Chapter 25
Alfie
I arrange my face into a bright, personable smile as I approach the library. Lips pulled back, eyes creased at the corners. I wrangle the tea tray from both hands onto the palm of my left hand to allow me to open the door. It’s a lot harder than Sid makes it look, that’s all I can say.
Once that’s done, I take a moment to breathe in and center myself.
Last night didn’t end the way I expected, and I admit, it’s thrown me a little.
We left the ball soon after our conversation in the garden, and naturally, when we got home, I walked the little mouse to his rooms. He chattered the whole way and seemed in good spirits despite what we’d talked about earlier.
I was buoyed by his reaction. More relieved than I expected to be.
We got to his door, and I searched his eyes for his desires, as I always do.
What I found there took me by surprise—a low level of arousal, nothing more. Thinking about it now, it was understandable given the lateness of the hour. Exhaustion dampens arousal in most people. It’s completely normal.
Dark, inky shadows swam within the depths of him and painted pictures of his head nestled into a mound of pillows as smooth, slow waves of pleasure washed over him.
There was something odd about the imagery though. Something removed. Something distant.
Something distant and removed from me.
It took me several seconds to work out what I was looking at.
Jensen wanted sexual stimulation. He wanted an orgasm.
He wanted comfort and relief. All that was as I expected.
What wasn’t expected was the wall that had been erected between him and me.
A solid slab of bricks, covered in plaster, and painted to match the rest of him.
He wanted to feel good, but he didn’t want it from me.
I don’t mind admitting it shook me quite badly.
It’s taken quite a bit of time to make sense of it, though I’m ashamed to admit it.
It’s not a huge deal or anything like that, I mean, people can want what they want.
They can want who they want, or not, as is the case here.
It happens every day all around the world.
Sometimes people want you, and sometimes they don’t.
It’s just that it’s never happened to me.
I exhale, chasing the thought away as I nudge the door open with my hip.
“Morning!” I say, raising my voice cheerily. “I thought you might fancy a cup of tea.”
I’m met with a blunt silence and an empty room.
I set the tray down on Jensen’s desk and wander around the library looking for him like a twit who thinks it’s possible for an entire human being to hide behind a stack of books.
He must be using the bathroom, I tell myself after my search unsurprisingly proves unsuccessful. He’ll be back soon.
I lean on his desk for a while as I wait, and then move to the settee. The tea goes cold, and there’s still no sight of him. The hair on the back of my neck rises as the silence in the library stretches. It’s something that usually only happens when I sense imminent danger.
It’s an extreme overreaction to someone not being at their desk, even I can see that.
He’s probably on a personal call. He’s likely talking to his brother or his beastly ex, and wants privacy.
I cast my eye around the room. No, that’s not it. His phone is in plain sight on his desk.
Perhaps he’s simply taking some time off. God knows he deserves it. It’s the weekend, and we were out late last night.
He’s probably taking a nap. That’s all.
I decide to keep waiting because he’s bound to turn up soon. He never stays away from the library for long, not even on his supposed days off.
When I’ve waited so long I can no longer explain to myself why I’m still here, I take my leave, retreating to my study to pass some time there.
After an hour, I get up and repeat the process. The result is the same.
By late afternoon, I’ve spent at least twenty minutes tapping on Jensen’s door to no avail, and I’ve ambled through every room on the ground floor, calling his name.
Twice. It’s Sunday, so the house is unusually quiet.
Mrs. Thompson is off today, and so is most of the rest of the staff. Sid is here, thank God for that.
It takes me a while to track him down, but eventually, I find him suited and booted, getting ready to leave for the day.
“Sid.” An urgency in my tone makes my voice a little louder than usual. It makes him look up sharply. “Have you seen the little mouse anywhere?”
“Oh yes,” he says. He has one arm in his coat sleeve and his body is twisted awkwardly from the action of dressing for inclement weather. “I saw the little, er, Mr. Lawlor earlier, my lord. He was wearing a flat cap. He said…”
Goddamnit. Sid talks slowly in the face of a crisis.
Not that this is a crisis. Of course not. Jensen is around here somewhere. I simply don’t know where he is at this exact moment. He’s fine though. I’m sure of it. He’ll turn up in a minute, and we’ll all have a good laugh about this.
“Mm-hmm, good. Great. Thank you, Sid,” I interrupt, speaking much faster than he did to give him the impression I’d like him to speed things along. “Do you happen to know where he is now?”
He sucks a slow breath in through his teeth, shaking his head.
“Ooh, I’m afraid not, my lord. It’s been some time since I’ve seen him.
Some hours, I’d say. He was wearing a flat cap when I saw him last, my lord.
He said he was going for a walk.” Sid waves vaguely in the direction of the stables and beyond.
“He said he had important matters to contemplate, but…but surely he’s back.
It was midday when I saw him, and the weather’s turned—”
“Nasty,” I finish for him. “The weather has turned nasty.”
I turn to the window and the chill from outside swims through my veins.
The rolling hills that usually greet me are smudged out by mist and banks of black clouds.
It’s cold out, and it’s beginning to rain.
Every hair on my body stands on end. I feel the prickle, the tension of imminent danger everywhere.
For the first time in years, instinct awakens despite the fog and panic roars through my limbs.
