Chapter 14
FOURTEEN
Alfie
The scent hitting me was a lightning strike of neon citrus and ozone that made my mouth water and my knees nearly buckle. Zia had turned the corner towards the green room so fast she was a blur, her hoodie pulled up, her hand clutching her stomach.
She was running. Again.
But this wasn't the "I'm terrified of your biology" run. This was the "my biology is about to betray me" run.
My Alpha brain screamed CHASE. It roared at me to sprint down that corridor, tackle her onto the plush carpet, and bury my teeth in the scent gland on her neck until she stopped smelling like distress and started smelling like mine.
I slammed into the wall instead. Hard. Just to give my body something else to focus on.
Paint chipped under my shoulder. Pain flared, sharp and grounding.
I forced my feet to move at a human pace, not a wolf's stride. I trailed her, keeping ten feet back, watching the way she leaned against the wall for half a second before pushing off again. She reached the green room door, fumbled the handle with shaking hands, and threw herself inside.
The lock clicked. Clack-clack. Deadbolt and chain.
I stopped right outside. I could hear her breathing through the wood, ragged, wet gasps, like she was drowning.
I slid down the wall. I pulled my knees up, wrapped my pink faux-fur coat around myself like armor, and pressed my forehead against the rough grain of the doorframe.
The hallway smelled of industrial cleaner and old carpet, but right here, at the crack of the door, it was all her. Grapefruit zest and electricity.
"Z?" My voice came out wrecked. "I'm here. Corridor side. I'm not crossing."
Silence for a beat, just the sound of fabric shifting on the other side. Then her voice, low and trembling, right against the wood. She must have been sitting on the floor too.
"It's high," she whispered. "It's climbing fast."
"Call Rowan?" I offered, though the thought of anyone else being near her right now made my teeth ache. "Meds?"
"No. Too late for meds. It’s just... waves."
A stifled whimper cut through the door. It sounded like it hurt. It sounded like need sharpened into a blade.
My hands fisted in my coat. I wanted to claw through the wood.
"Alfie?"
"Yeah, love. I'm here."
"Talk me through it."
I blinked, sweat stinging my eyes. "Talk you through what?"
"Talk me through what you’d do if I opened this door. But you’re not coming in. We’re doing this off-comms."
The request hit me harder than the scent. It was a permission slip and a restraining order in the same breath. She wanted the fantasy but needed the safety.
I rested my forehead against the furry collar of my coat, closing my eyes. I breathed in the citrus-lightning leak under the door, let it mix with my own burnt-sugar volatility.
"Copy that," I rasped.
I shifted, getting comfortable on the hard floor. I let my voice drop, losing the stage projection, finding that low, rolling cadence that lived in my chest.
"I'd wait," I started, painting the picture for both of us. "Door opens. I see you. I don't move. Not one inch. I let you see my hands."
I held my own hands up in the empty hallway, staring at the black chipped polish, the sharpie on my thumb. ASK > ASSUME.
"I’d look at you," I continued, the Yorkshire accent thickening, softening the edges. "Just drink you in, yeah? The hoodie, the mess of your hair, the way you smell like a storm tearing through a fruit stall. And I'd ask."
"Ask what?" Her breath hitched.
"Permission to approach. One step. Then I'd wait for the nod."
I could hear her shifting on the other side of the door. The rustle of denim. The slide of skin against fabric.
"And if I nodded?" she breathed.
"I’d close the gap. Slow. Letting you track me. I’d kneel down, right in front of you. Eye level. I wouldn't touch. Not yet." I swallowed hard, my throat dry. "I’d ask before I touched. I’d start with your wrist, yeah? Right over that fox-tail ink. Kiss, then wait."
A ragged exhale from her side. "Then?"
"Then I’d listen. I’d listen to your heart rate. If it’s too fast, I stop. If you want more..." I dragged a hand through my own hair, fist tightening in the blonde curls. "I’d ask: Closer or quieter?"
"Closer," she gasped through the door. Immediate. Desperate.
The word sent a jolt of heat straight to my groin. I pressed my forehead harder against the frame until it hurt.
"Copy closer," I murmured, letting the fantasy take the wheel. "I’d slide my hands up your arms. Under the sleeves of that big hoodie you wear. Skin to skin. My thumbs pressing into the inside of your elbows. I’d map you, Z. Every pulse point."
"And then?"
"Then I'd lean in. I'd put my nose right against the curve of your neck. Where the scent lives. I wouldn't bite. I'd just breathe. I'd breathe you in until I was drunk on it."
I heard a sound, a wet, slick sound. A gasp that shuttered into a moan.
She was touching herself. To my voice. To the ghost of my hands.
