8. Cayenne
Chapter 8
Cayenne
The scent of rosemary and thyme drags me from a dream about binary code and chess pieces. My nose twitches first, then my stomach contracts with unexpected hunger, finally convincing my eyelids to consider the possibility of movement. For a moment, I float in that hazy space between sleeping and waking, where everything feels soft and possible.
Until I try to move.
“Son of a—” The curse dies in my throat as pain lances through my shoulder, sharp enough to cut through the lingering effects of whatever they gave me earlier.
“Easy.” Jinx materializes from the shadows like he’s been waiting there all along. Maybe he has. “The morphine’s wearing off.” He glances at the medical tablet beside my bed, where my vital signs scroll in neat rows. “Finn says we can’t give you more for another two hours. Something about respiratory depression and monitoring liver function.” His fingers twist in his hoodie. “The doctor Quinn sent over said we need to be careful with the dosing since you’re...” He swallows hard. “Since you lost so much blood.”
The monitors chirp softly, confirming what my body’s already telling me—the good drugs are definitely fading. Every heartbeat sends fresh pain signals through my shoulder like failed login attempts, each one harder to ignore than the last.
He moves closer, and I catch sight of what he’s carrying—a tray laden with what appears to be the world’s most lethal comfort food. Little savory pies steam gently, their tops golden-brown peaks of mashed potatoes. Beside them, a collection of Theo’s cupcakes sit like tiny works of art, frosted in perfect swirls of lavender.
“You actually cooked.” My voice comes out rough with sleep and something else. Something that feels dangerously close to being cared for.
“Don’t sound so surprised.” But there’s no bite in his words as he sets the tray down. His hands hover uncertainly before he helps me sit up, touch careful in a way that makes my chest ache. “Besides, you need real food if you’re gonna heal.”
The gentleness in his movements, so at odds with his usual feral energy, threatens to undo me completely.
“Real food like tiny meat pies masquerading as cupcakes?” I try for teasing, but my voice wavers as his fingers brush my neck, adjusting pillows behind me.
“Shepherd’s cupcakes,” he corrects with that hint of manic pride I’m learning to recognize. “High protein. Good for healing. And...” His lips quirk. “No ghost peppers.”
“Ryker would be so proud.”
“Fuck Ryker.” But there’s no heat in it. His hands linger at my shoulders, thumbs brushing soft circles that make me want to lean into him like a cat. “How’s the pain?”
“Present.” I test my range of motion and immediately regret it. “Very present.”
“You need a shower.” He says it like he’s been working up to it, the words coming out in a rush. “Before your next round of meds. It’ll help with the muscle stiffness.”
I blink at him, trying to process this new, nurturing version of my chaos alpha. “Are you offering to help?”
“Unless you’d prefer one of the others.” His jaw tightens, eyes darkening. “Theo’s probably better at this shit.”
“Hey.” I catch his hand before he can retreat, ignoring the way my shoulder protests. “I want you.”
The words hang between us, heavier than I meant them to be. More honest.
His fingers tangle with mine, grip careful but sure. When he speaks, his voice is rough. “You say shit like that while you’re hurt, Glitch. Makes a man want to break things.”
“Good thing I like you a little broken.” The drugs might be wearing off, but apparently my filter is still gloriously absent.
“Not that broken,” he growls, but his hands remain gentle as he helps me swing my legs over the side of the bed. “Not with you.”
The room tilts uncomfortably as I get vertical. Jinx steadies me with a hand on my good shoulder, and I catch a glimpse of the raw edges of his hoodie collar, worse than before.
“You’ve been stressed.” I reach up to touch the mangled fabric, but he catches my wrist.
“Don’t.” His voice carries a warning, but his thumb strokes over my pulse point. “Not about me right now. Someone decided to play hero and get herself shot.”
“That someone would like a shower.” Deflection has always been my best defense. “Since you offered so nicely.”
