voice.

Why did it sound so far away? Like it was coming from the end of a tunnel I couldn’t crawl out of.

“Mr. Cole, can you hear me?”

“Make it stop,” I whispered again, the words tearing out of me. My nails dug into my own skin, hard enough to sting, hard enough that maybe the pain would anchor me back in my body. Back here.

But it didn’t work.

I could feel it all over again—hands that weren’t there, touches that didn’t belong to the present. I clawed at myself, frantic, trying to rip them away, to scrape the memory off my skin.

“No…” My voice broke. “Don’t touch me.”

“Brandon…”

The voice twisted, changed, warped into something older. Colder.

You want this. Why are you pretending you don’t?

My breath came in short, panicked gasps as the words pressed in from all sides.

Don’t you want to save your mother?

Just do what we ask. Satisfy us, and we’ll save her.

My head shook violently, tears blurring everything.

“No,” I whispered.

"You can stay here," the voice coaxed, smooth and false.

"You and your mother. We'll take care of her. You don't have to be scared.”

My head shook violently. My body felt too small, too exposed, like the walls were closing in.

"No... stop it," I cried, the words tearing out of my throat.

Another laugh, low and cruel. "You're strong," it said, like that was supposed to be a kindness.

"So beautiful. Don't fight it."

"Please," I begged, folding in on myself, arms wrapping tight around my legs like I could disappear if I made myself small enough.

"Please... make it stop."

But it wouldn't stop. The voices kept coming, overlapping, drowning out everything else.

"Mom," I sobbed, panic clawing its way up my chest. "Mom, where are you?"

And suddenly I was twelve again-running, barefoot and terrified, tears blinding me as I fled down endless halls, chased by shadows that were far too old, far too big, their laughter echoing behind me while I screamed for a mother who never came.

Alexander pov.

I froze where I stood, heart hammering against my ribs as I watched him curl tighter into himself. His body trembled, his knees pulled up, arms clamped around him like he was trying to squeeze the world away. The muttered “no… stop…” echoed softly through the room, over and over, and I felt a chill crawl up my spine.

“Brandon, it’s me,” I whispered, my voice barely above a breath. I didn’t move closer, didn’t want to trigger him further. My hands itched to touch him, to pull him into my arms, but I wasn’t sure he’d recognize me in this state.

Panic clawed at my chest. His pupils darted under closed lids, his body twisting slightly as if trying to escape something invisible. My mind raced—what do I do? How do I bring him back? What exactly is making him like this? How do I make him better when I don’t even know what triggered him?

A shudder ran through him. I could see it in the small, jerky movements of his shoulders, in the way his fingers dug into his own arms. My throat tightened. I hated seeing him like this—helpless, scared, reliving things that weren’t even happening anymore.

“Brandon… look at me,” I tried, my voice firmer now, though my hands still hovered just short of touching him. “It’s Alex. I’m right here. You’re okay.”

A small, strangled noise came from him, almost a sob. My heart broke a little.

I glanced around, desperate for something, anything, to help. My eyes landed on the phone I’d set down earlier. Maybe Mia could help. My hands shook as I grabbed it, dialing as quickly as I could, praying someone would answer. The phone rang. And rang. And rang.

“No… no answer,” I muttered under my breath, panic rising like bile. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

I did the only thing I could think of, loosen my button as I released the scent I had tried so hard to hide. “Brandon..”. I gently touched his arm, he tensed but my pheromones were already overwhelming the room. He frowns, his whole body relaxing as he lean closer to me, sniffing me like an omega.

“Kingsley?” He whispered, moving even closer. He still wasn’t in his right sense, the Brandon I know would never willingly lean so close to me. He nuzzled against my neck and a deep groan escaped his lips.

“Kingsley…” he groaned, teeth grazing my neck. I swallowed hard, my body reacting even though I knew he wasn’t in his right mind. Repeating it to myself didn’t make my cock any less hard.

“Why do…” His voice broke off, too close—so close even a sheet of paper wouldn’t fit between us. “Smell like an alpha?”

