Ryker barrels out of the house behind me, hair wet, a towel slung low around his waist. We drop to our knees beside her at the same time.
Her scent hits me like a wall.
Sweet. Overwhelming. Everywhere.
Heat.
My jaw clenches hard as realization crashes over me.
She’s in heat.
How the hell did I miss this?
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Norah
The cold barely registers.
I know it should. I know snow against skin should bite and burn, but everything feels distant and sharp at the same time, like my body is no longer reporting the right information to my brain.
The ground disappears beneath me, and suddenly I’m moving, lifted, strong arms under my knees and back.
Jude.
His scent wraps around me first, warm vanilla and something spicier underneath it. Safety. Familiarity. I cling to him as he carries me toward the house.
“Careful,” Ryker says, close and urgent. “She’s burning up.”
Burning is the right word.
The world swims as the door opens and closes again, heat blasting my face, my skin reacting all at once like it has been starved for it.
They lower me onto the sofa, cushions dipping under my weight. I try to sit up and fail, muscles weak and uncooperative.
Ryker is in front of me.
My eyes lock on his chest without my permission.
He’s fresh from the shower, skin damp, hair still dripping down his neck. His towel hangs low on his hips, his chest bare and broad and right there.
The sight of him pulls something deep and aching through me, need clawing upward so fast it steals my breath.
I whimper.
Jude swears softly. “Okay. Okay. What do we do?”
“Should I call Wren?” Ryker asks, already reaching for his phone.
“No,” I force out, the word slurring. “No. She’s… she’s pregnant.”
Ryker freezes. “Right. Right, sorry.”
“Dr. Simon,” Jude says. “Or the hospital. Someone will know what to do.”
Ryker nods. “I’ll call.”
But he doesn’t move fast enough.