He makes a sound caught between a laugh and a snarl. “Nothing nice about it, Glitch. You smell like hospital.”
The possessive edge in his tone sends a shiver down my spine that has nothing to do with pain or medication. His eyes track the movement, pupils dilating.
“Jinx...”
“Don’t.” He closes his eyes, throat working. “You’re hurt. I’m trying really fucking hard to be good right now.”
“Since when are you good?”
“Since you took a bullet and scared the shit out of me.” The words explode out of him, raw and real. His grip tightens fractionally before deliberately loosening. “Since I spent six hours pacing while they dug it out of you. Since I had to watch them wheel you into surgery while reeking of blood and gunpowder.”
Oh.
Oh.
“I may have clocked an orderly,” he admits, reading my expression. “Or two. Ryker had to drag me out before security got involved.”
“Only two? You’re slipping.”
“Don’t.” The word comes out guttural. “Don’t make jokes. Not about this.” His hands frame my face, surprisingly steady despite the tremor I can feel running through him. “Do you have any idea what it was like? Smelling your blood? Watching you go down?”
The raw edge in his voice cuts through my defenses like they’re nothing. He’s not touching the bandage, but I swear I can feel the heat of his palm hovering over it, a phantom pressure that makes my breath catch.
“I’m okay,” I whisper.
“You’re not fucking okay. You got shot. Taking a bullet meant for—” He breaks off, that manic energy coiling tighter. “Shower. You need a shower. Then food. Then meds. One thing at a time or I’m gonna lose my shit.”
“Pretty sure that ship’s sailed, sunshine.”
He barks out a laugh that sounds like it hurts. “Yeah, well. Rather lose it out here than in there.” He jerks his head toward the bathroom. “Think you can stand?”
I consider this. “Probably. But I wouldn’t bet money on it.”
“Good thing you’re not gambling then.” Without warning, he scoops me up, movements so careful they make my chest ache. “I’ve got you.”
The position puts my face right against his throat, where his scent is strongest. Cherry tobacco and gunpowder, threaded through with something darker. Something raw.
“You really punched an orderly?”
“Two orderlies and kicked a vending machine.” His voice rumbles against my cheek. “Finn talked them out of pressing charges by offering to pay for it.”
“My hero.”
“Pretty sure heroes don’t assault medical staff.” He nudges the bathroom door open with his hip, movements controlled despite the tension thrumming through him. “Or destroy hospital property.”
“You paid for the vending machine.”
“Wasn’t about the money.” He sets me down on the closed toilet lid with excruciating care. “They wouldn’t let me see you.”
The bathroom light flickers on automatically, and I catch his reflection in the mirror. The shadows under his eyes look like bruises, his hair a mess from running agitated hands through it. Combined with his shredded hoodie, he looks exactly like what he is—a man barely hanging onto his control.
Which, of course, makes me want to push him.
“Help me with my shirt?” I try for innocent, but his eyes narrow, nostrils flaring as he catches the spike in my scent. The morphine is definitely wearing off—every movement sends warning signals through my nervous system like a DDOS attack. But the pain only heightens my awareness of him—the barely contained power in his movements, the way his hands flex like he’s fighting the urge to touch.
“Don’t start.” His voice comes out rough as he turns to the shower, testing water temperature with military precision. Steam rises between us, making his scent stronger—cherry tobacco and gunpowder, threaded through with something darker, more primal. “Not while you’re hurt. Your last dose was four hours ago, and Finn says we need to wait another two before giving you more.”
The medical monitor chirps softly as my heart rate increases, and his jaw tightens at the sound. I watch his reflection in the fogged mirror—the predatory grace of his movements, the tension coiling in his shoulders. Even trying to be gentle, he radiates alpha energy that makes my skin prickle with awareness.
“I’m not that hurt.” A lie that even I don’t believe as pain radiates from my shoulder in waves, but worth it to see the muscle jump in his jaw, to watch his control fray just a little more. The monitor betrays me with another soft beep, and his nostrils flare again.
