The purr in my chest continues unabated, something I can't turn off even if I wanted to. Ashton seems to draw it out of me, his presence triggering responses I didn't know I was capable of. I've never been the nurturing type, never been the Alpha who offers comfort and softness. But with Ashton, it feels natural. Easy.
His breathing deepens gradually, his body going more relaxed as exhaustion pulls at him. The fever seems to ease slightly, his skin not quite as burning hot against mine. Whatever pre-heat symptoms he was experiencing are calming with my presence, my scent and my purr providing the relief his body needed.
A soft knock on the door jolts me out of my thoughts. I sit up carefully, trying not to disturb Ashton too much. Confusion washes over me because I didn't hear my phone ring, didn't get any alert from the security system. If one of the ranch hands needed something, they should have called like I instructed.
I move to grab my phone from the nightstand, carefully untangling myself from Ashton. His whimper of distress at the loss of contact makes my chest ache, but I push through it. Something isn't right. Protocol says they call first, always, unless the phones are down or there's an immediate threat that requires face-to-face communication.
My jeans are drenched with Omega arousal, evidence of how close Ashton is to heat despite his denials. The fabric sticks to my legs uncomfortably, and I can smell the sweet, cloying scent of pre-heat all over me. My own body is aching with the need for release, my cock still hard and insistent in my jeans, making movement awkward.
But there's no time to deal with any of that now. I check my phone—no missed calls, no texts, no alerts from the security system. The screen shows everything functioning normally, all cameras online, all motion sensors clear. Whoever is knocking isn't one of the ranch hands following protocol.
I grab the gun from where I tucked it in my back belt, checking the safety is off and the chamber is loaded. The weight of it is reassuring, familiar. Years of working in dangerous situations have made the weapon feel like an extension of my body. My finger rests alongside the safety, ready to move if necessary.
"Stay put," I tell Ashton, my voice low but carrying authority. "Don't come out no matter what you hear."
Ashton's eyes are wide, fear cutting through the heat-haze. "Stefan—"
"I'll be fine," I assure him, even though I have no idea if that's true. "Just stay here and stay quiet."
Chapter thirty-seven
Ashton
Stay here and stay quiet.
“Wait... what?”
Stefan’s words don’t really register with me. I'm a little confused and groggy and overstimulated, my brain struggling to process anything beyond the overwhelming sensations flooding my system. My body feels like it's on fire, every nerve ending sparking with awareness. I can't even feel the pain from my injuries anymore, not the bruised ribs, not the stitches in my side, nothing. The pleasure coursing through my veins has overridden everything else, leaving me floating in a haze of need.
It's like I can feel everything Solana must be feeling, every time I take a breath. Her heat scent permeates the entire house, coating my tongue and filling my lungs with each inhale. And with every breath, my body responds like it's my own heat, like I'm the one being taken apart by Alphas in the other room.
My cock is hard and aching, straining against my sweatpants in a way that's bordering on painful. I'm leaking steadily, pre-come dampening the fabric and adding to my discomfort. The need for release is overwhelming, consuming, demanding attention I can't give it with Stefan likely dealing with whoever knocked on the door.
I push to my feet even though Stefan explicitly told me to stay put. But if I don't move, if I just lie here in this bed saturated with Stefan's scent and Solana's heat bleeding through the walls, I really will come in my pants. And I have some pride left, even if it's barely hanging on by a thread.
The room spins slightly as I stand, my legs unsteady beneath me. The fever makes everything feel disconnected, like I'm piloting my body from a distance. I grab the doorframe for support, my knuckles going white as I hold on and wait for the dizziness to pass.
I stumble forward into the hallway, using the wall for support. Each step requires concentration, my coordination shot to hell. That's when I hear it—a click of a gun being cocked, followed by Stefan's voice.
"What the fuck are you doing in here?"
My heart picks up, hammering against my ribs as the memory of everything that happened in the last several hours hits me all at once.
I'm still disoriented, the violence and the blood and the desperate flight through the woods. My mind keeps replaying it in fragments and then, Stefan's hand tight on mine as we ran. I know I should do something practical, call my father to let him know I'm alive,something. But the truth is I never wanted any part of the life my father carved out.
I head down the hall toward the voices, my cock getting harder with every step. Solana's scent is coating everything out here, so much stronger than in the guest room. It wraps around me like a physical presence, making my head spin and my body ache with needs I can't fulfill.
By the time I reach the open living room and kitchen area, I'm barely holding myself together. My vision swims at the edges, my legs trembling with the effort of staying upright. I have to grip the wall to keep from falling, my fingers digging into the painted surface.
The scene in front of me snaps me back to awareness. Stefan stands with his gun fully cocked and pressed against a man's temple. The man is dressed like one of the ranch hands but something about him is off. His hands are too clean, his posture too tense, his eyes too alert.
I groan, recognition cutting through the haze. I know this man. Logan. One of my father's lower-level enforcers, someone who runs errands and delivers messages. Not particularly bright but loyal to Charles in the way that comes from fear rather than respect.
"Thank fuck," Logan says, his voice carrying relief despite the gun at his head. "We just wanted to make sure you were okay. Stefan wasn't sending any updates to your father and we got worried something happened to you."
The lie is obvious, poorly constructed. If they were actually worried about my safety, they would have called first. Sent a message. Not shown up unannounced and tried to gain entry without permission.
Logan takes a step forward, his hand moving slightly like he's going to reach for something. Stefan moves with frightening speed, pistol-whipping the man hard enough that I hear the crack of metal against bone. Logan staggers, blood streaming from a cut above his eyebrow.
