“And if it goes higher?” I ask.
Her voice softens. “Then you stay with her. Constantly. Her cycles last longer than most because of her elevated hormone levels. I wondered why she missed her appointment today. Now I understand.”
She looks between us. “You can handle this. Dorian will give you guidance. He’s done this before.”
Jude swallows hard.
She finishes packing the blends and presses them into my hands. “You know what to do.”
I nod. “I do.”
As we turn to leave, she adds quietly, “She’s lucky she has people around her this time. No one should go through that alone.”
Outside, the cold bites again. I grip the bag tighter, breathing through the pain in my head, through the ache in my chest.
Norah is in heat.
And I’m not leaving her alone in it.
When I told her I was okay with her being with other men as long as she was happy, I clearly lied.
She’s mine, and I’ll make sure that she’s okay.
I turn to her… new man? New lover? Fuck, I don’t even care right now.
All I can manage is a quick, “Let’s go, Jude.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Ryker
I tryto hold my breath. It doesn’t help.
Roses, eucalyptus, a faint note of damp earth—calming, grounding, and somehow intoxicating all at once. It claws up my throat, wrapping around me, dragging my control down into a pit I can’t climb out of.
I handled Claire in heat, but this… this is different. This is raw, desperate, need twisting through every fiber of her body and mine.
She’s lying on the bed, her fingers tracing over her thighs, her pink bra taunting me. Her hair is wild, falling across her shoulders, and every movement she makes is deliberate, torturing me.
I can feel my Alpha instincts stretching, straining, wanting, needing.
“Ryker…” Her voice is low, breathy, full of something that shouldn’t be legal to hear.
I can’t look away. I can’t speak. My hands want to roam, my mouth wants to claim. I step closer, trying to give her something—anything—to ease her need.
“I… I can get you a bath. Or water. A damp cloth… something,” I rasp.
Her laugh is soft, knowing, and it makes me lose another fraction of control. “You know what I need,” she says, eyes dark. She shifts, just enough to make my teeth ache, enough to get a better view of her pink thong.
It must be soaked. Her smell brands itself in my skin. I want to taste her.
I need to taste her.
I have to fight to stay standing, to not collapse onto her, to not take her right here.
She crawls toward me, scent mingling with mine, and I groan. My hands reach instinctively, tracing her freckled back, slipping under her bra strap.
“We… we can’t—” I choke out, but the words are useless.