“Liar,” he growls, but the word holds equal parts frustration and hunger. “I can smell the pain on you. Mixed with...” He breaks off, hands clenching on the shower knob. “You’re going to be the death of me, Glitch.”
I trail my fingers down his chest.
“Cayenne.” My name comes out like a prayer and a curse. “You’re literally wounded.”
“Just my shoulder.” I reach for the hem of my shirt with my good hand. “Everything else works fine.”
He moves faster than I can track, catching my wrist. “Stop.”
“Make me.”
His eyes go liquid black, pupils blown wide. For a moment, I think he might actually do it—might pin me against the wall and show me exactly why that was a bad idea. But then he inhales sharply, fingers flexing against my pulse point.
“You’re going to be the death of me,” he mutters, then gentler, “Arms up. Carefully.”
“Such a gentleman,” I tease as he helps me work the shirt over my head, movements almost clinical. Almost. But I catch the way his breath hitches when skin is revealed, the way his fingers twitch against my ribs.
“Don’t.” The word comes out strained. “You have no idea how fucking fragile my control is right now.”
I lean into him, letting my breath fan against his throat. “Maybe I want to see you lose it.”
“Christ.” His hands settle on my hips, grip tight enough to bruise. “You’re hurt.”
“Not everywhere.” I roll my hips deliberately against him, satisfied when his fingers flex. “Some parts work just fine.”
He makes a sound like I’m killing him. “You got shot.”
“Hours ago.” I press closer, ignoring the twinge in my shoulder. “Ancient history.”
“Twelve hours.” His voice drops to that dangerous register that makes desire to coil low in my belly. “Twelve hours, seventeen minutes since I watched you bleed out. Since I had to let them take you away because I was too far gone to be trusted near medical equipment.”
“Jinx—”
“No.” He pulls back just enough to meet my eyes, and the raw need there steals my breath. “You don’t get it. I’m barely holding on here. The only thing keeping me sane is focusing on taking care of you. On being careful. Because if I lose it...” His hands slide up my sides, feather-light. “If I let myself think about how bad I want you right now, while you’re hurt...”
I arch into his touch. “Show me.”
“Fuck.” He drops his forehead to mine, breathing ragged. “You’re playing with fire, Glitch.”
“Good thing I like getting burned.”
Steam fills the bathroom as he helps me step under the spray, his hands steady despite the tremors I can feel running through him. Every touch screams of careful restraint—the way his fingers ghost over my skin, how he positions himself to support without crowding. The water hits my good shoulder first, and I let out a moan that has nothing to do with pain.
“Don’t.” The word comes out like shattered glass. His hands tighten fractionally on my hips, then deliberately loosen. “Don’t make those sounds. Not when I’m trying so fucking hard to be careful with you.”
“Bold of you to assume that’s what I want.” I arch into his touch, feeling his breath catch. The front of his shirt is soaked now, clinging to muscles gone rigid with tension. “Maybe I want to see what happens when you stop holding back.”
“You have no idea what you’re asking for.” His voice drops to that dangerous register that makes a flush of want to rush in my belly. One hand slides up my ribs, calluses catching on sensitive skin. “Do you know what it does to an alpha, seeing you hurt? Smelling your pain mixed with arousal?” His other hand grips my hip harder, like he’s fighting the urge to spin me around and take. “Makes me want to claim and protect at the same time. Makes me want to mark you up while keeping you safe.”
The medical monitor chirps a warning as my pulse spikes. His responding growl vibrates through my back where I’m pressed against his chest.
“Then do it,” I challenge, rolling my hips back against him. The thick length of him presses against me through his soaked jeans, making us both groan. “Show me what happens when an alpha loses control.”
“Fuck.” The word comes out guttural as his forehead drops to my good shoulder. “You’re playing with fire, Glitch. And I’m already burning.”
