Claimed By The Four Alpha Demons

6. The Dead Line

Callie’s POV

The fog had swallowed the road whole by the time I pulled up to the curb outside Harper’s apartment building.

My hands were still trembling as I killed the engine, and it wasn’t the drive that had shaken me. I knew the winding mountain roads of Northwich better than the back of my hand. It was the residual energy humming under my skin, a persistent, low-voltage vibration that felt like I’d just stuck a fork in a toaster.

I looked at my reflection in the rearview mirror. My cheeks were flushed, my eyes bright and wide. I didn’t look like a woman who had spent six hours dusting a gothic mansion. I looked like a woman who had just been kissed.

Or hunted.

“Stop it,” I whispered, forcing myself to unclench my grip on the steering wheel. “You’re projecting. They’re just men. Very rich, very intense men who clearly don’t understand personal space.”

I grabbed my bag and stepped out into the chill evening air. The town center of Northwich was quaint, a sharp contrast to the brooding fortress on the cliff. Here, the streetlamps glowed with a warm, yellow light, and the smell of roasting coffee from the café below Harper’s apartment battled with the damp scent of the mist.

I buzzed the intercom, and a second later, the lock clicked open.

Harper was waiting for me at the top of the stairs, a glass of wine in one hand and a spatula in the other. She wore an oversized t-shirt covered in paint splatters and neon yellow socks that clashed violently with the rug.

“You’re alive!” she declared, ushering me inside and kicking the door shut. “I was half-convinced I’d have to organize a search party. Or an exorcism. Tell me everything. Did you see a ghost? Did you find a skeleton in a closet? Did you meet them?”

I dropped my bag on her sagging velvet sofa and groaned, sinking into the cushions. “Yes. No. And definitely yes.”

Harper abandoned her cooking, something that smelled suspiciously like burnt toast, and practically vaulted over the back of the sofa to sit beside me. She shoved the wine glass into my hand.

“Drink. Then spill.”

I took a long sip of the cheap Merlot, the warmth settling in my stomach, though it did little to quell the butterflies that had taken up residence there.

“It’s…intense, Harp,” I admitted, staring into the dark red liquid. “The house is massive. It’s beautiful, but it feels heavy. Like the walls are watching you.”

“Classic haunted mansion vibes,” Harper nodded sagely. “And the brothers?”

“I met them,” I said, my voice dropping. “All of them. In the kitchen. At the same time.”

Harper’s jaw dropped. “All four? At once? Callie, that’s not a job orientation, that’s a reverse harem novel waiting to happen. What are they like?”

“Terrifying,” I said honestly. “Ace, the second one, he’s…a lot. He kept looking at me like I was a puzzle he wanted to take apart. And Raiden looked like he wanted to eat me. Literally.”

“Hot,” Harper whispered.

“And Greyson…” I trailed off, the memory of his cold gray eyes making me shiver. “He’s the worst. He’s so cold, but when he looks at you, you feel pinned. He told me I have to clean the West Wing tomorrow.”

Harper choked on her own sip of wine. “The West Wing? Everyone knows that’s their private sanctuary. Delivery guys aren’t even allowed to look at that side of the house. Why would he send you there?”

“He said it needs attention,” I said, rubbing my temples. “And he said it in a way that made it sound like a threat.”

“Or an invitation,” Harper waggled her eyebrows.

“Stop,” I groaned, leaning my head back. “It’s not like that. They know about Liam. They made a point of bringing him up. It was humiliating. They looked at my hand, saw I wasn’t wearing my ring, and acted like…like I was available.”

Harper’s playfulness vanished, replaced by a look of gentle concern. She set her glass down and touched my knee. “Well…where is Liam, Cal? You haven’t heard from him all day, have you?”

I flinched. The static in my head, which had quieted down since I entered the apartment, gave a dull throb.

“He’s busy,” I defended automatically, though the words tasted like ash. “The legal battle for Briarcliff is heating up. He’s dealing with the zoning commission.”

“Callie,” Harper sighed. “He’s been ‘dealing with the zoning commission’ for three months. You’re renovating a house that’s falling down around your ears, scrubbing floors for billionaires to pay for it, and he’s…where? In a suit, somewhere dry and warm?”

“He’s helping,” I insisted, pulling my phone out of my pocket. “I’ll call him right now. You’ll see.”

I stood up and walked to the window, needing a moment of privacy, as I dialed Liam’s number, watching the fog swirl around the streetlamps below.

It rang…and rang..and rang.

Just as I was about to hang up, the line clicked.

“Callie?”

His voice was clipped, impatient, and in the background, I could hear the murmur of voices and the clinking of glassware.

“Hey,” I said, trying to infuse my voice with warmth, trying to ignore the way the static in my head suddenly went dead silent. It was jarring. With the Hawthornes, the world felt electric. With Liam, it felt like someone had unplugged the universe. “I was just checking in. I haven’t heard from you all day.”

“I’ve been in meetings back-to-back,” Liam said, his tone dismissive. “It’s a nightmare. The council is dragging their feet on the permits.”

“The council?” I asked. “I thought you were meeting with the city planners.”

