I rush toward them, my boots splashing through the puddles. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”
“It’s Thistle,” she says, and I can hear the tears in her words. “He ran away.”
Griffin nods to me, his face grim. “I’ve been helping her look for him. The wind was making it impossible to track his scent, so I was using some basic weather wards to try to create a calm pocket for us. It was working. But then… something happened. The wards just shattered. The storm came back worse than before, and I can’t… I don’t know where he is.”
Shit. A familiar bolting during a Rift flare-up is a recipe for disaster.
I turn back toward the car, walking over and yanking open the passenger door. “Silas,” I say, my mind racing. “There’s been a situation. Can you make your way to your car on your own from here?”
But Silas isn’t looking at me. His gaze is fixed on Caroline, his expression one of intense, unnerving focus. He steps out, ignoring my question completely. He walks right past me, his long legs eating up the space between the cruiser and the pair on the sidewalk.
“Caroline,” he says. His tone is flat, devoid of any inflection, but it carries a weight that makes her flinch.
I’m completely confused. How the fuck do they know each other?
“Silas?” she whispers, her face a mask of bewilderment. “What are you… I don’t understand.”
“Caroline,” Silas repeats. “You shouldn’t be out here. Not in your condition.”
Griffin steps forward, putting himself slightly between Silas and Caroline. “I tried to tell her that,” he explains. “She wouldn’t listen.”
And that’s when it hits me, truly hits me. Not just the sweet, warm scent of her, but the thick, musky undertone of an Omega in heat. My own body reacts instantly, a surge of possessiveness flooding my veins.
“I’m in pre-heat,” Caroline insists even though she’s shaking. She wraps her arms around herself, a gesture of self-preservation. “I can hold it. I just need to find my cat.”
I shake my head. She has no idea. She’s fighting a battle she’s already lost. I take a step closer, my gaze softening as I look at her. Her face is flushed, her eyes wide and glassy with fever and fear.
“No, baby,” I say gently. “I think you might already be in heat.”
“No,” Caroline says defiantly. She shakes her head, a motion that seems to take all her strength. “I’m not. I would know. I track my cycle. I know what happened after the Rift flare, but this doesn't feel the same. It feels like a panic attack. The storm, the magical surge... everything's amplified, but I'm not in heat. I'm in control.”
Her reasoning is logical, rooted in her own experience. But biology is a brutal and uncompromising thing.
“Damnit,” Griffin mutters as the sky opens up. The rain, which had been a downpour, becomes a torrential, driving force, plastering our clothes to our skin in seconds.
“Your personal assessment is irrelevant to the biological facts,” Silas says, his tone cutting through the wind and rain with clinical precision. He takes a step toward her, ignoring the way Griffin tenses. “The pheromones you’re emitting are at the peak concentration of an Omega in full estrus. Your pupils are dilated, your skin is flushed with a fever that has nothing to do with panic. You’re already in heat.”
Caroline flinches as if struck. Her wide, feverish eyes dart from Silas to me and back again. “But Thistle…” she whispers, the name a broken plea.
“I wasn’t entirely sure until now,” Silas continues, his gaze unwavering. “When we met at the apothecary, your scent was on the cusp. You were in pre-heat, but it was potent, unusually so. I had an inkling your cycle might be unpredictable. The stress of this surge, coupled with the distress of your missing animal, has likely acted as a catalyst, triggering the full heat prematurely.”
What? They met at the apothecary? My mind races, trying to connect the dots. When? I was with her that day. I don’t remember seeing him. And he could tell all that just from her scent? A new wave of irritation washes over me, directed at this smug Council operative who seems to know more about the woman in my town than I do.
“But Thistle…” she repeats, her focus a single point of desperation.
“We’ll find your cat,” I say, leaving no room for argument. I’m the sheriff. I’ll fix this.
“I can help,” she insists, trying to step past me, toward the darkened street. “I know his hiding spots.”
Griffin moves to block her path, his body forming a barrier. “The weather is getting worse. You can’t be out here. I’ll be theone to do it.” He’s gritting his teeth, the words forced through his clenched jaw. A muscle tics in his temple. He’s obviously being affected by her scent, every Alpha instinct screaming at him to claim, to protect, to possess.
Just like me.
Just like Silas.
“I can create pockets of calm, but it’s… it’s hard to focus,” Griffin says.
Silas, who has been observing the entire exchange with a detached, analytical air, finally speaks. “I will go with him. You stay with her, Damon.”
