Chapter 17
Ishould feel something.
Regret.
Doubt.
Anything.
Instead, as the car pulls away from Rockford Manor, I stare down at the shoes in my lap, the laces tangled.
I focus on that.
On bending.
Slipping my feet inside.
Pulling the laces tight.
Silence fills the car as Avery leaves Skyhaven and merges onto the highway. He drives with practiced ease, stirring with one hand while the other rests on the gear shift. The gun he pointed at Aaiden rests in the holster under his arm.
“So,” Avery breaks the silence as he takes the exit ramp for Ashford Heights. “What’s your plan?”
I don’t answer as I stare out the window at the passing city.
“I assume you have one.” Avery pins me with a look. “Or did you run without thinking about what comes next?”
“Does it matter?” The question comes out flat. Nothing like the chaos inside me.
“It matters.” Avery takes a turn, guiding the car into a part of the city where the buildings grow taller. “What happens when Aaiden comes looking for you?”
My stomach twists. “He won’t.”
“He will.” Avery’s certainty grates on my raw nerves. “The question is whether you’ll be ready when he does.”
My hands curl into fists on my thighs. “I’m not going back. That’s all that matters.”
Avery accepts this without pushing for more. The car slows as we approach a traffic light, and his fingers tap a rhythm on the wheel.
“Did he force you?”
My head snaps up. “What?”
“During your Heat.” Avery’s focus remains fixed on the road, but his fingers still. “Did Aaiden force himself on you?”
“No.” The denial comes fast, instinctive. “It wasn’t like that. It was...” The memory of Aaiden’s hands on my skin, his murmurs in my ear, his body moving with mine flashes through me. “It was mutual.”
The light changes to green, and Avery accelerates. “Then why leave?”
My throat tightens, but I force the words out. “Because it was the only thing that was mutual. I was just too stupid to accept it until now.”
Avery doesn’t respond right away, and silence stretches between us again, filled only with the sound of the engine and my own unsteady breathing.
“Sometimes, feelings aren’t enough,” he says at last, and my chest aches at the understanding behind the words. “Not if your beliefs don’t align, too.”
“Yeah.” The word burns as they come out.
The city changes around us, transitioning from gleaming high-rises to industrial blocks, their hulking silhouettes cutting into the early morning light.
Avery turns down a side street, then another, following a path that’s deliberate in its indirection.
We pull up to a converted warehouse, its brick facade weathered but solid. Security cameras track our approach from discrete corners, their red lights blinking.
The reinforced doors and high windows remind me of Rockford safe houses, built to withstand assault, and my stomach twists at the similarity.
Avery was once a Rockford, before his mate abandoned him when the family pulled out of the darker side of the family business, so the familiarity isn’t a coincidence.
Avery parks in a covered garage that requires both a keycard and a thumbprint scan to enter. The door slides shut behind us with a metallic groan, sealing us inside.
“Come on.” He kills the engine. “You look like shit.”
I follow him through a series of doors, each with its own security measures.
My body moves on autopilot, cataloging exits and blind spots, noting the placement of cameras and the three guards we pass, each armed with at least one visible weapon.
Two more in the shadows, less obvious but no less lethal.
Habit. Training. Things that haven’t changed while everything else has fallen apart.
Avery leads me down a corridor lined with polished concrete and exposed brick. The space leans toward industrial, but lived-in touches scattered throughout soften the stark utility. A worn leather couch anchors one wall. A shelf of books sits beside a reinforced window.
“Bathroom’s through there.” Avery points to a door. “Towels in the cabinet. Clean clothes in the dresser. Take what you need.”
He leaves me at the threshold of what appears to be a guest room, sparse but clean. The door clicks shut behind me, leaving me alone.
The silence closes in. Without Avery’s presence or the distraction of movement, I become aware of myself in a way I’ve been avoiding.
My skin still carries Aaiden’s scent. The marks on my neck and chest left by his stubble ache, and worst of all is the lingering sensitivity that turns my thoughts feverish the second anything brushes against me.
I still smell like Heat. Like Aaiden. It’s in my hair, my pores, the places he touched and tasted and claimed without truly claiming.
The bathroom is utilitarian but clean, with a shower stall large enough to move in with ease. I avoid my reflection in the mirror above the sink as I strip, my clothes hitting the floor in a crumpled heap, and I kick them aside.
