Page 20 of Heat Lightning

I had nothing to say to the police, anyway. Maybe it was just because I knew things would’ve gone so much worse had he not shown up, or maybe going into heat and latching onto him, even temporarily, had irreparably fucked me up.

Both. It’s both.

But I wasn’t going to tell anyone what I saw him do that night, and it was only partially because I was terrified of what he’d do to me if he found out.

A shiver chilled the sweat on my skin. I peered around the dark, tree-lined path. That feeling of being watched paired with the scent of him in the air, of copper and electricity, had never fully gone away—even now, two years later.

Honestly, I couldn’t tell if it was real or all in my head. I pictured him waiting for me in the darkness, looking for the right moment to pounce the second I even thought about speaking of what he’d done.

I’d never be that stupid. I hadn’t forgotten that he’d stalked me well before that night. I might’ve escaped with my life and body intact once, but inviting his attention again would be madness.

But then that shiver of fear tunneled deeper, blooming into something far more frightening. I couldn’t name the feeling; when I searched for one, there were only snarling teeth that gleamed in the dark before they wrapped around my throat.

Not to tear, but to hold. To keep. And all I could do was bare my neck like a good little omega and relent, because a part of me—one so secret and hidden it would never see the light of day—wasn’t just relieved those alphas were killed before they could hurt me.

I reveled in it.

They deserved it, and more, for what they did to me, and if given the chance to serve justice through an investigation and police interviews and trials, I’d still choose to stand behind that Masked Man and his sharp blade.

Unsettled, I shook off the feelings like cobwebs in the wind. I tried not to think too hard about that part of myself, either. It was new—forged by him in the fires of that hellish night. I didn’t understand that version of myself, caught somewhere between black and white and right and wrong.

Frankly, I hoped I never would.

SIX

MAX

Around the bend, partially hidden from the main house behind a line of trees, the guest cottage came into view.

Calling it a guest cottage was actually hilarious—it was bigger than most family homes. Built in the Cape Cod style to match the much larger main house, my apartment was accessed via an outdoor staircase that led to a separate entrance overlooking the bay, complete with a balcony big enough for a couple of patio chairs.

It was my favorite place; light years away from my old, run-down apartment. As I said, I’d jumped up in the world. Alarmingly so.

The fact that this was my home honestly felt too good to be true. When Gwen had told me about the opening a few days after I woke up at the shelter, I’d thought the chances of landing a job as a personal chef and finding safe lodgings on someone’s estate all in one go were laughable.

Two years in, and it still felt like a dream. I didn’t even care that it wasn’t as private as having my own place. Gwen was the only friend I’d have over, and she was already there every day anyway. As far as dating went, that was the absolute last thing on my mind.

For a lot of reasons.

There was someone special waiting for me when I got home, though. Jeffrey, my orange Maine Coon, perched by the door when I stepped inside.

“Hey there, fluffy boy,” I said, tossing my keys on the side table and closing the door before he could make a break for the outside world. The birds liked to splash in the water right in front of his favorite window, and I knew he dreamed of catching them one day.

He yowled, weaving in and out of my legs as if it would usher me into the kitchen faster. I kicked off my shoes and socks. Ugh, I needed a long, hot shower and some warm slippers.

Tail flicking, he nearly tripped me on the way to his food bowl. “If I fall and hit my head and die, there won’t be anyone to feed you for at least a day,” I said with a huff. “So let’s try and not do that, please.”

He peered up at me, unimpressed.

I’d found him at a shelter a year and a half ago when I was in need of company to come home to every night. The attendant had said he was unusually reserved and aloof for a Maine Coon—they were typically outgoing, playful cats.

But with one look into those knowing, almost human-like eyes, I knew we were meant to be. After some time to settle in, it turned out Jeffrey was playful and outgoing, but only with me. It worked for us just fine.

Mrow!

“Yes, yes, I know,” I said, scooping out his food and setting it down. “There. I’m going to shower. Please leave my breakables alone.”

He ignored me for dinner. Honestly, fair. Maine Coons were massive cats, and Jeffrey was on the bigger side. He’d eat me out of house and home if I let him.