The door flies open before she can even turn the handle.
Jethro fills the doorway. The gentle, patient lover from the nest disappears. A soldier stands in his place. His broad shoulders block out the light from the hallway. His salt-and-pepper hair ties back in a severe, messy knot. His hazel-green eyes scan the tiny office, sweeping over Sam before locking onto me cowering in the corner.
His eyes go black. The pupils swallow the irises in a display of primal, protective fury.
Jethro crosses the room in a single stride. He drops to his knees, his large hands finding my face, my shoulders, my arms, checking for injuries. The heat radiating from his body acts like a physical barrier against the cold terror freezing my blood.
“I’ve got you,” Jethro rumbles, his voice vibrating deep in his massive chest. “You’re safe. Nobody touches you.”
I throw my arms around his neck, burying my face in the thick collar of his jacket. The smell of his anger overwhelms the phantom scent of Nero. I breathe him in, letting the charred marshmallow anchor my spiraling mind. My violent tremors subside, replaced by exhausting, wracking sobs.
Jethro wraps his arms around me, crushing me to his chest. He looks up at Sam over my shoulder.
“The SUV is gone,” Jethro states, the words clipped and tactical.
“He idled for two minutes.” Sam smooths a shaking hand over her bob. “He didn’t make a move toward the door. Just sat there smoking.”
Jethro nods, a curt, respectful acknowledgment. “You did good, Sam. Thank you.”
He doesn’t waste another second. Jethro pulls his heavy coat off, draping it over my shoulders. The garment swallows me whole, cocooning me in his scent. He hauls me to my feet, keeping one thick arm wrapped like a steel band around my waist.
“We move now,” Jethro orders.
He tucks my head under his chin, shielding my body with his own bulk. We move out of the office, bypassing the front of the shop. Sam opens the back delivery door, leading us out into the frigid alleyway behind Willowside Square.
Jethro’s massive truck sits idling by the dumpsters. He yanks the passenger door open, lifts me by the waist, and deposits me onto the leather seat. He shuts the door, locking me inside before sprinting around the front of the hood.
He climbs into the driver’s seat and throws the truck into gear. The engine roars to life, and he pulls out of the alley, getting back on the street that will take us home in less than five minutes.
I curl inward, wrapping my arms over my stomach to shield the bump. “He found me, Jethro. Nero found me.”
Jethro grips the steering wheel. His knuckles turn stark white against his tanned skin. The muscles in his jaw jump with tension.
“He didn’t get to you,” Jethro growls, his eyes tracking the mirrors, scanning every intersection we pass. “And he never will. Sam called me the second you saw him. I caught the tail end of that black SUV speeding out of the square, and I got the plates.”
Jethro reaches across the center console, resting his massive hand over my knee. The grounding pressure works miracles on my fractured nerves.
“I memorized the plates,” Jethro’s voice drops into a lethal, terrifying register. “I watched him peel out and hit the northbound interstate on-ramp. He’s driving away, not toward us. I promise you, on my life and the bond we share, he will never get within a mile of you again.”
We reach the pack house in record time. Jethro navigates the streets with a rigid, obsessive care, refusing to take a single risk with me in the passenger seat. He pulls into the driveway, bringing the truck to a smooth, controlled stop before tearing the keys from the ignition.
He yanks my door open, pulling me carefully into his arms. He carries me up the front steps. Ross throws the heavy front door open from the inside before we even reach the landing.
Jethro sets me gently on my feet the second we cross the threshold, keeping a heavy arm anchored securely around my waist. A wall of scent hits me. Ginger, dates, and honeysuckle crash together in a chaotic, desperate frenzy.
The pack swarms us.
Ross reaches me first, his blue eyes frantic, his hands running over my hair, checking my face. Caleb crowds my other side, his date scent thick and cloying with panic. He rips his glasses off,pressing his face into the crook of my neck to inhale my scent. Oli drops to his knees right in the entryway, wrapping his arms around my hips, letting out a keening, distressed whine that shatters my heart.
The protective instincts of the entire pack reach a terrifying breaking point. The terror of almost losing me turns the air in the house heavy and suffocating. They need to ground me, and they need to ground themselves.
I look at my pack. Ross frames my face with trembling hands. Caleb breathes against my neck. Oli presses his face into my stomach, his shoulders shaking. Jethro stands rigid against the door, a coiled spring ready to snap.
The terror of the morning hums under my skin, leaving my blood cold and my mind fragmented. I need the visceral, undeniable proof of their presence to overwrite the memory of Nero’s face.
I reach out, grabbing the front of Ross’s shirt in one hand and Jethro’s jacket in the other. I pull them close, forcing their black, blown-out eyes to meet mine.
“I need you,” I beg, my voice raw and loud in the tense silence. “I need you to show me I’m safe. Reaffirm the bond with me.”