My reaction is immediate, an animalistic reflex rather than conscious thought.
Something is wrong.
Jensen is in trouble.
My heart rate accelerates rapidly and my hands begin to feel hot. My focus narrows, vision tunneling as I sweep the horizon for signs of Jensen.
“Sid.” A low rumble I didn’t intend to unleash accompanies the word. “Call everyone who’s here or nearby. Now! Get all the cars ready, get everyone! Jensen is out there, and we need to find him.”
From there, things happen quickly. People appear out of nowhere and a fleet is assembled.
Raincoats and wellies are issued to those who will be searching the grounds on foot, and the rest of us pile into vehicles, two people per car, one to drive and one to look for Jensen.
Engines roar and vehicles take off at speed, each party given a particular road or lane to comb.
The windscreen wipers work double time, squeaking and sloshing torrents of water off the windscreen as Sid changes gear and accelerates.
We careen up and down the gravel roads that lead from the stables, through the valley, to an old, derelict cottage.
Essentially, it’s a lane that leads nowhere, but it’s a lane that can be seen from Jensen’s bedroom window, and one I often take when riding Gregor, so I know he’s familiar with it.
It’s a picturesque path most days, with beautiful views of the moor, but as the rain beats down heavily, it’s fast becoming a treacherous mud slide.
We drive up and down, as far as Jensen could reasonably have walked in the time he’s been out, and then a little farther.
My heart doesn’t slow down the entire time.
If anything, it beats faster. An unfamiliar sting of fear shortens my breath and makes my lungs burn.
I keep my eyes peeled, scanning the road and the countryside for any sign of Jensen as my panic grows.
We search for thirty minutes. Forty-five. An hour.
And nothing. No sign of Jensen at all.
Gradually, calls come in from the others looking for him. Like us, they’ve been unsuccessful. Jensen’s not on the grounds, not at the stables, not in any of the surrounding paddocks. He’s not on or near any roads or tracks that can be accessed from the house.
It’s not my imagination. The hair on the back of my neck wasn’t wrong. Instinct seldom is.
Jensen is missing.
My phone rings. It’s Mrs. Thompson. She’s come in on her day off, and I’m weak with relief at hearing her voice. “I’m calling emergency services,” she says firmly. “There’s a cold snap forecast, and we’re starting to lose light.”
“Yes,” I agree. “Do that. Tell them to hurry.”
There’s a kerfuffle of calls back and forth between us that ends with me hanging up and swearing viciously.
Evidently, according to the powers that be, Jensen is considered low-risk, whatever that means.
The best the officer Mrs. Thompson spoke to could do was suggest that we check local areas—as if we haven’t thought of that!
I put in a blunt, rather loud call myself and get promised dogs and drones tomorrow if he hasn’t been found.
Tomorrow?
To-fucking-morrow!?
“Don’t they know he’s not from here!” I yell at no one in particular. “We aren’t even sure he’s dressed for the weather. He could be freezing!”
“Just a thought, my lord,” says Sid, grimacing and holding eye contact for a little longer than usual before continuing.
“The missus’s cousin, Reggie, might be able to help.
He lives a couple of towns over. He’s an, erm, alpha known for his tracking abilities.
If we call now, he might be able to get here before Mr. Lawlor’s scent washes away. ”
The deafening drum of my elevated pulse falls silent. It ceases to exist for several seconds as a base rage sinks its talons into me. It’s so base and intense that my vision tunnels, and then tunnels again, narrowing so sharply that the world seems to turn on its axis.
An alpha.
A man who’s not me scenting Jensen. Looking for him. Becoming familiar with his scent. Finding the gentle trace Jensen leaves behind when he moves, finding that, knowing that, and using it to track him.
An alpha who’s not me inhaling Jensen’s scent, breathing it into his body from when it has clung to Jensen’s skin and spun around him. Using that to find him.
When I think about it rationally, it’s an obvious solution. A good, common-sense suggestion. It’s also the most heinous, offensive, repulsive thing anyone has ever said aloud in my presence.
The sound it shakes loose is more than a growl. More than a warning. More than a suggestion that caution around me is called for. It’s a snarl, plain and simple. A wild, rampant sound accompanied by copious amounts of spittle and fingers that are curled into claws, raking my chest and legs.
Sid stamps on the brakes in fright, bringing the car to a complete stop. His eyes are wide as he looks at me, whites showing all the way around watery irises.
“I apologize,” I say, blinking through the worst of my rage. “That was uncalled for.”
Sid eyes me warily and gives a curt nod when he deems the threat to have passed. “It’s completely understandable, my lord.”
It isn’t.
It’s not understandable at all. I’m behaving like an animal when calm is called for. I’m driving around like a headless chicken, searching for Jensen, using my eyes when another sense is clearly what’s required. A highly developed sense that most people don’t have.
A sense that I possess in spades.
A sense I suppress for the safety of others.
A sense that Jensen’s safety now depends on.
The angry, white-hot panic that’s gripped me since I realized Jensen was missing slowly leaves me and something else takes its place. Warm liquid tracks down my face and spills down my body.
Certainty flows through my veins.
“Turn the car around, please,” I say quietly. “Head home. Drive as fast as you can.”