"You bitch." His voice is a snarl. All pretense of charm stripped away. "You think those Negrorio bastards will want you when they find out what you really are? A desperate little omega whore who'll spread her legs for—"
He doesn't finish.
One moment he's behind me, spitting venom. The next there's a crash. A grunt. The sound of a body hitting something hard.
I spin around.
Nacho has Callum pinned against the refrigerated meat case, one forearm pressed across his throat. The sheriff is still wearing his uniform, badge glinting under the fluorescent lights. His face could be carved from granite. Cold. Deadly. Nothing like the warm, gentle man who holds me at night.
This is the sheriff. The alpha. The predator.
"Hi, baby." His voice is eerily calm. Too calm. The kind of calm that comes before violence. "You okay?"
25
NACHO
The meat section of Largo Waters General Store smells like refrigeration and plastic wrap.
I'm standing in front of the steaks, trying to decide between ribeye and New York strip, when I hear raised voices from the next aisle over.
Not unusual. Mrs. Joans and her sister get into it at least once a week over which brand of coffee is superior. Mr. Garrett likes to argue with the produce clerk about tomato prices. Small town grocery stores are surprisingly dramatic.
But this voice makes every hair on the back of my neck stand up.
Male. Smooth. Charming in that practiced way that sets my teeth on edge.
I know that voice.
I move toward the end of the aisle, steaks forgotten, and peer around the corner into the dairy section.
Jessica.
She's standing by the refrigerated cases, gripping her shopping cart like it's a life raft. Her knuckles are white. Her whole body is tense, shoulders drawn up, spine pressed against the cold glass.
And standing three feet away, moving closer with each word, is Callum.
My blood goes ice cold.
He's wearing what I think of as his "I'm important" costume. Designer jeans, cashmere sweater, expensive coat. His hair is perfect despite the November wind outside. He looks like a catalog model who wandered into the wrong ZIP code.
He looks like a man who's never heard the word no.
I stay where I am, because I will only intervene if she’s in danger. She has been living with us for three weeks, and I’m falling more in love with her every single day.
Her heat is coming. Pedro confirmed it yesterday. Days, not weeks. Her hormone levels are spiking. The nesting has intensified. She hasn't said what she wants to do when it hits. Hasn't asked for help. Hasn't made any decisions.
And now her nightmare is standing in front of her in the dairy aisle.
“Mom told you.” Jessica's voice carries across the space. Stronger than I expected. Not the small, scared voice I heard when she first moved in.
"'I'm sorry, I can't.'" Callum's tone is mocking. Dismissive. "That's not an explanation.”
Around them, I see other shoppers starting to notice. Mrs. Johnson has stopped pretending to study soup cans. Old Mr. Garrett is leaning on his cane, watching. The produce clerk has abandoned his apple pyramid.
They're all watching.
Good. Witnesses.
