Page 3 of Heat Lightning

I could send in an anonymous tip to the police hotline with all of the evidence I’d collected proving Joseph Weber was, in fact, the serial rapist who’d plagued Plover Bay for the last three years. I’d submitted tips before, to varying degrees of success.

But no. As much as the pretty omega needed some sense scared into him, I couldn’t forget the horrific details of what he did to his victims.

This time, justice was mine to serve.

A blessedly cool breeze cleared the remaining smoke drifting through the high alley walls. I leaned in, taking my first deep breath in hours that didn’t smell like a week-old trash bin, and nearly growled at the scent I inhaled.

The omega.

At first all I caught was fresh sweat mixed with unscented deodorant, exhaustion, and the sear of meat on a burning grill. But then, sifting through the top notes, I detected what lay underneath the evidence of hard work in a cramped restaurant kitchen.

My eyes fluttered, nostrils flaring at the bright omega pheromones, pulling me in like a mirrorball. Sweet and hot, he smelled of freshly baked bread and vanilla.

Delicious. Beguiling. Very, very forbidden.

Without realizing it, I took one step too far out of the shadows. His gaze snapped up, finding me immediately and pinning me in place. Shit.

Shit, shit, shit!

I was in my full gear; masked up with a dark hoodie and pants. There was no way he could ever identify me if interviewed about the man lurking in the shadows days before his friend turned up dead.

So why did I feel stripped bare before him?

Before I could react, his mouth parted, and he took a step closer, his scent shifting into something richer, like butter simmering on the stove. It wasn’t quite the char of terror, but more like the thrum of a small, racing heart when exploring something new and dangerous.

Like the omega in him sensed the alpha in me.

An unfamiliar feeling bowled me over. I wanted to wrap my teeth around that warm, fluttering creature until its pulse settled, safe on my tongue.

I’m the only monster who gets to know what the inside of you tastes like, that dark beast in me growled.

Another breeze picked up, blowing a rattling can down the alley. The racket startled us both. As if he could hear my thoughts for the blaring warning they really were, he turned and darted inside.

So. The omega could sense danger, after all. Good.

Not good, the alpha in my chest growled, raking his claws over the coals again.

I sighed and stepped back into the shadows. Feral thoughts aside, I may be the bigger monster, but I didn’t hurt omegas like Max Mayweather.

Joseph Weber did, though. And every day he still breathed the same air as that pretty thing in the kitchen was a fucking problem.

I couldn’t shake the image of that sweet, blushing face. He deserved to keep that blush and give it to someone worthy. Someone who didn’t hurt innocent people.

Someone who wouldn’t hurt him.

It almost had me ready to break my rules and kill the bastard tonight, plans be damned. Almost. But hastiness led to mistakes, and I liked to have as much intel on a target as possible before they noticed I was following them.

Still. I’d keep an eye on the omega, too. Just until the threat was gone. If Weber hurt him while I was on his tail, I wouldn’t be able to shake the guilt that had I acted sooner, I could’ve stopped it.

It wasn’t heroics. It was just minimizing the damage. That was all.

The flutter of the omega’s pulse at his throat danced through my mind. It would be such a shame if something that sweet were to ever sour.

Settling back in next to the dumpster, I shook off the pull toward that beautiful, naive thing and his addictive, wary curiosity.

We would never meet. After my target was dead, I’d disappear from his world forever. I wouldn’t wish becoming acquainted with the depravity of humanity on anyone, especially someone as soft and unmarred by life as him.

And that meant he would never know me or the dark things I did in the shadows to keep someone like him, someone made for the light, safe.