Chapter 11
Chapter eleven
Hip pressed against the kitchen counter, Sammy stirred thick batter in slow circles.
Usually, baking settled his nerves and gave him something solid to hold onto, but today, the motions felt hollow. The scrape of the spoon and the hiss from the oven made him flinch, every sound feeding the restless energy twisting in his gut.
The scent of apples and cinnamon saturated the air, the fragrance unusually cloying that morning. Beyond the windows, the first glimmers of sunlight illuminated the sky in shades of silver and blue, and his hands trembled as he realized what that meant.
Dominic had said he’d be home before sunrise, but he’d stopped short of making any promises. He also hadn’t clarified in what condition he would return, leaving Sammy with a gnawing sense of dread that twisted and knotted in his stomach.
A necessary evil, Rogue had called the pack. He hadn’t understood at the time, and a part of him wished he still didn’t.
For better or worse, Blackrock took on the responsibilities MOA wouldn’t. In return, the governing body turned a blind eye when bodies started dropping.
The fact that the pack risked their lives to keep others safe didn’t seem to matter. Not to the communities who looked to them for protection, and certainly not to the Ministry.
It sure as hell mattered to Sammy.
It wouldn’t have been right to ask his mate to stay, so he’d smothered the instinct the moment it had surfaced. When Dominic had kissed him goodbye, Sammy had tamped down the urge to call him back.
Now he was left counting the minutes, trying not to unravel.
For the first hour, he had busied himself by showering and tidying his room. Then he’d alternated between pacing the entry hall and staring out the front windows. Mia, the little Yorkie, had followed him at first, her nails tapping a steady rhythm on the hardwood.
When she had tired, she’d curled up on a chair to watch him instead. He’d felt her gaze growing heavier with each pass, judging, maybe, or just sharing his unease.
Boone, however, was less subtle.
“Knock it off,” he’d grumbled, eyeing Sammy’s restless movement with annoyance. “Sit down, or I’ll tie your ass to the banister. You’re making me fucking twitchy.”
After several more attempts to distract himself—cleaning, watching a movie, texting his friends back in Hunters Hollow—he finally made his way to the kitchen, drawn by the promise of simple, repetitive motions and familiar scents.
Thierry had stocked the pantry well—a small mercy—so he gathered what he needed for apple strudel muffins. Boone helped him find the mixing bowls and utensils, and together they hunted down the muffin tin, still brand new and wrapped in its paper label.
As he set up his workstation and preheated the oven, the sound of smooth jazz began drifting from the speakers mounted near the ceiling. The notes echoed through the space and bounced off the tiles, seeming to amplify his disquiet.
Rather than soothing, the repetitive beat felt intrusive, hammering at his already frayed nerves.
When Boone asked if he liked it, though, he smiled and nodded.
From that point on, he moved on autopilot, relying on experience and muscle memory, but finding no joy in his work. Every tap of the measuring cup felt clinical, every swirl of the spoon mechanical.
But he kept going, afraid his entire world would shatter if he stopped.
“They’ll be hungry when they get back,” Sammy commented as he scooped batter into paper liners.
Whether he was reassuring Boone or himself, he couldn’t tell.
“Starving,” Boone agreed, sliding off the barstool and rounding the center island to join him. “But Thierry will probably have a stroke when he sees the state of this kitchen.”
Sammy glanced around, wincing when he realized how much of a mess he’d made. Flour, sugar, and bits of apple littered the granite countertop. Bowls and spoons filled the sink. Bags sat open or toppled on their sides, and he had somehow managed to drip the batter onto the floor.
“Come on.” Boone grunted and rolled up his sleeves. “Let’s make it right.”
They worked together, moving in harmony, Sammy washing the dishes, Boone putting everything back where it belonged. They wiped down countertops, mopped the floor, and Sammy scrubbed the sink until he could see his reflection in the bottom.
“Thank you,” he said when they finished.
For the help, but also for the distraction. Boone’s intention had been obvious, but Sammy appreciated it all the same.
Instead of feigning ignorance or purposely misunderstanding, the wolf dipped his head as he resumed his seat at the island.
The oven timer sounded then, puncturing the silence with a long, electronic beep. Sammy hurried to pull the muffins, thankful for something else to do. He had just finished transferring them to a cooling rack when Boone suddenly jumped to his feet.
“They’re back.”
Sammy didn’t stop to ask questions.
Abandoning his task, he hurried out of the kitchen and careened around the corner, bouncing off the walls of the corridor as he sprinted toward the foyer. Nothing could have prepared him for the sight that greeted him.
