I climb back into the car, toss the bag onto the passenger seat, and pull away from the curb.
I hope Caroline is safe.
The drive to her house is the longest of my life. The town is a disaster zone. The windows of the bookstore are shattered. A large tree branch has fallen across the entrance to the park, its splintered wood pointing like an accusatory finger at the sky. Every dark window watches me like an eye, radiatingthe town’s collective fear.
My grip on the paper bag tightens, the crinkling sound lost in the gale. Inside this bag is the answer to the question that has been gnawing at me since I got Brenda’s call. Anomalous atmospheric event, my ass. This is the Rift. This is the magic that fuels our town, and right now, it’s broken.
And Caroline is caught in the middle of it.
I should have been here. I shouldn’t have left. The thought is a vicious, self-flagellating loop. I was chasing a career, apromotion, a life outside of this town, while the one person who matters was here, facing this alone.
The text I sent her feels like a joke now.See you soon. I should have never left.
Finally, I turn the corner onto her street. It’s just as deserted as the main road, but then I see her house. Every light is on, warm and golden, spilling out onto the wet porch and the rain-slicked lawn. The sight of it sends a surge of relief through me so powerful it almost buckles my knees.
I pull up to the curb and kill the engine. For a second, I just sit there, staring at the house, letting the relief wash through me.
She’s there. She’s safe. She’s home.
I grab the paper bag from the passenger seat and climb out into the rain. I cross the street, my boots sinking into the sodden grass of her lawn. I climb the porch steps, the wood groaning under my weight. I can hear the wind howling around the eaves of the house, but inside, there’s only silence.
I knock. Three raps against the wood. The sound is swallowed almost immediately by the storm.
I wait. My entire body is coiled, tense. I strain to hear something, anything, from inside. Nothing. I raise my hand to knock again, louder this time, but I hear it. A floorboard creaking. The soft, hesitant sound of footsteps approaching the door.
A shadow falls across the peephole. I see the tiny glass disc darken as she looks out.
The silence stretches for an eternity. Then, the sound of the deadbolt turning. The lock clicks open.
The door swings inward, and there she is.
My breath catches in my throat.
She looks… wrecked. Her hair is a wild mess around her face, her cheeks are flushed a deep, feverish pink. She’s wearing a simple T-shirt, and her bare legs are visible, pale and tremblingslightly. But it’s her eyes that get me. They’re wide, dazed, and filled with a storm of emotions I can’t begin to untangle. Shock. Relief. And something else. A deep, haunting fear.
And then her scent hits me.
It’s the sweet, warm honey and cinnamon I know, but it’s laced with something else. It’s the scent of an Omega in the throes of a pre-heat. It’s a biological siren song, a call that bypasses all thought and reason and goes straight to the Alpha part of my brain.
My cock hardens instantly. My hands clench into fists at my sides, my nails digging into my palms. It takes every ounce of my self-control not to lunge forward, not to pull her into my arms and bury my face in her neck.
“Griffin?” Her voice is a hoarse whisper, full of disbelief. “What… what are you doing here?”
I hold up the paper bag, my hand shaking slightly. “August was bringing this. I took it from him.” I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself. “Are you okay, Caroline?”
She just stares at me, her lips parted, as if she can’t quite process that I’m real, that I’m standing on her porch in the middle of a storm. Her gaze darts from my face to the bag in my hand and back again.
“I… I’m fine,” she says, but the tremor in her voice gives her away.
“You’re not fine.” I take a step forward, into the warm, fragrant air of her house. “I can smell it.”
A fresh wave of color floods her cheeks, a deep, mortified blush. She looks away, her arms wrapping around herself in a protective gesture. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“The hell I shouldn’t,” I say.
I step inside, kicking the door shut behind me. The sound of it closing is final, cutting off the storm and sealing the two of us in together. The air in the small entryway is thick.
I set the bag down on the small table by the door and turn to face her. She’s standing there, looking small and vulnerable, and the protective instinct in me is so strong it’s overwhelming.
