I dance under hot lights and colder rules. Pom-poms, stage smiles, and a thong that barely counts as underwear. It's all part of the show. But behind the glitter and the heels, I’m hiding something that could get me killed.
Abel, my boss, is also my father’s old friend, and the Alpha I’ve been trying to ignore. He has very set rules. No drama. No scent leaks. No slipping.
But I slip.
One moment, I’m the Cheerleader. The next, I’m burning alive in my first heat, and every Alpha in the club smells me. Especially him.
Abel finds me. He saves me and he claims me.
Now the bond is snapping into place like a noose. The heat won’t end until he knots me, marks me, and makes me his. But he’s twice my age and he’s dangerous. He also swore he’d never touch me.
But it’s too late for that. Because I’m not hiding anymore. And he’s not walking away. He can pretend he’s still in control, but I know the truth. He’s mine.
And I’m about to ruin both of us.
The mattress shifts behind me. Heat radiates against my back. A large hand brushes my hip, rough and warm, like it’s memorizing the shape of me through the sheet.
“Juliet,” he breathes, voice low and raw.
I squeeze my eyes shut. No. But the hallucination doesn’t care.
Abel’s scent fills the room—leather, smoke, something darker underneath. My pulse skitters. My thighs press together. The air vibrates with his presence, his growl curling inside my ear like a secret.
“I told you,” he whispers. “You’re mine.”
The imagined version of him is softer than the real thing. Gentler, more reverent. His fingers slip under the edge of my sleep shirt, dragging fire across my skin. His mouth finds the back of my neck, and my body arches, desperate, shameful.
“Say it,” he says. “Say you feel it.”
I almost do. I almost give in. But then the illusion shifts. His grip tightens. Too tight. His mouth at my throat is no longer a kiss. It’s a claim.
And suddenly, I’m not dreaming anymore, I’m drowning. I throw off the blankets, gasping for air, drenched in sweat. My heart’s pounding. My clothes are soaked. My sheets smell like him, and he’s not even here.
He’s not here. He’s not here.
I stumble to the bathroom and vomit into the toilet. The cold tile bites my knees. This is only the beginning. If the suppressant fails before I get another dose, I won’t just hallucinate. I’ll beg. I’ll call for him. And he’ll come. Because he won’t be able to stay away.
I barely manage to drag myself out of the bathroom before my body betrays me again. My heart thuds in my chest like it’s been pumped full of raw electricity. Sweat coats my skin, and my legs feel like jelly.
I try to breathe, try to focus, but my mind is running too fast, spinning into overdrive. I force myself to sit on the edge of the bed and take deep breaths. My fingers press into my temples, trying to push away the suffocating heat, but it’s already there, creeping in like a shadow over my senses. It won’t stop.
I feel his hand again, his breath at my neck.
