Page 36 of Heat Lightning

I wasn’t sure how long I lay there in the dark, thinking about him; about the fear he stirred inside me alongside the lust.

But when my thoughts eventually settled, it wasn’t either of those things that finally lulled me to sleep. No, it was the image of him waiting out there in the dark, like an ever-watchful predator, that made me feel safe enough to drift off. Or was he an ever-watchful protector, instead?

Maybe, just maybe, he could be both.

There was something seriously, seriously wrong with me.

TEN

THE MASKED MAN

Walk away.

Walk away.

Walk away.

My alpha snarled, chained and beaten into submission in the bowels of my worst impulses. Every step that parted me from Max stretched my skin until it tore, pulling on those chains till the steel creaked and groaned.

I wasn’t sure how long the links would hold.

Drawing and quartering was probably a more humane method of torture compared to being forced to leave my unclaimed mate behind, all alone and still smelling like himself instead of me.

Instead of us.

But God had he smelled perfect. When the stench of his fear finally settled and that wary curiosity came through, I could’ve devoured him whole. It reminded me of the first time I saw him, sweet and innocent and unafraid, and made me want to chase.

I shook my head. I should be muzzled.

Thankfully, I’d kept myself together and didn’t frighten the poor thing even more, but I wasn’t sure that control would last for a second meeting. Hopefully by then he’d be more amenable to my proposed solution to this madness.

My alpha whined. The finality of rejection would hurt even worse than this current torment, but it was the only way.

Walking away from Max that night stole everything from me.

I’d completely stopped hunting in the two years since. Mainly because my body was unstable and unpredictable, which was a death sentence in my line of work.

But also because the suppressants didn’t just dull my rut-related symptoms and senses, but everything else, too. It was like going through life with a blanket thrown over my head, so I only felt half of myself.

Half of my joy, pleasure, sadness, peace—gone.

I needed my life back. I needed my freedom back. Max was right—I resented this bond. Not only for what it took, but also because it tied me to someone who would never want me in return.

No matter how much I wanted him.

A fierce headache pulsed across my forehead, wrapping around and around like a rubber band, squeezing tighter the farther away I walked. Sweat poured down my back, and the second I made it to the car, I shut the door and yanked off the mask before chugging half a bottle of water in one go.

It didn’t help.

I focused on the calm, steady breathing pattern the rut specialist taught me, trying to center myself in the moment rather than give in to the urge to run back to him. Before that fateful night, things like breath work and meditation and mindfulness all sounded like made-up shit for people looking to make life more complicated.

Now, I practiced them daily. My pride, along with everything else, took a back seat when it came to avoiding the urge to rip off my own skin because I hadn’t scented my mate in days. Weeks. Months.

Years.

When the black dots cleared from my vision and it was safe to drive, I started up the car and headed home.

The route from Max’s apartment was familiar. In fact, I could probably do it blind. Through Plover Bay I went, turning onto the far less populated road that circled to the west side of the bay. Winding through the thick brush, it usually took half an hour till the pavement ended and I pulled off onto a gravel drive.