“That’s what I meant,” he corrected quickly. Too quickly. “Look, I can’t talk long. I’m at a dinner.”

“Where are you?” I asked, a sudden, cold suspicion curling in my gut. “Are you still in the city?”

“No, I drove up this afternoon,” he said. “I’m in Oak Ridge. Staying at the Grand Hotel. The commute back to the city was too much for an early meeting tomorrow.”

Oak Ridge. It was the next town over, about forty minutes from Northwich. Close, but not close enough to come see me.

“Oh,” I said, the disappointment heavy in my voice. “I thought…I thought maybe you’d come to Briarcliff tonight. The roof in the guest room is leaking again.”

“Callie, I’m exhausted,” he sighed, the sound grating on my nerves. “And I have to prep for tomorrow. I can’t be playing handyman right now. You have the contractors for that.”

“The contractors you hired haven’t shown up in three days,” I reminded him, my patience thinning.

“I’ll handle it,” he snapped. “Stop worrying. Just focus on your little cleaning job. How was it, by the way? Did the Hawthorne freaks give you any trouble?”

I hesitated. I thought about the library. About Ace leaning over me, smelling of woodsmoke and sin. About Greyson’s command. About the way the house seemed to hum when I walked through it.

“It was fine,” I lied. “Just a big, dusty house.”

“Good. Keep your head down. Do the work, get the check. We need the money if we’re going to get Briarcliff ready for the sale.”

“I told you, I’m not selling,” I said firmly. “It’s my grandmother’s legacy.”

“We’ll talk about it when I get there,” he said, his voice taking on that patronizing edge I hated. “I’ll be in Northwich tomorrow evening. We can have dinner. I’ll make it up to you.”

“Okay,” I whispered. “I love you, Liam.”

There was a pause. A beat of silence that stretched just a second too long.

“Yeah. You too, babe. Gotta go.”

The line went dead.

I lowered the phone slowly, staring at the black screen.

Yeah. You too.

My chest ached, a dull, hollow throb. I waited for the tears, but they didn’t come. Instead, there was just a cold numbness.

I looked out the window. In the distance, through the breaks in the fog, I could see the silhouette of the mountains. Somewhere up there, perched on the jagged cliffs, was Grimstone Hall.

And for a terrifying second, I wished I was back there.

I wished for the fear. I wished for the confusion. I wished for the feeling. Because feeling scared by Greyson Hawthorne felt more real than feeling ignored by the man I was supposed to marry.

“Everything okay?” Harper called from the sofa.

I turned back to the room, forcing a bright, fake smile onto my face. “Ideally fine. He’s just stressed. He’s in Oak Ridge at the Grand. He’ll be here tomorrow.”

Harper didn’t look convinced. She took a sip of her wine, her eyes narrowing slightly over the rim of the glass. “If you say so, Cal.”

“I do,” I said, walking back to sit beside her. “Now, enough about my pathetic love life. Tell me about the new barista at the shop. The one with the nose ring.”

We spent the next hour talking about nothing, gossip, bad customers, the weather. It was comfortable. It was safe. It was exactly what I needed.

But my mind kept drifting.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the library. I saw the way the shadows had seemed to dance around Ace’s boots. I heard the deep, gravelly rumble of Raiden’s voice calling me “small.”

And beneath it all, a sense of dread was building.

Tomorrow was coming.

Tomorrow, I had to go back up that mountain. I had to walk past the “Do Not Enter” signs and step into the West Wing.

Greyson had been specific. It requires your attention.

Why me? Why the West Wing?

“You’re doing it again,” Harper said softly, nudging my shoulder.

“Doing what?”

“Zoning out. You have that look on your face. The one you get before you try to fix something that’s dangerously broken.”

I managed a weak laugh. “I’m just tired, Harp. It’s been a long day.”

“Go home,” she said kindly, taking my empty glass. “Get some sleep. You have a date with four billionaires in the morning.”

“It’s a job, not a date,” I corrected, grabbing my bag.

“Keep telling yourself that,” she called after me as I opened the door. “But don’t forget to wear the good underwear! Just in case!”

I rolled my eyes and shut the door, stepping back out into the foggy hallway.

As I walked down the stairs to the street, I pulled my coat tighter around myself. The air had turned bitter cold.

I got into my car and drove toward the outskirts of town, toward the crumbling gates of Briarcliff. My house, my home, was dark and silent when I arrived. It looked lonely against the backdrop of the imposing forest.

I unlocked the front door and stepped inside. The air was stale, smelling of old wood and neglect. I flipped the light switch, but the bulb in the hallway flickered and died with a soft pop.

“Perfect,” I muttered, navigating the darkness by the light of my phone.

I climbed the stairs to my bedroom, changing into an oversized t-shirt and crawling into bed. I curled up under the heavy quilt, trying to find warmth.

But the silence of the house was deafening. It felt empty. Dead.

Unlike Grimstone.

I squeezed my eyes shut, willing sleep to come. But as I drifted off, the image of Greyson Hawthorne burned behind my eyelids.

Tomorrow, you start on the West Wing.

My heart gave a treacherous flutter, and the static in the room rose to a hum, singing me a lullaby of sparks and shadows.

Tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough.