Chapter 17
Isquint against the bright screen of the tablet, studying the security plans for my next job. The large loft windows let in gray light, the cityscape beyond blurred by snow flurries.
A mild headache throbs at my temples, but I ignore it as I drag two fingers across the blueprint, zooming into the stairwell. Rowan had finally green-lit another attempt to pull the information Danny hid from the Vartanian family, and I need to be ready to get our team in and out cleanly.
The Harmon Building is a private data center that advertises greater security than public servers offer.
It took some work to get my hands on the building’s security plans and layout.
The front door is mounted in a reinforced frame, which is a solid choice.
There’s a panic bar over the service entrance.
Code-compliant, but exploitable. Camera placement is decent, but predictable.
My brain moves faster than my hands, mapping pressure points, tracing weaknesses, and building a thousand ways in and out.
I pat the surface of the desk until my fingers bump my coffee mug, and I lift it to my lips. Lukewarm, bitter coffee dregs fill my mouth, and my nose wrinkles, but I swallow, chasing the caffeine boost needed to focus past the fog in my mind from when I woke up.
Despite the cold beverage, a slow heat coils in my stomach, and I pause, fingers hovering above the screen.
No.
I breathe in through my nose, waiting for it to pass. It’s a fluctuation, or fatigue, or anything except—
The warmth spreads, liquid and heavy, sinking into muscle and bone.
Fuck.
I swallow and inhale again, deeper this time, and fill my nose with Rowan’s pheromones. They’re soaked into the wooden desk and leather chair, wrapped into the fabric of the loft itself. Normally, it sits at the edge of my awareness as background noise I’ve learned to ignore.
My stomach cramps, breath shortening as nerves wake one by one, as if someone flipped a switch in my womb and set fire to my veins.
Not now.
I’ve been taking suppressants daily since we moved in with Rowan, ensuring I wouldn’t go into Heat. Rowan stocks the loft with the good stuff, too, not the cheap pills we used to buy at the gas station.
My phone sits on the desk, the screen lighting up with a text, and I squint to bring it into focus.
Lena
Going to the study group after school. Home by 7.
Panic slices through the creeping fever invading my mind. We don’t have emergency suppressants in the loft, and I’ll be too far gone before I can have them delivered. Rowan will come home, and we’ll—
Lena can’t come home, but where can I send her?
Another wave crashes through me, stronger than the first, stealing my breath. My skin prickles with sweat, clothes becoming too rough, too constricting. My heartbeat pounds in my ears, fast and frantic like a trapped animal.
My legs shake as I stumble down the stairs and then the hallway, one hand trailing along the wall for balance. The floor tilts beneath my feet, the air thick as honey around me. By the time I reach the bathroom door, my shirt clings to my back, damp with sweat.
I slam the door shut behind me, fumbling with the lock. The click of metal sliding into place offers a moment of relief that dissolves under a fresh surge of heat. My back hits the door as my knees threaten to give out.
“Fuck,” I hiss through clenched teeth.
The bathroom light burns too bright, the hum of the ventilation system, the drip of the faucet, and the rasp of fabric over my hypersensitive skin are all amplified. I strip off my shirt, the cool air a momentary relief for my overheated flesh.
The mirror above the sink reflects a stranger back at me. Flushed cheeks. Dilated pupils swallowing the gray of my irises. Sweat beads along my hairline and trickles down my temple. The leather nape guard sits dark against my skin, too tight, too restrictive.
This isn’t a normal Heat. Not the gradual buildup I’ve experienced since puberty. This is a flash fire, consuming control and reason with frightening speed.
I sink to the floor, flattening my bare back on the cool tile wall. The contrast between the cold surface and my burning skin sends a shudder through me. My thighs tense as slick begins to gather, the first telltale wetness between my legs.
I need Rowan. His hands. His pheromones. His weight on top of me.
A whimper escapes my throat, high and needy in a way that would mortify me if I had any capacity left for shame. My dick strains at my jeans, already hard and leaking, while slick dampens my underwear. My arousal floods the small space, thick and sweet with the need to be filled by an Alpha.
Then the fever ebbs, and I gulp air into my lungs, using the brief reprieve to think through my fogged senses.
Lena. I need to make sure Lena is safe before I lose my mind again.
My phone. Where’s my phone?
Patting my pockets, I find it there by some miracle. My hand trembles as I unlock it with clumsy fingers.
I pull up Rowan’s contact, thumb hovering over the screen. What do I say? How do I explain?
