She’s Liam’s best friend. She’s off-limits. I know that. I’ve always known that. But knowing it and feeling it are two different things. And right now, all I feel is a primal, undeniable urge to get to her, to wrap her in my arms and never let go.
The snow is coming down harder now, the wind whipping it against my visor, obscuring my vision. I have to focus, to keep the bike on the road. But my thoughts keep drifting back to her. To the sound of her laugh, to the way her eyes light up when she’s happy, to the feel of her hand in mine.
I’m a firefighter. I’m supposed to be the one who saves people, the one who runs into the burning building while everyone else is running out. But today, I feel like I’ve failed. I wasn’t there for her. I wasn’t there for Liam. I was just... gone.
I was too scared of dealing with everything so I checked out. They needed me, and I wasn’t there.
Finally, I see her apartment building up ahead. I kill the engine, the silence once again ringing in my ears. I sit there for a moment, just looking up at her window. The light is on, a warm, inviting glow in the midst of the cold, dark night.
I swing my leg off the bike, the snow crunching under my boots as I hit the ground. The helmet comes off with a hiss of released pressure, and I hang it from the handlebars. My mind is still a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions, a mess of worry,anger, and something else I don’t want to name. Something that feels a lot like possessiveness.
The snow is coming down harder now, blanketing the world in white, muffling sound and softening edges. It makes everything seem peaceful, a stark contrast to the rain this morning.
The walk to her door feels longer than it should, each step a deliberate effort to keep my pace normal, to not break into a run. All I can think about is getting to her.
I knock on her door, the sound loud in the quiet of the hallway. No answer. I knock again, harder this time. Still nothing. A knot of worry tightens in my stomach. She’s supposed to be here. Aunt Dee said she was home.
I try the handle. Locked. Of course. But I know Millie. I know her habits, her little quirks. I know about the spare key. My fingers slip beneath the ceramic pot of the sad fern she keeps outside her door, the cool metal a shock against my skin. The key slides into the lock with a satisfying click.
The apartment is quiet, the only sound the soft hum of the refrigerator. I step inside, closing the door behind me, the warmth of the apartment a welcome contrast to the biting cold outside. Nimbus is curled up on the sofa. He lifts his head as I enter, blinking slowly, then goes back to his nap.
“Millie?” I call out, my voice echoing in the silence.
No answer. My heart starts to pound in my chest. I walk toward her bedroom, my steps hesitant, afraid of what I might find. The door is slightly ajar, and I push it open.
And then I’m hit by it. The scent. It’s a physical blow, a wave of pure, undiluted Omega heat that almost knocks me off my feet. Vanilla and lavender, sweet and intoxicating, but there’s something else too. Something sharp and musky. Leather and wood.
The scent of another Alpha.
My own Alpha instincts surge to the forefront, a primal, possessive rage that makes my blood run hot. What the fuck? Who’s been here? Who’s touched her?
I push the door open the rest of the way and see her. She’s sitting on the floor next to her bed, wrapped in a towel, her wet hair plastered to her back. Her head is bowed, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs.
I crouch down in front of her. “What’s going on?” I ask, my voice rough.
She looks up at me, and my heart clenches. Her eyes are red and puffy, her cheeks streaked with tears. Her lips are bruised, swollen, a reminder of what she’s been through. And the scent... it’s stronger now, a cloying sweetness that coats the back of my throat. Underneath it, the scent of the other Alpha is even more potent, a clear, undeniable claim.
She’s crying, and I can smell the slick on her, a sweet, musky aroma that calls to the most primal part of me. She’s in heat. Fuck. I take a step back, bracing my hand against the wall to steady myself. The urge to go to her, to comfort her, to claim her, is overwhelming.
I shouldn’t have come in. I shouldn’t be here.
“Maddox,” she whimpers. “It hurts.”
I swallow hard, the sweetness trapped in my throat making it difficult to breathe. “Where are your suppressants?” I ask, my voice tight.
“Took the last one,” she whispers. “They run out. The pharmacy was out.”
Fuck. I press my hand to my arm, my fingers digging into the muscle in a desperate attempt to ground myself, to keep myself from doing something I’ll regret. I want to touch her. I want to wrap her in my arms and never let go. I want to bury my face in her cunt, to taste her, to make her mine.
This is what she has Liam for. But he’s stuck in a cell right now, unable to help her, unable to protect her. And I’m here. I’m the one who found her. The thought sends a fresh wave of possessive rage through me.
I hate it, but I have to ask. “Should I call Knox?”
The thought of calling him, of bringing him here, makes my stomach turn, but I have to consider her needs. She’s slept with him before. He’s the one who can help.
She shakes her head, a small, jerky motion, and I almost collapse in relief. I don’t want him here. I don’t want him anywhere near her.
“What can I do?” I ask, my voice soft. “How can I help?”
