I have to resist the urge to drag her out of here no matter how much she might protest. “If your symptoms become severe, we can help manage them safely.”
Holly looks at Grayson, who has remained silent throughout the exchange. “And what about you? What’s your stake in this?”
Grayson meets her gaze steadily. “Heat Mountain protects its own.”
“I’m not one of your own,” she retorts. “I’m only going to be here for a few weeks.”
“You’re here now,” Grayson says simply. “That’s enough.”
A violent gust of wind rattles the cabin windows, as if emphasizing his point. The storm is worsening by the minute.
Holly closes her eyes briefly, and I can almost see her weighing her options. Pride versus safety. Independence versus necessity.
“Fine,” she says finally, opening her eyes. “I’ll come with you. But I need to pack some things first.”
Relief floods through me. “Of course. Take whatever time you need.”
As Holly disappears into the back of the cabin, Kai turns to me with raised eyebrows. “Well, that went better than expected.”
“Did it?” I murmur, watching the doorway where Holly vanished. “She’s terrified. And not just of the storm.”
“She’s afraid of us,” Grayson says bluntly.
The thought makes my stomach turn. “Then we’ll just have to prove to her we can be trusted.”
Kai nods, unusually solemn. “Agreed.”
I wonder what experiences have shaped Holly’s view of alphas. What has made her so determined to hide her true designation that she’d risk her health and career? The doctor in me wants to understand the medical implications of long-termsuppressant use. But the alpha in me—the part I’ve tried so hard to suppress since Jamie—wants to know who hurt her. Wants to make it right.
Holly returns with a small duffel bag. Her movements are slow and deliberate, as if she’s using all her concentration just to walk normally. The flush on her cheeks has deepened, and I can see a fine sheen of sweat at her temples despite the cabin’s chill.
“Ready?” I ask, keeping my tone neutral.
She nods once, sharply. “Let’s go before I change my mind.”
As we head back to the truck, Holly stumbles slightly on the snow-covered path. Without thinking, I reach out to steady her again, but she flinches away from my touch.
“I can manage,” she says stiffly.
I let my hand drop, ignoring the irrational sting of rejection. “Of course.”
Grayson takes her bag without asking, loading it into the truck bed while Kai holds the passenger door open with an exaggerated bow. “Your chariot awaits, Doc.”
A reluctant smile tugs at Holly’s lips. “Thank you, Mr. Trujillo.”
“I’m going to get you calling me by my first name if it kills me,” Kai says with a wink. “And you’re definitely going to want to be friends once you see my snack pantry.”
With a laugh, Holly slides into the truck, and I follow, acutely aware of her scent in the confined space. It’s stronger now, sweeter, with an undercurrent of need that makes my pulse quicken. I force myself to breathe shallowly, focusing on the medical implications rather than my body’s instinctive response.
Withdrawal from suppressants. Potential complications. Treatment protocols. Clinical thoughts to drown out the more primal ones lurking beneath.
As Grayson starts the engine and begins the careful drive back down the mountain, I glance at Holly in the rearviewmirror. She sits rigidly against the door in the back, as much space between her and Kai as possible, staring straight ahead, her hands clenched in her lap. Every line of her body screams tension and discomfort.
I want to reassure her, to promise that she’s safe with us. But I know words won’t mean much to her right now.
Instead, I turn my attention to the storm raging outside, watching as the snow erases our tracks almost as quickly as we make them. By morning, there will be no evidence that we were ever at Holly’s cabin.
No turning back from the path we’ve set for ourselves.
