I can still feel the imprint of his fingers on my thighs as I walk back down the hallway.
Something tells me it’ll be a bit before the echo of that sensation eventually fades.
THIRTY
JUDAH
“You look like absolute shit.”
Dom settles into a lounge chair next to me on the back porch.
“Thanks,” I manage. My voice comes out like gravel scraped across sandpaper. “Appreciate the feedback.”
“Just calling it like I see it.” He holds out a beer to me. “When’s the last time you actually slept?”
I don’t answer. Can’t answer, because the truth is I’ve lost track. Two days? Three? Time has become elastic since Mason’s heat started, stretching and compressing in ways that make no sense. All I know is the relentless pull of the bond, tugging at something deep in my chest every time a new wave crests through him.
He’s in there. Right now. Burning.
And I can’t go to him.
The bond I’ve managed to ignore for ten years has come roaring back to life over the last few days. Mason’s need bleeds into me—hot and desperate andlonely. So goddamn lonely it makes my throat close up.
“Jesus.” Dom’s hand lands on my shoulder, heavy and grounding. “Judah. Breathe.”
I suck in air through my nose. Hold it. Let it out slowly. The wave recedes, leaving me hollowed out and trembling.
“How much longer?” I ask the darkness between my knees.
“Heats usually last?—”
“I know how long heats last.” I force myself to sit up, to meet Dom’s eyes. “I meant how much longer before I lose my fucking mind.”
Dom doesn’t flinch at my tone. He just watches me, obviously trying to decide if I’m about to do something unfortunate.
“You’re not going to lose your mind,” he says. “You’re going to white-knuckle through this like you do everything else. And when it’s over, you’re going to figure out what happens next.”
“What if he doesn’t ever want to see me again?”
His hand squeezes my shoulder once before releasing. “Then you deal with that too.”
He might technically be correct. But, also, dealing with this is starting to feel completely impossible.
I know he’s right. Hate that he’s right. Hate the helplessness that’s been crawling under my skin for days, the inability todoanything except sit here and feel Mason’s heat from a distance while someone else takes care of him.
Atticus Sloan.
The name sits in my gut like a stone. I’ve been trying not to think about what’s happening in that room. Trying not to imagine another alpha’s hands on Mason’s skin, another alpha’s scent mixing with his, another alpha giving him what I should be?—
Stop.
I drag my hands down my face, feeling the rasp of stubble against my palms. Three days without shaving. Four days without a proper shower. I’ve been existing in some twilight state between human and animal, powered by coffee andstubbornness and the bone-deep need to be close even when close isn’t allowed.
“You should eat something,” Dom says, taking a swig of his beer. “Have you had anything since Phoenix forced that omelet on you?”
Phoenix.
She’s been a force of nature these past few days, frankly impossible to ignore. Every interaction with her leaves me slightly off-balance, like I’m constantly recalibrating my assumptions.