I groaned, the sound ripping out of my chest before I could stop it. My own scent flared, scorching the air in the hallway, thick caramel and burning ozone.
"I’d move one hand down," I whispered, reckless now, starving. "Over your ribs. Counting them. Making sure you're breathing. My hand flat on your stomach, feeling the heat coming off you."
"Alfie," she whimpered.
"Yeah. Just there. I’d ask again. 'Can I go lower?' And I'd watch your eyes. I'd copy your ‘no’ like gospel. But if you said yes..."
"Yes," she choked out. "Yes."
"I'd find the button of your jeans. Pop it. Slow. Torture slow. I'd slide my hand down, past the denim, past the silk. I'd find where you're wet for me."
The sound from the other side of the door broke me. A high, keen cry, followed by the frantic rhythm of movement. She wasn't just touching herself; she was unraveling.
I sat there in the hallway, fully hard, aching so bad I thought I might actually die from it, and I didn't touch the doorknob. I gripped my own knees. I let the burnt sugar pour off me, rolling under the gap in the door to wrap around her.
"I'd play you like a track, love," I growled, leaning into the wood like it was her skin. "I'd find the frequency. I wouldn't stop asking. 'Good?' 'Here?' 'Harder?' I'd make you answer me every time."
"Harder," she sobbed.
"Copy harder. I'd use my thumb. I'd wreck you with it. I'd watch you come apart and I'd catch every piece of you. I wouldn't look away. Not for a second."
"Alfie," she cried out, my name shattering into falsetto. "Alfie, please."
"Come for me, fox," I whispered against the door. "Let go. You're safe. I'm right here. I'm the wall. I'm the furniture. I've got you."
She screamed. It was a muffled, broken sound, abruptly cut off as she likely bit into her own hand or arm to stifle it. Then came the aftershocks, the ragged, sobbing breaths of a crash.
I slumped back against the wall, chest heaving, sweat trickling down my temples. I felt like I'd run a marathon. My blood sang with adrenaline and frustrated desire, but beneath it, a fierce, golden pride bloomed.
She felt safe enough to break.
Down the hall, movement caught my eye.
Euan was standing at the junction of the T-intersection, back to us, arms crossed, staring down the length of the corridor with the intensity of a security camera. He was blocking the sightline.
Kit was right next to him, leaning casually against the wall but looking ready to put someone through it if they took a step closer. He glanced back at me, saw me slumped on the floor, saw I hadn't entered, and gave me a sharp, grim nod.
And from around the corner, I heard Cal's mild, pleasant voice.
"Nah mate, you can't go down there."
"I just need to get my guitar case from the back—" A roadie's voice. Confused.
"Green room's shut," Cal interrupted, sounding apologetic and completely immovable. "Health and safety. Bit of a gas leak. Very dangerous. Best clear off to the bus, yeah?"
"Gas leak?"
"Massive one," Cal confirmed. "Smells like citrus and ozone. Lethal. Go on then."
I let my head thump back against the wall.
"Gas leak," I breathed, a laugh shaking my ribs.
From inside the room, silence had fallen. Then, a soft shuffle of movement near the door.
"Alfie?" Her voice was thin, spent.
"Still here."
"Did you..." She hesitated. "Are you okay?"
I looked down at my lap. "I'll survive, love. Cold shower and a bit of a lie down. Don't worry about me."
"You stayed."
"Told you. Copy your 'no' like gospel."
A pause. Then, softer than anything I'd ever heard from her: "Thank you."
"Anytime, fox. Literally. Anytime."
I stayed there until I heard her breathing even out into sleep. Only then did I push myself up, legs shaking, and walk toward the boys, feeling like I was ten feet tall and burning alive.
Walking back down that corridor felt like re-entering atmosphere without a heat shield.
My skin was too tight, my blood too hot, and every nerve ending was firing signals that had nowhere to go.
The scent of burnt sugar, my own distress and desire flaring up like a lit match, clung to the faux fur of my coat.
I reached the T-junction where the boys were holding the line.
Kit pushed off the wall the second he saw me. He didn't say a word, just scanned me from boots to chipped manicure, looking for damage or guilt. He’s got this way of looking at you, Kit does, like he’s counting your bones to make sure none of them are out of place.
"Door stayed shut," I said, my voice sounding like gravel in a blender.
"I know." Kit’s shoulders dropped an inch. "We heard the lock. Never turned."
Euan uncrossed his arms. He looked clinically bored, but I saw the way his nostrils flared, testing the air mix.
"Pheromone saturation in the hallway is critical," he noted, tapping something on his phone.
Probably adjusting the bus HVAC remotely to prepare for decontamination. "Yours is worse than hers right now."