That’s when I feel it—deep in the core of my being. A new strand of awareness. Following it inward, I realize it connects directly to the alpha in front of me.
A bond.
A bond radiating self-horror, regret, and worry—for me. There’s a bite mark on his neck as well. Did I… did I bite him? The metallic taste in my mouth tells me I did. It’s a fully completed, two-way bond. Meaning he can feelallof my emotions.
I feel like I’m free-falling from the top of a very high building. I want to scream, cry, bury my face in him to hide. He jerks forward as if to wrap me in his arms, but I flinch back. I’m not sure where his reactions begin and mine end.
In a split-second decision, I turn and bolt, trying not to break my ankle in these ridiculous heels my sister made me wear.
My sister.
I look around for her and spot her in the far corner, laughing and having a great time with the other bridesmaids. Her friends. This is such an important night for her. The blood coursing through my veins feels hot and too fast. I don’t want to face the group. I don’t want to explain. I just want to go home. I want to be home in my little nest in my little cottage and see no one.
I think I hear a faint call toWaitbehind me, but I don’t pay it any attention. I run.
When I burst through the doors of the club, people are milling around—some guys next to bikes wearing helmets with the initials BP on them. I push through their group of three and run until I find a line of cabs. I hop into the back of one.
“To the Howl Hotel,” I manage between shaky sobs.
As the cab pulls away, I see the alpha who bit me skids to a halt on the club steps. His eyes meet mine as the car speeds off. Through the bond, I feel a horrible mixture of anger, confusion, and hurt—and I still don’t know which feelings are his and which are mine.
I don’t care.
Sobs break from my chest and I can't stop the torrent of tears falling down my face.
Corbin
Training was, actually, pretty easy for the overgrown puppy. He took to house training quickly.Sitandstaywere easy enough. Even the rule about not sitting on the furniture came naturally.
The leash training, though—that was a real bitch. The dog tried to grab the leash and wrestle it from my hands more than he walked on it. He’d flop to the ground and refuse to get back up.
That’s why it took us twice as long to walk to Miss Heart’s cottage in the woods than it should have. My knock on the door is met with silence. Looking around, I can see her car in the driveway. I know she took it with her when she went on the trip to see her sister—when I checked on the house while she was gone, it was gone too.
I knock again. This time, shuffling inside the cottage lets me know I’ve been heard.
I scent it before she ever opens the door—the scent of roses and lilacs, but they’re dead, rotting in the vase. Acrid and sour. The door cracks open, and two large, brown, red-rimmed eyes peek out at me.
“Hey,” I say in a low tone I might use with a skittish kitten, even though every instinct I have is blaring a five-alarm fire. “I wanted to bring you Deputy. You okay, Miss Heart?”
Her scent wafts through the cracked door, and I freeze. It’s not just the wilted blooms. There’s a base—something beneath her scent. I know that scent. Iamthat scent.
My teeth grind together, adrenaline spiking. I use every bit of restraint I learned in training to not show my utter panic in my face or voice.
“Can I come in?” I ask, keeping my voice level even though my alpha is raging. I reel him in hard. She does not need him right now.
Miss Heart doesn’t say anything, just nods and opens the door wider, stepping aside to let me through. She stands just inside her doorway, looking lost and distraught. She’s in overalls today, but despite the warm spring weather, she wears a long-sleeve turtleneck underneath. Tear tracks line her face, though they’ve dried now.
Deputy immediately goes to her side, sniffing at her hand and nuzzling her hip. She bends down and hugs the dog, loses her balance, and ends up sitting on the floor. The dog scrambles into her lap, licking the tear tracks off her face before settling down like her crossed legs are his personal bed.
I crouch low in front of her, bringing my face as close to her level as I can. I wish to God I knew exactly what she needed, but without any context, I fall right back into sheriff mode.
“Start from the beginning.”
Miss Heart snuffles and wipes some of Deputy’s kisses from her freckled cheeks with her sleeve. Then she tells me about the last night of the bachelorette party—the guy who tried to grab her, the protective alpha with brown hair, sharp teeth, and a bite to remember. How, in the chaos, she bit him back.
I listen without interrupting, though my head feels like it’s going to explode. She ends with how she drove from the club—upset and newly bitten—for an hour back here on her own.
My gaze drifts down to the column of her shirt-covered throat. I’m more than concerned at this point. From what she described they biteach other. A mutual accident caused by extreme circumstances. But medically…
