She trembles in her seat, glancing out the window as we drive. Her stress pheromones are everywhere, and they’re setting my instincts on edge.
Not to mention, she smells indescribable. As I first came to a stop behind her, I had other things to focus on. Patrick was in danger, and the fog was close to taking over. The rage was slipping in, and I was about to lose myself to the decay.
Somehow, a few huffs of her electric scent settled my mind enough that the red tinge to my vision began to subside.
Hell, maybe Patrick was right when he suggested I should go to one of those pheromone clinics.
I’ve been around omegas before.
Not one has ever produced a reaction like I felt when my nostrils flared with Charlotte’s scent.
I didn’t know human beings could come in lightning scent, but that’s what she smells like, and it’s really fucking with my head.
The worst part is being able to sense her fear while not being able to fix it. It’s like I’ll climb out of my skin if I don’t figure out how to help her feel better.
Ya fecking fool, you’re the cause of it. You held a gun to the poor woman’s head.
Her chest rises in rapid pants, and she pulls a hand to push against her stomach.
“I’m sorry about threatening you,” I say, clearing my throat. “I didn’t know what was going on when I first walked up.”
Yeah, like that makes it any better.
“I’m going to have to leave. I know I complain about the weather, but I really do love it here. I don’t even understand what’s happening. Why would Lacey lie to me?”
“What do you mean?” I ask, glancing between her and the road.
“She told me the guys she ran into watched her walk to the bus when she was leaving the Christmas market, but your brother said she was attacked. Then he said maybe those guys’ friends would come after me…” A sob escapes her lips, and she bends in half.
Or she tries to.
The seat belt catches her, and she unclips it.
For a second, I think she might open the door and try to jump out.
Not that I could blame her.
I’m a complete stranger, and she has no idea where we’re headed. I’m betting the only thing keeping her inside the vehicle is that she can’t run without her son.
The seat belt flings against the window, and she bends in half, sticking her head between her knees.
A whine fills the air, and the hair on the back of my neck stands on end as my instincts demand that I demolish the problem.
Alphas can bark omegas, betas, and even weaker alphas into submission, but an omega’s whine is equally as powerful when it comes to forcing alphas into action.
“Shh,” I coo, stretching my right hand over to pat her back. “You’re okay. I promise. We’re going to keep you safe.”
“I don’t even know who you are,” she chokes out, but it’s muffled. “This is all my fault. We have to leave. I thought we were safe here…”
She’s clearly running from something—possibly her son’s father.
“You’re going to be all right. No one in Boston is going to come to my family’s door to fuck with you.” I continue patting her back, but hell if I know if it helps. “Just breathe. You’re safe. We’ll get the two of you settled in, and you can get some actual rest without constantly looking over your shoulder.”
It’s a fifteen-minute drive to get to our neighborhood. My fathers bought the existing houses and all the nearby property thirty-plus years ago. What started as a small collection of houses has expanded over the years, and now the men rent or buy directly from the family.
The disposable muscle gets the smaller houses closer to the entry gate. As we weave through the streets, the homes grow larger and grander. The mini mansions are where the enforcersand other higher-ups live. The road dead-ends at the second gate, and past that is the driveway for our house.
Charlotte sat up a while ago, and she twists to face me as I pull up to idle in front of the massive gate. “Okay, who are you guys? This might look like a neighborhood from the outside, but I recognize it for what it really is.”