Water sluices down my back as I lean against the tile, careful to keep my injured side away from the spray. The waterproof bandage Finn meticulously applied crinkles with every movement, a constant reminder of why we’re in a medical suite instead of my basement room.
“Hold still.” Jinx’s voice is tight as he positions himself between me and the shower head, shielding my bandaged shoulder from direct water pressure. “Let me wash your hair. And for fuck’s sake, stop trying to move that arm—your vitals are probably setting off every alert Finn programmed into the monitoring system.”
The medical bracelet on my wrist blinks steadily, transmitting data to whoever’s on watch. Probably Theo, given the faint traces of vanilla and sheet music drifting under the bathroom door. Always close, my protective pack, rotating shifts like the world’s most lethal antivirus program.
His eyes track my movements like a predator, pupils blown so wide the amber is just a thin ring, but his hands stay carefully, torturously gentle. The contrast between his feral gaze and controlled touches sets every nerve ending on fire.
I comply, but make sure to brush against him as I move. The rough denim of his jeans scrapes my thigh, and I realize he’s still fully dressed, getting soaked as he takes care of me.
His fingers thread through my hair, working shampoo into a lather with devastating gentleness. The contrast between his careful touches and the barely contained violence in his voice sets my nerve endings on fire.
“I could take care of you,” he murmurs, voice dropping to that dangerous register that makes me shiver. “Without moving that shoulder. Without risking a single stitch.”
My breath catches. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” His hands slide down my neck, thumbs working at the tension there. “Could make you feel so good you forget about the pain. Forget about everything except my hands on you.”
“Jinx...”
“But you’d have to be very, very still.” His lips brush my ear. “Think you can do that for me? Let me take control?”
The tile is cool against my overheated skin as I lean into it. “Thought you were trying to be good?”
His laugh is all darkness. “Sweetheart, there’s nothing good about what I want to do to you right now.”
I press back against him, letting the water run between us. “Tell me.”
His hands slide down my sides, careful to avoid the bandage but possessive everywhere else. “You sure you want to open that door? Because once I start, I won’t be able to stop.”
“Maybe I don’t want you to stop.”
He makes a sound like I’ve gutted him, fingers digging into my hips. “Fuck. You have no idea what you do to me.” His voice drops lower, rougher. “How many times I’ve thought about having you like this. Getting you all wet and desperate for me.”
The tile squeaks under my palm as I brace against it. “Show me.”
“Oh, I will.” His lips trace the curve of my neck, careful to avoid my injured side. “Gonna take my time with you. Make you fall apart so slow and sweet you’ll be begging for it.”
My breath hitches as one hand slides lower, tracing patterns on my inner thigh. “Jinx...”
“Shh.” He nips at my earlobe. “Remember what I said about being still? About letting me take care of you?”
I nod, not trusting my voice.
“Good girl.” His fingers drift higher, teasing. “Because that’s exactly what I’m going to do. Take care of every...” A kiss behind my ear. “Single...” His hand inches up. “Need.”
The last word ends on a growl that makes heat pool low in my belly. “Please.”
“Since you asked so nicely...”
His hands glide over my skin with devastating tenderness, working shampoo into my hair with just enough pressure to make me moan. Every touch is careful, calculated, though I can feel him trembling with the effort of restraint.
“You’re killing me,” he mutters, working conditioner through the ends. “Making those sounds when I’m trying to be good.”
“Nothing good about you.” But I lean back into his touch as he massages my scalp.
“You got that right.” His laugh holds an edge of hysteria. “Here I am, soaking wet, trying to wash your hair without thinking about all the ways I want to wreck you, and you’re just...” He makes a strangled sound as I arch into his hands. “Fuck.”
“You started it with all that talk about taking care of my needs.”
“Your needs right now are getting clean, taking pain meds, and eating my shepherd’s cupcakes.” But his voice is rough as he helps me rinse, hands sliding through my hair with careful attention. “Everything else can wait until you’re healed.”
“You’re no fun.”
