“I’m fine,” she says again, but it’s the kind of fine that isn’t fine at all.
My instincts kick in before I’ve thought it through. The front lock on the bakery door isn’t complicated—Ryker joked once that a determined raccoon could get it open. A few practiced motions, and it clicks.
Inside, it’s cooler, still smelling faintly of primer and lemon cleaner. Pancake weaves around my legs like I’ve been invited in. I set one of the coffees on the counter for later, find a clean bowl, and pour the cat some water.
Then I head for the stairs.
“Wren?” I call, knocking lightly when I reach the door at the top.
The knob turns under my hand. The door swings open.
And my brain blanks.
She’s sprawled on the edge of the bed in a long, oversized T-shirt, bare legs tangled in the sheets. Her hair’s a mess, cheeks flushed, eyes glassy.
But it’s not her expression that guts me—it’s the scent.
Thick. Sweet. Tangy at the edges, like ripe fruit. It’s everywhere, saturating the air until breathing feels dangerous.
An Omega in heat.
I have to pinch the muscle in my thigh, hard, to keep my head clear. The urge to step closer is immediate and brutal, a primal instinct flaring like a lit match. My pulse is in my throat.
I cross to the nightstand and set the coffees down carefully, like they’re an anchor keeping me from doing something I’ll regret.
“How long have you been like this?”
Her gaze flicks to me, then away. “You need to leave. I don’t need help.”
The stubbornness in her voice is pure Wren, even wrapped in fever and scent. She means it. But she’s shaking, and her skin looks too hot, and my every nerve is screaming to close the distance.
I stay where I am. Barely.
“What are you doing here?” Her voice cuts through the haze like a whip. It’s not soft. It’s sharp, a blade meant to keep me at arm’s length.
I steady my breath—not that it helps much with the scent clawing at my lungs—and meet her eyes. “Why didn’t you call the hospital for help?”
Her laugh is brittle. “This is a small town, Beau. I don’t want any more talk than necessary.”
“You think I’m gonna talk?”
“I think it doesn’t matter. One nurse sees me like this, and by the next morning, the entire square will know I’m in heat.”
Her voice shakes on the word, and something profound in me flinches. She swallows, glances away. “You need to leave.”
“I can’t leave you like this.”
Her gaze snaps back to mine, eyes bright and feverish. “I don’t need an Alpha?—”
“I didn’t say you did,” I cut in, sharper than I meant to. I run a hand down my face. “Are you taking anything?”
She hesitates. “Simon was recommending stronger drugs, but I… haven’t gotten around to it.”
I exhale slowly. “Alright. How about I help you up?”
Her lips part like she’s about to refuse again, but I’m already bracing myself—literally. I have to hold my breath. Have to. Because the second I get close enough to touch her, I know I’m going to be swimming in it.
I slide an arm under hers, careful to keep my grip steady, careful not to let my palm press too much against the bare skin of her thigh where her shirt rides up.