“Brandon, you need to get up,” I said, voice low but firm, trying to anchor him.

“No…” He pressed harder, chest to chest, the thick ridge of his cock grinding shamelessly against my hip through our clothes. “Touch me.”

“Brandon.”

“Please.” The word was a snarl wrapped in velvet—desperate, commanding.

My hand shot to his throat fingers curling around the hot column of his neck, thumb pressing over his pounding pulse. He groaned, head tipping back against the wall, exposing more skin like an invitation to bite. His scent hit me full force: dark, smoky alpha musk.

I gripped his shoulders, hard enough to bruise and hauled him up in one violent yank, slamming his back against the wall. The impact punched a rough grunt out of him, but he surged forward instantly, crashing his mouth to mine.

I claimed the kiss because I knew, this was the only time he’d ever willingly give it to me. Tomorrow he’d shove me away, bare his teeth, pretend the taste of me never lived on his tongue.

“Oh fuck,” he groaned, hips jerking as I rolled our still-clothed cocks together in a slow, deliberate grind.

The friction was torture—hot, maddening, the fabric catching and sliding in all the wrong-right ways. I only needed to push him over the edge once. Just once. Milk the pheromones out of his system in a rush of release, douse the wildfire of his heat before it consumed us both. I could still stop this. I had to. I'd hate for him to even avoid me more tomorrow and go back to treating me like nothing.

My hand wrapped around the thick length of him through the damp cotton, squeezing firmly. His head fell back against the wall, eyes rolling white in a way that punched the air from my lungs. “Fuck… you’re gorgeous like this,” I rasped, voice rougher than I meant.

He answered with a low, broken purr—Jesus Christ, a full-throated omega purr that vibrated straight down my spine and settled heavy in my balls. Slick heat bloomed where our bodies pressed, his scent spiking sweeter, richer, flooding my senses until my own control frayed at the edges. He’s an alpha, he shouldn’t purr like that.

“More…” The word tore from his throat in a wrecked groan, needy and raw. His thighs trembled, spreading wider on instinct, hips chasing my grip like he’d die without it.

I dragged my thumb over the swollen head outlined beneath the cloth, feeling the wet spot spread under the pressure. His whole body arched, a shudder ripping through him, pheromones pouring off his skin in dizzying waves.

My teeth grazed the spot just below his ear and he bucked so hard my grip on his cock tightened reflexively.

I dragged my fist up his length again, slow this time, letting the wet fabric drag over every ridge. His hips snapped forward on a broken moan, chasing the pressure.

“Gonna come for me?” My voice came out gravel-rough, barely controlled. “Gonna let it all out so we can think straight again?”

He nodded frantically, eyes glassy and unfocused, pupils blown so wide only a thin ring of color remained. “Please—need—fuck, alpha—”

The word landed like a match in gasoline.

My control slipped. Just a fraction. Enough that my free hand shot to the back of his neck, fingers curling possessively over his gland, thumb pressing down on the swollen, fever-hot spot.

I ground our hips together one last brutal time, cock sliding against cock through soaked fabric, and rasped against his ear,

“Then come. Now.”

A choked cry tore out of him as he shattered—hot pulses soaking my hand, drenching the front of his pants, the sharp-sweet flood of release-scent exploding into the air.

Pheromones crashed over me in waves, dizzying, intoxicating, coating the back of my throat. His purr turned into ragged, hiccuping gasps; his thighs shook so violently I had to brace him against the wall to keep him upright.

“Kingsley… more”.

“Brandon. You need to stop”. I said it low, more growl than warning, my hand still wrapped around the back of his neck, thumb pressed to the swollen, fever-hot gland that pulsed under my touch. His scent was everywhere.

I stared at him, his eyes filled with lust as they locked on mine—dark, glassy, pupils blown so wide the hazel was just a thin, desperate ring. Sweat beaded along his hairline, his lips parted on shallow pants, flushed red and bitten raw from his own teeth. He looked wrecked. Beautiful. Mine.

“Fuck me please. Make me forget”.