I shake my head immediately. No. I want to. Fuck, I really want to, but the faster we get Thistle, the better it will be for Caroline.
“That doesn’t make sense. I have the car. I know the town’s alleys and side streets better than anyone. It’s more efficient if I go. You stay with her, Silas. Make sure she gets back inside and stays there.
Every instinct tells me not to leave her with another Alpha. But Silas is a Council warlock—disciplined to the point of obsession. If there’s one man I trust to keep his instincts on a leash, it’s him.
My tone is an order, not a suggestion. Silas meets my gaze, and for a second, I see a flare of something in his eyes—annoyance, perhaps, or calculation. But he gives a nod. “As you wish.”
Caroline is still shaking her head, tears now mixing with the rain on her cheeks. “I need to go. I need to find him.”
I close the distance between us, my boots splashing in the rising water on the pavement. I gently cup her face, my fingers cool against her burning hot skin. I force her to look at me, to see the certainty in my eyes.
“Caroline. Look at me.” Her teary gaze locks onto mine. “I promise I will bring your familiar back, but you have to stay with Silas. He will stay with you and make sure you’re safe. Can you do that for me? Please?”
The fight seems to drain out of her all at once. Her shoulders slump, and she gives a small, shuddering nod.
The rain is coming down heavier now, a deafening roar on the asphalt. I lean down and press a kiss to her forehead. It’s a chaste gesture meant to reassure her, but my body betrays me. My cock stirs, achingly aware of the Omega right in front of me.
Why does she have to smell so fucking good?
“Let’s go,” I say to Griffin, who has been watching the entire exchange with a pained expression.
I force myself to take a few steps back. “Now, Griff.”
He steps forward and gives Caroline a quick, hard kiss on the lips. “We’ll be right back,” he says, his words thick with an emotion I recognize all too well. It’s the struggle of an Alpha fighting his own nature.
She nods again, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. She darts back toward her house and returns with a small fleece blanket. “It’s from his bed,” she says, holding it out to me. “Maybe you can use his scent. He’s scared, so you have to be careful. You can’t miss him.”
I take the blanket, the soft fabric already damp. “We’ll find him.”
Griffin and I turn and jog back to the cruiser. The last thing I see before I get in is Silas wrapping a protective arm around Caroline’s shoulders, turning her back toward the house and guiding her to the door.
Griffin slides into the passenger seat, shaking the water from his hair like a dog. He’s quiet for a moment as I pull away from the curb, the wipers working furiously to clear the windshield.
“Will she be okay?” he finally asks, his gaze fixed on the road ahead.
“Yeah,” I say, my own certainty solidifying. “Silas might be a Council prick, but he won’t let anything happen to her. And Thistle… the cat probably sensed her distress and the shift in her hormones and bolted. The surge from the Rift isn’t helping anything. He’s probably just scared and hiding.”
It’s a plausible theory. Familiars are deeply attuned to their Omega’s emotional and physical state. A sudden and unexpected heat would be a massive, frightening event for the animal.
“What do you need from me?” I ask, glancing over at him. “To concentrate.”
He closes his eyes, leaning his head back against the seat. “Just some quiet. And for you to drive. I can at least try to slow this down a bit more, give us a fighting chance.”
I focus on the road, navigating the flooded streets with practiced ease. I watch him from the corner of my eye. His brow is furrowed in concentration, his hands resting on his knees, palms up.
The air inside the car seems to change, to grow heavy. Outside, the relentless drumming of the rain on the roof begins to soften just a fraction, individual drops becoming discernible again instead of the previous roar.
He’s doing it. He’s actually pushing back against the storm.
And all for her.
Rune of Confession:
Drawn on oak, secrets spill like water.
The door clicks shut behind us, the sound unnaturally loud in the quiet of my home. Outside, the rain is a physical presence, a wall of water hammering against the windows and roof. The storm has trapped us. My heat has trapped me. With him.
Silas shrugs out of his wet coat, draping it neatly over the back of one of my dining chairs. His movements are precise, economical. He takes in the living room with a sweeping glance. “You have a lovely home, Caroline. It’s very… you.”
