The thought of anyone else smelling her like this, wanting her like this, makes something violent twist in my gut.
"Where is she?" Griff demands, his voice rough with the same protective fury that's making my vision narrow at the edges.
"Oak Suite. End of the hall." I can barely get the words out through clenched teeth.
We reach the second floor and the scent is everywhere now, seeping under doors, clinging to the walls, saturating the air until it's all I can breathe. My cock hardens involuntarily, and I have to clench my fists to keep from sprinting down the hallway. Behind me, Griff's breathing has gone ragged.
"Jesus Christ," he mutters, running a hand through his hair. "How long do we have before every alpha downstairs catches this?"
"Not long." I can already hear movement from some of the other rooms. Confused voices drifting through doors. The sound of footsteps as people try to identify the source of the scent that's making their instincts go haywire.
A crash echoes from somewhere downstairs, followed by shouting. Male voices, aggressive and territorial.
"Shit," Griff says, picking up his pace. "They're already starting to lose it."
I don't knock on the Oak Suite door. I push it open and step inside, and the full force of her heat-scent slams into me like a freight train loaded with pure need.
The room is dim, curtains drawn against the storm outside. Savannah is sitting on the edge of the four-poster bed, doubled over with her arms wrapped around her middle. Her hair is damp with sweat, dark strands sticking to her flushed cheeks. She's wearing one of my old flannels over leggings, and I can see the fabric clinging to her overheated skin.
When she looks up at me, her eyes are wild. Desperate. Pupils blown so wide there's barely any hazel left, just black need staring back at me.
"Logan," she breathes, and the relief in her voice nearly breaks something in my chest. "I don't know what's happening to me. I feel like I'm burning alive."
"You're in heat, sweetheart." I cross to her in two strides, my boots silent on the thick carpet. I kneel beside the bed so we're at eye level, close enough to see the fine tremor running through her body. Up close, I can see she's shaking. Her scent is so thick here it's hard to think straight. "When did it start?"
"Twenty minutes ago? Maybe thirty?" Her hands are fisted in the flannel, knuckles white with tension. "It came out of nowhere. One minute I was checking on the cake display, the next minute I felt like my skin was too tight and I couldn't breathe and..." She breaks off with a whimper, pressing her face against her knees.
Griff appears at my shoulder, his face grim as he takes in her condition. "We need to move her. Now. Before..."
Another loud crash echoes from somewhere downstairs, followed by more shouting. Male voices, aggressive and territorial, the sound of chairs scraping and what might be a table getting overturned.
"Too late," I mutter, my jaw clenching tight enough to hurt. "They're already catching the scent."
Savannah's head snaps up, fear cutting through the heat-haze in her eyes. "What does that mean? Logan, what's happening down there?"
"It means every unmated alpha downstairs is about to lose their shit," Griff says bluntly, already moving to the windows to yank the heavy curtains closed. "Heat scent affects all of us. Makes us territorial. Aggressive."
"Possessive," I add, watching her face pale despite the flush of heat. "They're going to want to find the source. Find you."
The sound of breaking glass drifts up from below, followed by what sounds like someone slamming a door hard enough to rattle the walls.
Savannah makes a small, scared sound that goes straight to my protective instincts. "I need to leave. I need to get out of here before they..." She tries to stand, swaying dangerously.
"You're not going anywhere," I tell her firmly, catching her hands when she starts to stumble. Her skin is burning hot, and the contact makes her gasp and arch toward me involuntarily. "The storm's still raging. Roads are impassable. We're all trapped here until it clears."
"Then what do we do?" Her voice cracks on the question, high and desperate. "Logan, I can't control this. I feel like I'm going to crawl out of my skin. And if those alphas come looking for me..."
"They won't find you," Griff interrupts, his voice hard with promise. He's already grabbing blankets from the armoire, thick wool ones that might help mask her scent. "Because we're getting you somewhere safe. Somewhere they can't smell you."
"But I wasn't supposed to go into heat," Savannah says, her voice small and confused. "When I stopped taking the suppressants, Dr. Martinez said it would be a week, and it would happen after the wedding. Not before. I thought I was safe. The only thing on my mind has been Emma's wedding..." She looks between us with wide, desperate eyes. "Why does the universe insist on punishing me? Why now, during the most important wedding I've ever planned?"
I'm already thinking, mapping out the building in my head while trying to process what she just said. She's been off suppressants for weeks and didn't go into heat when expected. That explains why this one hit so suddenly, so intensely. Her body was building up to this.
"Basement," I decide. "There's a maintenance room behind the boiler. Concrete walls, separate ventilation system. It's isolated enough that the scent won't carry to the main building."
"What about supplies?" Griff asks, his practical mind already working through logistics. "Food, water, blankets? If we're talking about riding out a full heat cycle..."
"Three to five days," Savannah whispers, and I can hear the fear threading through her voice. "That's how long it usually lasts."