“Sweetheart, I’m too much fun. That’s the problem.” He reaches around me for the body wash, working it into a lather. “Now hold still and let me get you clean before I forget all my good intentions.”
I behave, mostly because the firm pressure of his hands feels too good to risk him stopping. He works the soap over every inch of skin he can reach without jostling my injury, touch clinical but somehow still intimate.
“There.” His voice comes out like gravel, rough with restrained need. Each sweep of the washcloth over my skin feels like a promise, a preview of touches to come. “Think you can stand while I grab a towel?”
“Probably shouldn’t risk it.” I lean back against him, letting my ass press against the rigid length of him through his soaked jeans. His sharp inhale sends a rush of arousal through me. “Safety first, right?”
“Keep playing with fire, Glitch,” he growls, the words hot against my neck. “And once I get you clean and dry, I’ll show you exactly what happens when you push an alpha too far.”
“You keep saying that.” The threat-promise in his voice makes me shiver. “That a threat or a promise? Sounds like just words to me.”
His laugh sounds like it’s been dragged over broken glass. “Both.” His hands slide lower, possessive even through the soft terry cloth as he dries me. “Gonna take such good care of you once we’re done here. Make you forget all about that shoulder.”
Each touch as he dries me carries that same torturous care he showed in the shower, but there’s an edge of desperation now, a tremor in his steady hands that betrays just how close to breaking he is. The wet denim of his jeans does nothing to hide his arousal as he presses against me, and the growl that rumbles through his chest when I deliberately squirm makes the medical monitor chirp a warning.
“Easy,” he murmurs, but his voice is strained. “Let me get you settled first. Then...” His teeth graze my uninjured shoulder. “Then I’ll show you exactly what I’ve been thinking about since they wheeled you away from me.”
By the time we reach the bed, tension crackles between us like an overloaded circuit. The medical monitors beep steadily, broadcasting my vitals to the tablet Finn checks obsessively. Each soft chirp reminds me of our audience—pack members monitoring my every heartbeat, ready to intervene at the slightest sign of distress.
“Food first,” he says, but his voice has dropped to that dangerous register that makes my inner beta purr. His hands arrange pillows behind me with careful precision that barely masks his trembling need. “Then meds.”
“Then?” I arch against the pillows, letting the towel fall open. His eyes track the movement like a predator, pupils blown so wide the amber is just a thin ring. The scent of alpha arousal floods the room, making the monitor chirp a warning as my pulse spikes.
“Then,” he growls, and the sound goes straight to my core, “I’m going to worship every inch of skin that isn’t bandaged. Going to take you apart so slowly, so thoroughly, that you forget about everything except my hands on you.” His fingers trace my collarbone, carefully avoiding the bandage. “Going to show you exactly what happens when you scare your alpha like that.”
The possessive edge in his voice causes hunger to burn through me like a wildfire.
“Promise?” I whisper, deliberately provocative.
His smile is all predator as he leans in, lips brushing my ear. “Oh, Glitch. I’m going to make you feel so good you won’t even notice when Finn comes in to check your vitals.”
Warmth pulses low in my belly at his tone, warring with the increasing throb in my shoulder. The pain medication’s timeline displays on the bedside tablet—one hour and seventeen minutes until my next dose. My vitals scroll beneath it, a constant digital reminder of my body’s betrayal.
“What happened to waiting until I’m healed?”
“Changed my mind.” He settles beside me on the bed, carefully arranging pillows to support my injured side. His hands skate up my thighs, but his eyes track the medical readouts. “Though if those numbers spike any higher, Finn’s gonna burst in here with a lecture about respiratory rates and healing protocols.”
Through the walls, I hear the soft beep of the security panel—probably Ryker checking the perimeter again.
“And what exactly are you planning to do about those numbers?” The challenge in my voice makes his eyes darken.
“Oh, sweetheart.” His voice drops to that guttural register that makes me shiver. “I’m going to show you exactly what happens when you push me too far. When you test my control while I’m already hanging on by a thread.”
