22. Caroline
Spell of Calm Breath:
Count seven in, hold three, exhale nine. Peace follows the rhythm.
The door clicks shut. The sound is small, final. I stand in the middle of my living room, my hand rising to my lips. They still tingle. I can still feel the pressure of his mouth, the possessive sweep of his tongue.
It was a claim. A branding.
My body is humming with a current that started the second he touched me. This morning, I woke with an ache, a low, persistent throb between my legs. I tried to soothe it, my own hands sliding over my skin, my fingers searching for that sweet, releasing friction.
Nothing. My body was a locked room, the key nowhere to be found. I was blocked, my own mind and flesh refusing to cooperate.
And now. Shit.
One kiss from Damon Wilder, and the dam hasn’t just broken.
It has been obliterated. A liquid heat pools in my belly, making my knees weak.
My skin feels too tight, sensitive to the brush of the cotton T-shirt against my breasts.
My nipples are hard, aching points. The scent of him, clean night air, and something uniquely him, still clings to me, mixing with the sweat on my skin.
I need sex.
Guilt is a cold splash of water. Griffin.
I should be thinking of him. I should feel ashamed for this reaction to another man.
But the guilt is distant, muffled by the pounding of my own blood.
When I think of Griffin, there’s warmth.
It’s safe. It’s what I’m supposed to want.
But it doesn’t feel like this. This isn’t a fire I can tend.
It’s a wildfire, a blaze that will consume me whole.
Then there’s Silas. The thought of him sends a different kind of shiver through me.
It’s not just desire. It’s fear. A cold, sharp fear that feels like ice against the heat Damon stoked.
But it’s a potent mix. My Omega senses are screaming, a symphony of warning and awareness.
He’s a threat. He’s powerful. He’s an Alpha who looks at me like I’m a puzzle he wants to take apart.
The three of them. Damon. Griffin. Silas. They each pull at a different part of me, creating a confusing, terrifying mess of emotion. Safety with Griffin. Fire with Damon. Fear with Silas. And my body, my treacherous body, seems to want it all.
I stumble toward the kitchen, my legs unsteady. I need something. Anything to get this under control. The pre-heat is coming. I can feel it in my bones, in the way my core clenches with empty need. there’s no avoiding it. My body has made its decision. I can only try to manage the fallout.
My hands shake as I open the cupboard where I keep my personal stores of herbs.
My mind races, sorting through formulas, ingredients.
Raspberry leaf to tone the uterine muscles.
Motherwort to calm the frantic beat of my heart and try to balance the hormonal flood.
A pinch of blue cohosh to… no, that will bring it on faster.
Chamomile. Lavender. Something to soothe.
I grab a small ceramic pot, my fingers fumbling with the lid. I measure out the herbs with practiced, trembling hands, not bothering with the spoon. I just pour, my instincts taking over.
I fill the kettle with water, my movements jerky. The hiss of the burner, the rumble of the heating water, are the only sounds in the house. It’s a sound I usually find comforting. Right now, it just sounds like a timer counting down to an explosion.
While I wait, I lean against the counter, my head bowed. My breath comes in shallow pants. I press the heel of my hand against my lower belly, trying to ease the ache. It doesn’t help. If anything, the pressure makes it worse, sending a fresh wave of liquid heat straight to my core.
Fuck. I’m so screwed.
The kettle whistles. I jump, my nerves shot. I pour the boiling water over the herbs in the pot, the steam rising up, carrying the scent of grass and flowers. It doesn’t help. The smell just reminds me of the shop, of my work, of the life I’m about to upend.
I cover the pot to let the tea steep, my mind already moving to the next problem. I can’t do this alone. I need supplies. Things I don’t have in my personal kit. Stronger things.
I grab my phone from where I left it on the couch and dial the apothecary. The main line rings twice before a familiar, crisp voice answers.
“Foxglove & Finch Apothecary, June speaking.”
Damn it! I was hoping Tessa would pick up.
“June. It’s Caroline.”
There’s a slight pause on the other end. “Caroline? What is it? You sound… unwell.”