Dominic stood alone at the base of the stairs, looking like something straight out of a horror movie.
His black shirt hung in tattered strips off his shoulders, and large gashes in various states of healing littered his skin. Well, what little of it Sammy could see through the copious amounts of blood.
“Oh, my gods,” he whispered, stumbling to a stop a few feet away.
“It looks worse than it is,” Dominic told him, his voice rough and quieter than usual.
“What?” It looked pretty damn bad.
“They wouldn’t stop coming.”
“What?” he repeated, his brain buffering.
“The bloodsuckers,” Dominic clarified. His expression hardened, and a muscle in his jaw ticked. “They just kept crawling out of the woodwork like fucking cockroaches.”
Shaking his head, he huffed out a humorless laugh.
“I don’t give a damn about the vampires.” Tears welled in his eyes, blurring his vision as he edged forward with slow, uncertain steps. He was desperate to touch his mate but unsure if he could without hurting him. “Are you okay?”
“Of course.” Dominic’s lips twitched into a cocky grin, a flicker of his usual bravado. “So is everyone else. They’re helping with…clean up.”
Sammy nodded. While it probably made him a selfish asshole, he didn’t really care about anyone else.
“Does it hurt?”
“Not really.” Dominic lifted his right arm out to the side and glanced down at his chest. “I’m already healing, and most of the blood isn’t even mine.”
Which meant at least some of it was.
“Can…can I—?” He choked on the words, unable to force them past his trembling lips.
But Dominic understood. Holding his arms out, he beckoned Sammy to him.
“Come here.”
He closed the distance and collapsed into his mate’s embrace, shuddering with relief.
“Easy,” Dominic purred against his ear. “I’m right here. Everything is okay now.”
Muscled arms wrapped around his midsection, lifting him off the floor. Rather than fight it, he scrambled for purchase, locking his legs around Dominic’s waist and burying his face against the side of his neck.
Copper, sweat, and something darker permeated his skin, but Sammy didn’t care. He clung harder, refusing to let go.
“Shh, colibrí.” Dominic petted his hair and stroked the back of his neck. “I’ve got you.”
Completely falling apart now that the adrenaline had started to ebb, Sammy blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “I made muffins.”
“They smell amazing.” Dominic’s voice vibrated against his cheek, a smile evident in his tone. “I’ll grab one after a shower.”
Sammy lingered for a moment longer, soaking in Dominic’s warmth and letting the steady thrum of his heartbeat ground him.
“I’ll get you some clean clothes,” he murmured reluctantly. When he tried to untangle himself, however, Dominic tightened his arms and started up the stairs. “What are you doing?”
“Going to shower.”
While wholly inappropriate given the circumstances, Sammy couldn’t help but respond to the innuendo in his mate’s tone.
Heat crept up his neck and into his face as his pulse tripped into a wild gallop. Nerves sparked, electricity raced across his skin, and a familiar ache tightened in his belly.
“Dom, I don’t—”
The feeble protest died on his lips when the world dimmed, and he felt the uneasy sensation of being dragged through a tube.
He landed inside a spacious bathroom, decorated in warm hues of green and amber. Hot water steamed from the showerhead, the glass fogged, and two plush towels rested on the double vanity.
The tattered remains of Dominic’s shirt had vanished during the jump, along with the blood and grime, but he still looked haggard and battle-worn. Healing cuts and mottled bruises painted his torso like a canvas, and dark circles shadowed the skin under his eyes.
Carrying him to the vanity, Dominic sat him on the counter and pushed into the cradle of his thighs, grinding against the hard ridge behind Sammy’s zipper. He leaned in, one hand braced on the polished granite, and pinched a lock of Sammy’s hair between his fingers.
“It’s red.” He didn’t speak loudly, didn’t growl, but he sounded insulted.
Sammy cringed, eyeing the offending strands that gleamed ruby in the pendant lights. Before he could form a response, Dominic pressed a palm to the side of his head and brushed his thumb over Sammy's eyebrow.
"There are flecks of blue in this eye.”
Damn. He hadn’t realized he’d let it get that far.
“Boone?”
Sammy nodded.
“He has some pretty strong preferences.” And the stronger the inclination, the harder it was for him to resist, especially when he already had other things on his mind. “And I was worried, so—”
His breath caught when Dominic dipped his head, not for a kiss, but to skim his nose along the curve of Sammy’s jaw.
“You smell like him,” he growled.
He didn’t sound mad, though. He sounded…jealous.