Helena stands and wraps Cole and Lucas in hugs in turn. “It was so great running into you two tonight.”
They both grin like idiots. Lucas gently takes her hand and kisses the back of it. “Hope to see you again soon, Helena.”
She blushes and giggles. “I’ll be back on the beach tomorrow as long as the stormy forecast is incorrect.”
Cole keeps his hands to himself. It comes off as shy, but I catch the tension in his forearms. This isn’t shyness, it’srestraint.
Noted.
Lucas and Cole head off to their own homes while Helena tucks the massive narwhale under her arms.
She turns to me, blue eyes shining in the dusk. “Race you home?” Then she takes off.
It takes me almost a full second to realize my client is runningawayfrom me before I hop into action. I could catch up to her easily, but I let her go.
It’s me she’s coming home to.
CHAPTER 11
Helena
The storm tonight is biblical,with thunder like artillery and wind shrieking down the narrow alleyways of Seamuse Village. From what little is visible through the windows, I catch the rain pouring in a sheet of silver. The old windows in our one-bed rental flat rattle in their frames and the television struggles to hold on to a signal. Zane and I sit on opposite ends of the massive, seriously uncomfortable sectional sofa. A bright, checkered blanket is spread out like a neutral zone between us.
The television is caught in an endless loop between a nature documentary about predatory birds and a reality show where florists are eliminated one by one. I’m not really watching. I’m monitoring Zane’s silhouette, the way his big hands knead the hem of his Ravenwood Shield hoodie and how he checks the window every time the wind bends the glass inward. He’s tense. Not in a “there’s a murderer in the storm” way, but in the way that means he expects the universe to tip over and dump its problems directly into his lap.
His lap is, incidentally, the safest place in the universe, if you don’t mind the cost of entry being total emotional surrender.
My pulse pounds in my ears. The charged energy in this room has changed everything. And being this close to Zane and fullyenveloped in his scent while my pulse thunders like this is not something I know how to handle.
I clutch the remote a little tighter and clear my throat. “You’re not going to be able to fix the storm by scowling at it.”
Zane doesn’t crack a smile. “Wouldn’t hurt to try.” His gaze flicks to me, then away. “How are you feeling?”
“Restless.” It’s an understatement. My skin feels electric. The storm outside runs through my very own veins, not around us. Maybe that’s why every time Zane inhales, my heart thumps so loud, I’m surprised he can’t hear it.
We stare at the television, each pretending to follow the show—now a series of bird-of-prey close-ups, beaks tearing into something small and furry. I’m not in the mood for predation metaphors, so I click through channels until I land on a local weather map depicting an animation of swirling clouds. Angry, red warnings crawl across the bottom of the screen.
Zane leans forward and puts his forearms on his knees. The silence is so loud, I feel like screaming. I want to talk about Cole and Lucas—about how their scents tangled with mine on the beach yesterday and made everything more complicated than I ever wanted it to be. About how, apparently, the universe didn’t just tip its problems onto Zane’s lap. It dumped a whole pack’s worth into mine, and now I have to make sense of a connection I never expected or prepared for, and definitely never wanted to feel all at once.
But Zane has made it clear, in his Zane way, that he’d rather wrestle a tornado than have a feelings talk right now.
I clutch the blanket, turning a corner over and over in my hands. “Are you going to just ignore it?” My voice comes out soft, but it cuts through the air, anyway. “The scent-match?”
He doesn’t answer. He just stands, suddenly propelled by the same static that’s making my skin crawl. He goes to the kitchenand returns with a box of oat biscuits, which he sets on the coffee table with military precision. “You should eat something.”
“You’re changing the subject.”
“Which is?”
I suck in a breath. The words are there, but they feel like barbed wire in my mouth. “You know what. The pack thing. Cole. Lucas. Me. You.”
He finally looks at me. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
“Bullshit,” I say, surprising both of us.
Thunder rattles the whole flat. The lights flicker—once, twice. Zane’s jaw goes tight. “We’re not in the city anymore, Helena. We don’t have to pretend anything. You’re free to do what you want. What you feel. If that’s chasing alphas for the summer, who am I to stop you?” There’s an edge to it—a kind of finality, like a door slamming shut.
But I’m not ready to let it shut. I slide closer along the sofa, folding my legs under me, forcing him to see me in the full glare of the flickering overhead light. “Why do you care?”
