The Alpha’s Secret Obsession Now novel Chapter 43

Freedom, I am learning, feels like hot water against skin that should have frozen hours ago.

The bath fills the small bathroom with steam that curls toward the ceiling in lazy spirals, and I sink deeper into the heat with a groan of relief that borders on indecent.

The temperature would concern me if I were fully human—hot enough to redden skin, hot enough that pregnancy websites would warn against it in bold capital letters.

But I am not fully human, and the child growing beneath my navel is not fully human either.

So I savor every degree of warmth seeping into muscles that ache from transformation and exertion, letting the heat work its way through layers of tension I didn’t realize I was carrying.

‘The cub is fine,’ Nireya confirms, her presence curled contentedly at the back of my consciousness.

‘Our kind has been shifting through pregnancies since before humans learned to walk upright. The heat is nothing compared to the fire of transformation.’

I made it back before Ricky stirred from her bedroom.

The run through the forest passed in a blur of sensation—pine needles beneath my paws, cold air rushing through my fur, the intoxicating freedom of a body finally doing what it was designed to do.

I shifted back at the tree line, my human form returning with an ache that felt almost like loss, and crept into the house on silent feet that left muddy prints across the kitchen floor.

The dirt took ten minutes to scrub away, my hands working frantically with paper towels and cleaning spray while my ears strained for any sound of Ricky waking.

The nightgown took longer.

I stared at the ruined fabric for a full minute before carrying it to the fireplace and feeding it to the flames piece by piece.

The silk charred and curled, releasing a chemical smell that made my nose wrinkle, and I watched my evidence disappear.

I owe Ricky a nightgown.

I add it to the mental list of debts I’m accumulating—debts of trust, of honesty, of borrowed safety I can never fully repay.

Now I float in heat and steam and the lingering thrill of what my body accomplished tonight, and the world feels almost manageable for the first time in weeks.

From somewhere below, Ricky’s whistle drifts up through the floorboards.

The melody is unfamiliar—something jazzy and meandering that she’s probably improvising as she moves through her morning routine.

I can hear the soft pad of her footsteps crossing the kitchen, the click of a cabinet opening, the rush of water filling a kettle.

‘Your senses are sharpening,’ Nireya observes with satisfaction.

‘The more you embrace what we are, the more your human form will reflect our true nature. Imagine what they’ll be like when shifting becomes painless.’

The possibility shivers through me with anticipation rather than fear.

I close my eyes and let my head fall back against the curved edge of the tub, steam dampening my hair where it spreads across the porcelain.

The heat soaks into my bones, loosening tension I’ve carried for months, and my mind drifts without conscious direction.

It drifts back to the dream.

Paul’s hands on my skin. Paul’s mouth against my throat. Paul’s voice rough with need as he begged for forgiveness I couldn’t give him.

None of it was real, but my body doesn’t seem to understand the distinction.

The memory alone sends warmth pooling low in my belly, a different kind of heat than the bathwater provides. My skin flushes, and the sensation has nothing to do with temperature.

My hand slides beneath the water before I consciously decide to move it.

My hand moves faster beneath the water, chasing the release building at the base of my spine.

The two memories blur together, boundaries dissolving until I can no longer separate one brother from the other.

Paul’s hands grip my hips while Zane’s mouth captures mine. Zane’s gentle fingers trace patterns across my skin while Paul’s growl of possession vibrates against my throat.

They move together in impossible harmony, two men who should be rivals instead working in concert to drive me toward the edge of sanity.

I imagine them both wanting me. Both touching me. Both refusing to let the other claim what they’ve decided to share.

The fantasy should feel wrong—brothers competing for the same woman, the same body, the same gasping cries of pleasure.

Instead, it feels like the only truth I’ve ever known about myself.

I want them both.

I want the intensity and the tenderness, the possession and the reverence, the fire and the warmth. I want to stop pretending that my heart is simple enough to choose one man when my body has already claimed them both.

The pressure crests without warning.

My back arches against the porcelain as release crashes through me in waves that steal my breath and blur my vision. I bite down on my lip to keep from crying out, my fingers still working as I ride the sensation to its trembling conclusion.

The bathwater ripples with my shuddering breaths, and I float in the aftermath with my heart pounding against my ribs and my body still humming with the ghost of pleasure.

‘Better,’ Nireya observes with drowsy satisfaction. ‘You needed that.’

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