“She’s in heat,” he says, the words a raw confession. “Nothing’s working. She’s in heat, and it’s bad. Really bad.”
“Fuck,” I say, the word an expression of pure, unadulterated terror. The world tilts on its axis, the blood draining from my face.
The scent of her, the memory of her in that room, it all comes rushing back, a tidal wave of horror and desire. She’s in heat. And I’m not there. I’m not there to protect her, to help her, to... what? To claim her?
The thought is a primal, possessive urge that I can’t deny, a terrifying, all-consuming need that makes my head spin and my body ache.
“What do you mean, it’s bad?” I ask. “What’s happening?”
“She’s... she’s not herself,” he says, his voice cracking. “She’s in pain. And she’s... she’s asking for you.”
“For me?” I ask, my heart leaping into my throat.
“And me,” he admits in a low, ashamed whisper. “She’s asking for both of us. And the sheriff.”
I close my eyes, the world spinning around me. This is it. This is the moment. The point of no return. I have a choice to make. A choice that will define the rest of my life. Do I run? Do I hide? Or do I face the truth, no matter how terrifying, no matter how complicated?
“Where are you?” I growl. “I’m on my way.”
“We’re at home,” he says, and I hear a mixture of relief and fear in his voice. “Hurry.”
I hang up the phone, my hand shaking. I turn to Knox, my expression grim. “I need you to take me to Millie’s. Now.”
He looks at me, his eyes wide with understanding. He doesn’t ask any questions. He just nods, his jaw tight, and slams on the brakes, the truck screeching to a halt before he whips it around in a sharp, illegal U-turn.
We’re flying down the road, the world a blur of white and gray, the engine screaming in protest. And all I can think about is getting to her.
Maddox
The phone hits the bed with a soft thud, the sound swallowed by the frantic panting in the room. My heart hammers against my ribs, a wild, frantic drum that matches the pulse beating in my cock. Relief and terror war inside me, a sickening, exhilarating cocktail.
Liam’s coming. He’s on his way.
But that doesn’t help Millie. Not right now.
“More,” she begs.
Her voice is a broken, needy whimper that shreds my control.
She’s on her stomach, her face buried in a pillow, her back arched in a beautiful, agonizing curve. Her thighs are wet with slick, the scent of her heat a thick, intoxicating cloud that fills my head and makes my teeth ache.
I nod, even though she can’t see me. I have to try. I have to do something. I bury my face between her thighs again, my tongue sliding into her wet heat. She cries out, her hips bucking against my mouth in a seeking motion.
She’s so close to the edge, so desperate for release, but it’s not enough. It’s not what she truly needs. I can feel it in the way her body trembles, in the frantic, pleading sounds she makes.
She needs the knot. She needs the pressure, the fullness, the biological release that only an Alpha can provide.
And I am failing her.
My cock is a hard, demanding ache, a painful reminder of my inadequacy. I stroke myself, my movements rough, willing my knot to form. I close my eyes, focusing on the feel of her, the taste of her, the scent of her.
I picture her face, her eyes wide with pleasure, her lips swollen from my kisses. I try to summon the primal, possessive rage that should fuel this, the instinct to claim, to mark, to own. But all I feel is panic. A cold, paralyzing fear that I’m not enough, that I can’t give her what she needs.
And the panic is a knot-killer.
Frustration, hot and sharp, surges through me. I stand up, my body trembling with a mix of unspent lust and impotent rage. This isn’t working.
“Let me try something,” I say, my voice rough.