“Jinx...”
“Stay still for me,” he murmurs against my skin. “Let me make you feel good.”
“Gonna wreck you so fucking good you forget about everything else.” His voice is gravel and glass, that feral edge I love bleeding through his careful control. “Make you feel so damn good you can’t think about anything but my hands on you.”
The tips of his calloused fingers trace a path from my collar bone to the valley between my breasts, igniting sparks across my skin. His eyes, once gleaming with mania, have intensified, laser-focused like a predator who has finally captured his prey.
“Stay still,” he orders as I arch into his touch. The movement pulls at my stitches, sending fresh pain signals cascading through my nervous system. The medical monitor chirps a warning. “Fuck, careful with that shoulder. Finn will have my ass if you tear anything.”
To emphasize his point, he pins my hips firmly with one hand while the other explores further south, positioning himself so there’s no pressure on my injured side. The IV line and monitoring cables create a complex web we have to work around, like the world’s most medical game of Twister.
“Your heart rate’s climbing,” he mutters, glancing at the displays. “We need to keep it under control or?—”
The soft knock at the door proves his point. “Everything alright?” Finn’s voice carries just enough professional concern to be embarrassing. “I’m seeing some elevated numbers.”
“Fine,” I call back, trying not to sound as frustrated as I feel. “Just... adjusting positions.”
The quiet cough from the hallway sounds suspiciously like masked laughter. “Try to keep those vitals stable. And Jinx—mind the shoulder rotation.”
“Stay still.” Jinx’s scolds.
“Easy for you to say.” My voice catches as he finds a particularly sensitive spot. “You’re not the one being teased.”
“No?” His laugh is ragged against my throat. “You think this isn’t torture for me?” He drags his teeth over my pulse point. “Touching you like this, having to hold back...”
I gasp as his skilled fingers press and rub against my clit in a relentless rhythm, pushing me towards an overwhelming crescendo of pleasure.
“Doesn’t feel like you’re holding back.”
“You have no idea.” He punctuates each word with a devastating stroke. “How much I want to...” His touch becomes firmer, drawing a moan from deep in my chest. “How bad I need...”
My good hand finds purchase in his shirt as he builds a rhythm designed to drive me insane. Every touch is precisely calculated to bring me closer to the edge while keeping my injured shoulder completely still.
“Jinx,” I manage between ragged breaths. “I need...”
“I know exactly what you need.” His voice drops to that dangerous register that makes heat pool low in my belly. “Been thinking about this since they wheeled you into surgery. Planning exactly how I’d take care of you when I got you back.”
His mouth closes over one nipple, teeth scraping gently, and every nerve ending in my body sings with anticipation. His hands roam over my skin with careful possession, marking me as his even as they explore.
I gasp as he slides lower, his alpha scent growing stronger with his arousal. Even unbonded, the pheromones hit me hard, making my body respond in ways I’m not ready to examine too closely. His tongue sweeps across my belly button before moving lower, and the possessive growl he makes sends shivers down my spine.
“Look at me,” he demands, and there’s something dangerous in his voice—something that speaks to instincts I usually keep locked down tight. I force my eyes open to find his gaze burning into mine, pupils blown wide with alpha need. The raw hunger there makes my breath catch, reminding me why unbonded betas are warned about feral alphas. But instead of fear, all I feel is desperate want. “Need to watch you come apart for me. See exactly what I do to you. How your body responds to my touch even without a bond.”
The words hit something primal in me, something that recognizes this alpha even without the chemical bonds of claiming. My body yields to him instinctively, even as my mind catalogs every sensation, every response. The medical monitor chirps a warning as my heart rate spikes, but I’m beyond caring.
His fingers part me with devastating precision, teasing sensitive flesh while his tongue works patterns that make stars dance behind my eyelids. Each touch feels electric, heightened by the knowledge that this isn’t pack bonds or claiming bites making me respond—it’s pure chemistry between an alpha and a beta who shouldn’t fit together but somehow do.
