That’s not what I wanted to ask, but at least I know that now.
She’s in heat.
“I know,” I say, because I do. Because Caroline doesn’t seem like the kind of person to forget such a thing. “This isn’t your fault.”
I glance around, taking in the room. Couch. Coffee table shoved aside. My chest tightens again.
“I’m going to help you sit up,” I say. “I won’t touch you anywhere you don’t tell me to. Okay?”
Another nod.
I carefully slide my hands under her shoulders. Her skin is hot through the thin fabric of her shirt, heat radiating off her in waves. My jaw clenches. I focus on the task, on keeping herupright, on not thinking about the way her scent wraps around me.
She whimpers softly when she shifts, fingers curling into my sleeve. I still.
“I have you,” I tell her. “I’m right here.”
She leans into me, forehead pressing against my chest. Her breathing stutters again, and I can feel the tremor in her body, the way she shakes like she’s cold even though she’s burning up.
I reach for the blanket and drape it over her, creating a barrier. It helps a little. It gives my hands something to do besides curl into fists.
“Listen to me,” I say. “I’m going to call June. And the clinic. We will figure this out.”
Her fingers tighten. “Please don’t leave.”
“I’m not leaving,” I repeat. “I promise.”
Thistle headbutts my knee like he is seconding the vow.
I stay there breathing through the pull in my chest, the pressure in my veins, the instinct that wants too much. I’m an Alpha. I’m the sheriff, and I have control over this. I have control over my own body.
I’m not crossing a line.
Not today. Not ever.
“I’m here,” I tell her again, softer this time. I try to ignore the way my cock is pressing to the seams of my pants. This is just my body reacting to an Omega in heat. That’s all.
“We’re going to get you help,” I tell her.
Balm for Soothing a Familiar:
Rub a small amount of honey mixed with ground valerian root behind their ears.
Ihide my face against his shoulder for half a second, mortified and needy and shaking.
“I’m sorry,” I breathe, though I’m not even sure what I’m apologizing for.
“Don’t,” he answers, and his voice is steady in a way I envy. “Just tell me where your bedroom is.”
I point down the hall. My house feels too small for him, for this moment, for the way my skin hums where he touches me. Every step sends another wave through me.
I’m hyperaware of the press of his arm around my back, the brush of his fingers at my waist. The heat inside me twists, sharp and aching, as if it recognizes him.
When we reach my room, embarrassment hits hard. The sheets are half on the floor, pillows crooked, the bed a disaster that mirrors how I feel. I expect him to hesitate. I expect a look, a question.
He does neither.
He guides me to the mattress and eases me down on top of it, movements careful, respectful. I grip the edge of the bed to keep from reaching for him again. My face burns.
