God, he's sexy.
It's annoying.
I kill the engine and sit for a second, hands still on the wheel.
Through the windshield, the Morder unfolds in front of me. It’s a sprawling, improvised city of canvas and plywood wedged into a clearing that has no business holding this many people. Generators hum from every direction. The air shimmers above the tree line.
I really don't want to be here.
But Cliff asked for my help, and I can’t say no to the alpha.
I pull the keys out of the ignition and hop out. The heat hits me like opening an oven door. Even with my beta nose, I’m overwhelmed by the scent of sticky pine trees and hot diesel, mixed with something unmistakably omega. Dozens of them.
My jaw tightens.
This must be hell for the alphas.
Cliff is already out of the car and walking toward the front of the convoy where Raff is standing with a woman I don't recognize. I fall into step behind him, and almost immediately I feel Adam press in close on my left side, matching my stride.
"Hey," I say, glancing at him.
"Hey." Adam's voice is flat. His eyes are scanning the camp as if he's looking for an exit.
I know that look. This place is getting under his skin. It's getting under mine too, but Adam wears his emotions much closer to the surface.
We reach the others, and I get my first good look at the woman Raff is talking to. She's tall, easily six feet, maybe more in the pointed high heels she's wearing. She has sleek black hair pulled back tightly from her face. Her lips are a high-gloss red that looks almost wet in the sunlight, and when she gestures while talking, I notice her nails. Long and filed to sharp points, lacquered the same red as hermouth. They look less like a manicure and more like a set of weapons.
"Angelica runs operations for the western camps," Cliff says, half turning to include me and Adam in the conversation. His tone is casual, but I catch the way his eyes move to Adam, checking on him.
"Gentlemen." Angelica's gaze sweeps over us with the cool efficiency of someone taking inventory. Her smile doesn't reach her eyes. “Thank you for picking up the delivery for us. Our pharmacy has been running a little thin for a few weeks now.”
"Happy to help," Raff says, and to his credit, he sounds as if he means it. Raff can sound like he means anything. It's one of his more terrifying qualities.
I hang back while they talk logistics. Payment for the vans, along with transporting the cargo. Adam drifts closer to me, and after a few seconds I feel his nose press gently against the curve of my shoulder. He inhales, slow and quiet.
He's scenting me.
Or more accurately, he's scenting Cliff and Raffonme. I slept in Cliff’s bed last night, and I'm saturated in pack scent. Adam needs that right now. He needs the reminder that his people are right here, that the alphas who keep him safe are close enough to touch.
Not wanting to embarrass him, I don't acknowledge it. I angle my shoulder a fraction closer so he can reach better.
Most people look at Adam and see his cocky attitude and cut muscles.
He’s the kind of guy who talks too much shit and grins while he does it. But underneath the bravado is someone whose nervous system runs about twenty degrees hotter than it should. He processes every sound and smell andshift in energy like a raw nerve, and he’d rather die than let anyone outside of our pack see it.
"How long is this going to take?" Adam murmurs against my sleeve.
“However long it needs to take,” I say.
"Great. Love that for us."
I almost smile. "You want to wait in the SUV?"
"No." He pulls back from my shoulder, straightening his back and squaring his shoulders. "I'm fine."
"Okay."
"Iam." His brown eyes narrow.
