The driveto the main house is a blur of dust and tension, the truck cab saturated with the scent of her.
It’s not just the honeysuckle and cedar anymore; it’s something richer, darker, like overripe fruit or the copper tang of blood. It sits heavy in the back of my throat, coating my tongue.
I pull up to the porch, throwing the truck into park, the tires kicking up gravel. I don’t bother with the keys. I just kill the engine and jump out.
By the time I reach the passenger side, my hands are shaking, a tremor that I try to attribute to the adrenaline. But I know better.
It’s her. It’s the pull of her biology demanding I submit to mine.
I open the door, and the wave of heat that rolls out is staggering. She’s slumped against the seatbelt, her face flushed a deep, feverish red, her breath coming in shallow pants.
I undo the belt and reach in to scoop her up. She’s light, but she feels like dead weight in my arms as I carry her up the porch steps.
“Seth,” she murmurs, her voice thick and slurred. She turns her face into my chest, her nose brushing the collar of my shirt. “Why... why are we here?”
I kick the front door open, the wood slamming against the interior wall.
“There’s a bed in the main house,” I say, mostly to myself, trying to rationalize the decision over the roaring in my ears. “It’s closer. It has the best air conditioning.”
“No,” she whines, her fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt, weak but insistent. “You should take me to my father’s house. I can’t... not here. The others...”
“The others aren’t here.”
I don’t know where Billy is. Tex is gone. It’s just us.
I carry her down the hallway, my boots thudding against the floorboards, each step echoing in the silence of the house. I push the door to the primary bedroom open with my foot.
The sheets are clean, turned back. I lay her down on the mattress, trying to be gentle, but she clings to me, her hands fumbling at my shoulders.
“Look at me,” I command softly, prying her hands away so I can stand up straight.
Her eyes flutter open. They are hazy, the green swallowed by the dilated black of her pupils. She looks drugged. She looks wrecked.
She looks at me with a desperation that sends a jolt of electricity straight to my groin. “Seth,” she breathes. “It burns.”
“I know,” I say. I turn away from her, forcing myself to think past the haze of lust clouding my brain. “I’m going to run a cold bath. That will help.”
I walk into the en-suite bathroom, turning the faucet on full blast. The sound of rushing water is a momentary distraction.
I grip the edge of the porcelain sink, my knuckles white, and stare at my reflection in the mirror. I look wild. My eyes are dark, my jaw clenched tight.
I can smell her from here. It’s seeping under the door, crawling into my veins. I need to make calls. I need to get a handle on this before it’s too late.
I pull my phone from my pocket, my fingers clumsy as I scroll through my contacts. I hit Tex’s name.
He answers on the second ring. “Yeah?”
“Get home,” I say, my voice rough. “Now. It’s Sedona. She’s in heat.”
“What?” Tex’s voice sharpens. “But the meds?—”
“Didn’t work. Or they wore off. I don’t know. I’m at the main house. I need you here.”
“I’m twenty minutes out. I’m turning around.”
I hang up and immediately dial Billy. It rings. And rings. And goes to voicemail.
“Damn it,” I hiss.