Another wave builds, and my fingers shake as I type.
Ash
Heat. Can’t stop. Take care of Lena.
The message sends as the wave crashes over me. My phone slips from my grasp, clattering to the floor as I double over. Heat floods my system, turning my blood to liquid fire. My dick throbs, trapped behind the zipper of my jeans.
I stumble out of the bathroom and to Rowan’s bedroom, collapsing onto the bed. This time, I don’t fight the keening moan that claws up my throat to fill the room.
I drag Rowan’s pillow down, curling my body around it, breathing in his pheromones.
Minutes feel like hours as waves of Heat crash through me, each one stronger than the last, until I’m reduced to the painful throb of my untouched dick and the emptiness inside that demands to be filled.
The lock clicks in the front door, and my head snaps up. Through the open bedroom door, through the haze of Heat clouding my senses, I catch my Alpha’s pheromones.
My body responds before my brain can process, a fresh surge of slick soaking my already ruined jeans. I bite my lip hard enough to taste copper, the pain temporarily breaking through the fever.
“Ash?” He comes closer and appears in the open bedroom doorway, his amber eyes raking over me. “Well, don’t you just smell like a treat, all flushed and panting.”
“Lena?” I pant as I roll onto my back, spreading my legs.
“Saint will pick her up from her study group.” His tongue comes out to sweep along his bottom lip, and a rumble rises from him. “She’ll be enjoying the billionaire life for the next few days.”
Confusion fights through the fever fog. “Billionaire? Saint?”
“Don’t worry about it,’ Rowan soothes. “She’s safe and will be spoiled.”
I shove the heel of my hand over my aching dick. “Rowan, please.”
He pushes off from the doorway, stalking forward with predatory intent.
“You’re beautiful like this.” He unbuttons his shirt with deliberate slowness, revealing tanned skin and hard muscle. “All needy and wet for me.”
As the shirt joins the tie on the floor, my mouth waters at the sight of his chest, broad and tattooed with a story I’m still learning. His abs flex as he breathes, the trail of dark hair disappearing beneath his belt, drawing my focus downward.
His hands move to his belt, fingers working the buckle, before the leather slides through the loops with a slithering sound that sends a pulse of heat straight to my groin. My thighs fall open wider in mindless invitation.
“Look at you.” He drops the belt, the metal buckle hitting the carpet with a soft thunk. “Spreading your legs for me. You want it bad, don’t you?”
I nod, beyond words now. My body burns from the inside out, skin too tight to contain the fire raging beneath. Every nerve ending screams for his touch, his cock, his teeth in my neck.
Rowan kicks off his shoes, his stare never leaving mine. His hands work the button of his slacks, lowering the zipper with excruciating slowness.
“You left the bedroom door open.” He steps out of his pants, standing before me in black boxer briefs, which do nothing to hide his massive erection. “What if someone had walked in and heard your whines? Scented your pheromones?”
The thought should horrify me, but in my Heat-drunk state, it brings on more slick. A whimper escapes me, high and needy.
“Does that idea turn you on?” Rowan hooks his thumbs in the waistband of his boxers, pulling them down inch by torturous inch. “Someone hearing how desperate you are for my cock? How wet you get for me?”
His cock springs free, thick and heavy, the head already leaking. My mouth waters, tongue darting out to wet my lips.
“Please,” I manage.
Rowan climbs onto the bed, his weight dipping the mattress. His hands find the button of my jeans, popping it open with a flick of his thumb. The zipper parts under his fingers, and he tugs the denim down my hips.
“Fuck,” he breathes, nostrils flaring again. “You’re soaked through.”
My underwear clings to my skin, transparent with slick, and when Rowan peels them off, the fabric makes an obscene wet sound as it pulls away from my body. Cool air hits my heated skin, drawing a gasp from my lips.
His fingers trace the inside of my thigh. “So wet for me, precious. Your body knows who it belongs to.”
I whine, hips lifting in a silent plea. His hand drifts higher, fingertips brushing over my entrance but not pushing inside. The tease sends a shudder through me.
“Tell me what you want.” He brings his slick-coated fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean with a groan that vibrates through my bones. “Say it.”
“Fuck me,” I pant, words slurring together. “Please, Alpha.”
The title slips out unbidden, and Rowan’s pupils blow wider. His hand moves to my throat, fingers tracing the edge of the nape guard protecting the spot where his bonding bite would go.
“What about this?” His thumb slides beneath the leather to rub bare skin. “Do you want to keep it on? Or do you want my teeth here instead?”