I close my eyes, taking a deep breath. I have to say it. I have to force the words out. “June… I think I’m going into heat.”
Another pause, this one longer. When she speaks again, her voice is softer, full of a professional sympathy that’s somehow more comforting than a friend’s would be right now.
“Oh, honey. Of course. I understand. These surges fucking suck. What do you need? It can’t be easy, with your man out of town. ”
She thinks I’m calling because I’m alone, because Griffin isn’t here to help me. I don’t correct her. I just let the assumption hang there, a heavy, suffocating blanket of guilt.
“The town is in panic mode once again,” June continues, her voice brisk and efficient, pulling me back to the present. “The Rift flared. We’ve had calls about familiars going wild, pipes bursting. I think there’s a fire down at the fairgrounds. It’s a mess.”
A chill that has nothing to do with my heat goes down my spine. Damon. He’s out there in the middle of that. “Is everyone okay?”
“As okay as they can be. We’re locking the doors. Now, what do you need? I can have August bring a package over. A heat kit? Suppressants? Soothers? Just tell me what you want.”
I stare at the teapot, my mind a complete blank. What do I want? I want Damon’s hands on me. I want him to finish what he started. I want this ache to go away. I want to not feel like my body is betraying me.
“I don’t know,” I whisper, the admission costing me what little pride I have left. “I don’t know what I need.”
“Okay, Caroline. Breathe,” June says. “That’s the heat talking.
It makes everything feel overwhelming. I’ll put a kit together for you.
A little bit of everything. Stronger soothers, a mild suppressant to take the edge off, some nutrient bars.
You’ll need the energy. I’ll have August run it over in a few hours, once things calm down a bit outside. He can leave it on the porch.”
“Thank you,” I manage to say, my throat thick.
“Don’t mention it. Just stay inside. Lock your doors. We’ll get through this.” She hesitates. “How is Tessa holding up?”
I’d forgotten about that. “I don’t know. I haven’t talked to her since yesterday.”
“No, I suppose you wouldn’t. Tessa isn’t in today. I’m starting to worry the girl might actually quit. What bad timing to move to town, right in the middle of all this… Rift business.”
I can only make a noncommittal sound in response. My own world is shrinking, the walls of my house closing in, the only reality the fire burning under my skin.
“I’ll send that package soon, Caroline. Hang in there.”
“Okay. Thanks, June.”
I hang up the phone and let it fall onto the counter with a clatter. I press my forehead against the cool wood of the cabinet. The town is falling apart outside, and I’m in here, my body staging its own personal apocalypse.
The next call is harder. My thumb hovers over my mother’s contact name. I have to do it. She’ll worry if she hears about the Rift flare and can’t get a hold of me.
I take a deep breath and press call. She picks up on the second ring.
“Caroline? Thank God. I was just about to call you. Are you okay?”
“I’m okay, Mom. Just staying at home. It’s crazy out there.”
“Oh, thank goodness,” she says, her relief palpable through the phone. “I was watching the news. They said the Rift flared. I was so worried. You’re safe at home?”
“Yes, I’m safe.” The irony is bitter. I’m not safe at all. I’m a prisoner in my own body. “The doors are locked.”
“Good. You stay there. Don’t go out for any reason. It’s too dangerous.”
“I won’t.”
We talk for a few more minutes, her recounting what the news is saying, me making vague, reassuring noises. When I finally hang up, the silence of the house rushes back in, louder than before. I pour a cup of the tea, my hands still trembling.
The liquid is a deep, murky green. I bring the cup to my lips, blowing on the steam before taking a sip. It’s bitter, earthy. It does little to soothe the fire inside me. If anything, the warmth of the liquid just adds fuel to the flames.
I carry the cup back to the living room and sink onto the sofa. The tea is a temporary fix, a flimsy bucket against a tidal wave. The pre-heat is here. I can feel it winding tighter, a coiled spring ready to snap.
The heat that follows will be a firestorm. And I’m standing in the middle of it, holding a box of matches, as the faces of Damon, Griffin, and Silas are flash through my mind.