Twisting the knobs, I step under the spray. Hot water pounds my shoulders, steam rising to fog the glass. I scrub until my skin turns red, as if I could wash away more than sweat and the physical evidence of the past three days.
But I can’t wash away Aaiden’s scent. It clings to me, embedded in my pores, a ghost of what happened between us. What didn’t happen between us. The absence of his Mark on my neck is its own kind of wound, despite my unbroken flesh.
We should still be in bed right now, wrapped around each other, celebrating our bond and planning our future.
Instead, I’m here. Alone. Unmarked. Unwanted.
The water runs cold before I force myself out. I wrap myself in a towel, unfamiliar detergent clinging to the fabric, my skin pruned and sensitive from too long under the spray.
My reflection in the clearing mirror shows hollow, haunted eyes that belong to someone older than I was just days ago.
This is what true heartbreak feels like. This is what happens when you offer everything, and it isn’t enough.
I turn away to find clothes in the dresser and pull them on.
They hang loose on my frame, the T-shirt a size too large and the sweatpants rolled at the waist to keep them from slipping.
They’re clean. Unfamiliar. Another reminder that I’ve stepped into a world where nothing belongs to me anymore.
Not even the scent of the soap that clings to me.
I pull the collar of the T-shirt higher, but it doesn’t quite cover the love bites Aaiden left on my skin. The evidence of what happened between us is written there for anyone to see, a story without the happy ending I wanted.
I run fingers through my damp hair, pushing it back from my eyes as I steel myself to face Avery again and figure out what comes next.
As I open the door, Avery’s murmur drifts to me, mingling with another that sends a chill through me, familiar but out of place.
The main room comes into view as I round the corner. Avery leans against a kitchen counter, arms crossed. But it’s the other man who gives me pause.
Raphael Rockford stands in Avery’s safe house, bearing little resemblance to the corporate lawyer I remember.
His head is shaved clean, the expensive suits replaced by black canvas pants and a tight T-shirt that reveals a body built for combat rather than boardrooms. Fresh tattoos cover his arms and peek from his collar, the intricate designs added since the last time I saw him.
He turns as I join them, and his eyes, the same Rockford green as Aaiden’s, lock onto me, cataloging every detail from my damp hair to my borrowed clothes to my bare feet.
Then his focus sharpens on my neck, on the marks visible above my collar, and an emotion flashes across his face, too fast to read.
“Did my brother do that to you?”
I bristle at the protective edge behind the question. “Last I heard, you didn’t have a brother anymore.”
The whole family had gone to Raphael’s funeral, and his obituary ran on the national news channels. It had all been a giant cover-up, of course, but also a very symbolic cutting of ties to prove his loyalty to the mate who demanded absolute loyalty from him before he’d be taken back.
Raphael’s eyes narrow. “Answer the question.”
Anger, embarrassment, and pride tangle together inside me. “Who else would I willingly allow to touch me like that?”
Raphael’s posture shifts, the tension draining from his shoulders, his stance relaxing in a way that throws me off balance. “Good.”
“Good?” I echo, confusion replacing my defensive anger.
Avery straightens. “Coffee?”
The mundane offer in the middle of this surreal moment pulls a laugh from me. “Sure.”
My attention returns to Raphael as Avery strides to the coffee maker. “Why are you here?”
Based on the lack of pheromones in the air, this isn’t their primary residence. Avery had brought me to one of his hidey-holes. I assumed it was to give me a space to figure my shit out without Rockford interference.
But here one is anyway.
“Avery called me.” Raphael gestures to one of the barstools at the kitchen island. “Sit before you fall over.”
I remain standing, my feet planted on the concrete floor. “Why would he call you?”
“Because you’re carrying my brother’s scent and his bite marks.” Raphael takes another look at my neck. “But not his claiming Mark.”
“You’re surprised by that?” I ask, bitterness seeping into my words.
“Yes.” Raphael’s simple answer catches me off guard. “I am.”
Avery sets a mug of coffee in front of me. The steam rises in lazy curls, carrying the rich scent of dark roast.
I take the mug but don’t drink, letting its warmth seep into my palms. “Why do you care?”
“Because my brother is in love with you.” Raphael says it like it’s a simple fact. “And if he’s let you walk away after a Heat without Marking you, something is very wrong.”
The coffee sloshes over the rim of the mug as my hand jerks. “That’s bullshit.”
Raphael tilts his head, studying me with the same intensity Aaiden uses when dissecting a problem. “You really believe that, don’t you? What the hell has my brother been doing?”