“Where are you?” I ask, my voice sharp.
“Out on a call,” he grunts. I can hear a siren wailing in the background. “Car skidded on Pine near the old bridge. Missed your texts. What’s going on?”
“Have you talked to Millie?” I ask, cutting straight to the point.
There’s a pause on the other end of the line, a beat of silence that feels heavier than it should. “No,” he says, and I can hear him swallow. “Why? Something up?”
“She’s not answering her phone. She was supposed to be back hours ago.” I start pacing behind the counter, my restlessness a caged thing. “I’m getting worried, man.”
“Okay,” he says, his voice suddenly all business. “Okay. I’ll try to reach her. Let you know.”
“Right,” I say, but I’m not waiting. I can’t. “I’m going to drive to her house. I’ll let you know what I find.”
“Okay,” he agrees, his voice grim. “Be careful.”
I hang up and call my mom, my fingers fumbling with the screen. I tell her I’m closing up early because of the storm, that I’ve got everything. She fusses a little, but I cut her off, my mind already a million miles away.
I grab my jacket and keys, locking up the café and stepping out into the storm. The wind hits me, whipping the rain sidewaysand soaking me in seconds. I run to my truck, yanking the door open and diving inside.
The drive to her apartment is a white-knuckled nightmare. The wipers are fighting a losing battle against the torrential downpour, and the world outside is a watery blur of headlights and glistening asphalt.
Every red light is an eternity. Every turn is a gamble. The only thought in my head is her face, her smiling, stubborn, beautiful face, and the chilling possibility that something has happened to her.
When I finally pull onto her street, my heart lurches. Her truck is parked in its usual spot out front. It’s a good thing. It’s a gut-wrenching relief. So where the hell is she?
I don’t bother calling her again. I’m out of my truck and sprinting to her door, the rain plastering my hair to my forehead. My key, the one I still haven’t returned, feels cold and alien in my hand. I slide it into the lock. It turns.
I push the door open, stepping into the quiet apartment. The only light comes from a streetlamp outside, casting eerie shadows across the living room. And then I see her.
She’s curled up on the sofa, a small, huddled shape under a blanket. Nimbus is pressed against her side, a solid ball of fur, his yellow eyes fixed on me with a wary intelligence. The only sound is her breathing, a soft, shuddery sound that’s all wrong.
I walk toward her, my boots leaving wet prints on her hardwood floor. “Millie?” I ask, my voice a low rasp. “Why haven’t you been answering?”
She stirs, slowly, as if waking from a deep yet troubled sleep. She looks up at me, and my heart stops. Her blonde hair is stuck to her cheek, her face is pale, and her eyes… her eyes are bright red, swollen from crying.
My Alpha instincts go into overdrive. It’s not a conscious thought—it’s a primal switch flipping in my brain. A red hazecreeps at the edges of my vision. All I can see is her pain, all I can feel is a furious, protective need to tear apart whatever—or whoever—caused it.
I crouch down in front of the couch, my hands clenched into fists at my sides. “What the hell happened?” I ask. “Whose ass do I have to kick?”
“You shouldn’t be here,” she whispers. She pulls the blanket tighter around herself, a shield against my presence. “You should just go, Liam.”
I let out a laugh that holds no humor. “Of course I’m here, Mills. Where else would I be?” I take another step closer, crouching down so I’m at her level, forcing her to meet my gaze. “You’re crying in a dark apartment in the middle of a storm, and you think I’m just going to walk away? Talk to me. Please.”
She shakes her head, her blonde hair a tangled mess against the pale fabric of the blanket. “I can’t. I’m selfish, Liam. I don’t deserve you.”
The words are a knife, but I see them for what they are—a cry for help, an attempt to push me away before she gets hurt again.
“Look at me, baby,” I say, my voice soft but firm, my Alpha instincts screaming at me to fix this, to take her pain away. I reach out, my hand gently cupping her cheek, my thumb stroking her tear-stained skin. “I will never hate you. Do you hear me? Never. Whatever it is, whatever you’ve done… I love you. You can tell me anything.”
Her green eyes, wide and swimming in fresh tears, lock onto mine. The raw, unguarded love in my voice is her undoing. A choked sob escapes her lips, and then she’s surging forward, her mouth crashing against mine.
It’s not a gentle kiss. It’s desperate, a collision of salt and tears and years of unspoken words. Her lips are soft and trembling, and I pour everything I have into it—all my regret, all my love, all my desperate need to make her believe me. I kiss herlike I’m trying to breathe her back to life, my hands tangling in her hair, holding her to me.
Her hands come up to my chest, fisting in the damp fabric of my shirt. “I shouldn’t,” she gasps against my mouth, but her body is telling a different story, arching into me, seeking my warmth.
My own control shatters. My hands move from her hair to the hem of her sweater, and I peel it up and over her head in one smooth motion. Underneath, she’s wearing a simple pink bra, the lace delicate against her pale skin. My gaze drops, and my breath catches. She’s perfect.
I trace the edge of the lace, my fingers ghosting over the swell of her breast. Her nipple pebbles instantly, pressing against the thin fabric, and she shudders, a soft gasp escaping her lips. Her hands move to the hem of my own shirt, and she tugs it upwards. I lift my arms, letting her pull it off me.
