I shot him a look.Hold.
Alfie stopped. He grabbed the doorframe of the loading bay, knuckles white, anchoring himself. He didn't come closer. He didn't block her exit.
"Status check," Alfie called out. His voice wasn't the stage roar. It was the gentle, cheeky cadence he used when he wastrying to coax a stray cat. "You need Rowan, love? Need space? Need us to clear the post code? Copy whatever you say."
Zia didn't answer. She dropped to her knees, the strength finally leaving her legs. She curled forward, forehead pressing against the cool concrete.
"Temp," I muttered into the comms mic clipped to my collar. "Euan. It’s too hot."
"Ice packs incoming," came Euan’s voice through my earpiece, crisp and immediate. He was probably in the bus or at the dimmer rack, watching the monitors. "Adjusting HVAC relays. dropping ambient temperature by two degrees. Airflow redirected away from her position to minimize scent turbulence."
I knew that Euan was on his way with the ice packs. A moment later, a vent above us clicked. Cool air, scrubbed and clean, washed down the wall. It pushed the heavy mix of diesel and Alpha pheromones back toward the dock doors.
Zia let out a whimper. It was a broken, wet sound.
She looked at the water bottle. Then she looked at the door. Then she looked at me.
I didn't move. I didn't track her with my eyes. I kept my gaze soft, focused on a scuff mark on her boot. My palms burned with the urge to reach out, to pull her in, to fix it. My forearms ached with the need to be useful.
Do nothing. Do nothing. Do nothing.
She started to move.
She didn't go for the door.
She crawled. Slow, painful movements, dragging herself across the dirty floor. She was fighting her own instinct to run, fighting the heat that was boiling her blood.
She moved toward me.
My heart hammered against my ribs like it was trying to break out.Stay still, you daft sod. Don't spook her.
She reached me. She didn't look at my face. She reached out a trembling hand and gripped the fabric of my jeans at the thigh. The contact seared through the material.
She dragged herself closer. She turned, pressing her back against my side, tucking her legs up. She wedged herself between my ribcage and the wall, using me as warmth, as solidity.
She smelled like ozone and lightning and terror.
The urge to wrap my arm around her, to pull her into my chest and shield her from the world, was so strong it made my vision blur. I wanted to bury my nose in her neck and scent-mark her until everyone knew she was under my protection.
I forced my hands to stay on my knees. Palms up. Open.
I became furniture. I became a wall that just happened to be warm.
She shivered, a violent tremor that shook her whole frame. She dug her head into my side, hiding her face in the soft flannel of my shirt.
"Okay," I breathed, barely audible. "I’ve got you. I’m not moving. I’m just here."
Alfie was still in the doorway. He looked wrecked. His eyes were wide, watching us with a mixture of devastation and relief. He mouthed a question,Is she okay?
I gave the smallest nod.She’s here. She hasn't run.
Zia’s breathing was ragged, hitching in her chest. I matched my breathing to hers, slow, deep, exaggerated inhalations.4-in, 6-out.The rhythm she used. I broadcast calmness like a radio signal.
Slowly, agonizingly slowly, the tremors subsided. The heat radiating off her seemed to stabilize, fed by the cool air Euan was pumping into the room. Euan was next to Alfie now, ice packs in hand, but seeing the way she was pressed against me I knew that he was torn as to whether or not to enter the space. If he did we all knew that it could break whatever spell had fallen over us.
Her grip on my trousers loosened. Her breathing deepened, lengthening into the heavy rhythm of sleep.
She passed out. Right there against my side. Trusting me not to crush her. Trusting me not to take what she hadn't offered.
