One omega. Four alphas. And a freak storm that won’t let them leave.
My heat is due, so I rent a beach house. The plan is simple: sweat, suffer, and survive it alone. No alphas. And definitely not the Knightley Pack. They’re the reason I need this damn vacation.
Four walking ego-trips who’ve made a sport out of stealing my clients. Then the sky goes black. The power dies. And guess who starts pounding on my door, seeking shelter from the storm?
Now we’re trapped, the phones are dead, and the air in the house has turned thick and sweet with the scent of my heat. I see the moment it hits them.
Their clean, annoying alpha perfection curdles into something dark, spicy, and possessive. All four of them. At once. Every logical part of me says this is a disaster.
But the heat doesn’t care about logic. It only cares about the four alphas circling their prey.