“So fucking responsive,” he growls against my inner thigh, the vibration making me whimper. “Even without a bond, your body knows who you belong to. Who takes care of you.”
My response dies in my throat as he adds delicious pressure, his other hand still pinning my hips to keep me from moving my shoulder. The dual sensation of restraint and pleasure has me seeing stars.
“That’s it,” he growls as I start to tremble. “Give it to me. Show me how good I make you feel.”
His tempo increases, each stroke perfectly timed to push me closer to the edge. I’m vaguely aware I’m babbling his name, mixing it with curses and pleas, but I’m beyond caring.
“So fucking beautiful,” he breathes, watching me with that predatory focus. “Coming undone for me. Because of me.”
The possessive growl rumbling from his throat sends a shiver down my spine, clawing its way through every nerve ending until I’m trembling like a fucking leaf. His fingers—those goddamn fingers—curl inside me with a precision that feels criminal, twisting just so , hitting that sweet fucking spot that makes my vision blur and my thighs clamp around his hand like a vice. I can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything but feel the relentless pressure building in my core, coiling tighter and tighter until it’s unbearable, until I’m begging for release with a voice that doesn’t even sound like mine.
“That’s it,” he murmurs, his voice thick with dominance and lust, his lips brushing against my ear as he works me harder, faster, deeper. “Come for me. Let me feel it.”
And just like that, I fucking shatter . My back arches off the bed, my hips bucking wildly as the orgasm rips through me like a goddamn earthquake, leaving me shaking and gasping for air. Every muscle in my body clenches around his fingers as he drags it out, milking every last fucking drop of pleasure from me until I’m nothing but a whimpering, trembling mess. His fingers don’t stop, not even for a second, fucking me through the aftershocks with a ruthless rhythm that has me screaming his name like it’s the only word I know.
When I finally come down from the high, my body still twitching and trembling, I open my eyes to find him staring down at me with a look that makes my stomach clench all over again. His eyes are almost completely black, the amber barely visible around the edges, and the sight of them sends a fresh wave of heat crashing through me. His chest is heaving, his skin glistening with sweat, and I can see the bulge in his pants straining against the fabric, begging for release.
“Still with me, Glitch?”
“Barely.” I manage to pry my fingers from his shirt, noting the new wrinkles with satisfaction. “You’ve been practicing that in your head, haven’t you?”
“Every minute they kept me from you.” His voice is gravel and glass, control fraying at the edges. “In that waiting room, going out of my mind...” He presses his forehead to mine, breath ragged. “Had to focus on something besides how you looked, bleeding out in Theo’s arms.”
The raw confession hits harder than any painkiller. I reach up with my good hand, tracing the shadows under his eyes, the tension in his jaw.
“I’m okay,” I whisper. “Still here.”
“Barely.” The word comes out like it hurts. His fingers trail over my collarbone, carefully skirting the bandage. “Do you have any idea what it did to me? Watching you take that bullet? Knowing it was meant for?—”
“Hey.” I catch his hand, press it over my heart so he can feel it beating. “I made a choice.”
“A stupid choice.”
“A calculated one.” I arch into his touch as his other hand resumes its wandering. “Besides, seems like I got some pretty good care out of the deal.”
His laugh is all broken edges. “That what this was? Medical care?”
“Very thorough medical care.” I gasp as those clever fingers find a sensitive spot. “I think I need a second opinion though. Just to be sure.”
His eyes go midnight dark. “Greedy Glitch.”
“You love it.”
“Yeah.” The admission seems to surprise him as much as me. “Yeah, I really fucking do.”
He captures my mouth in a kiss that tastes like desperation and relief, like all the words he can’t say trapped between our lips. When he pulls back, his eyes are wild, that careful control starting to slip.
“Rest,” he orders, voice rough. Through the walls, I hear Ryker’s measured footsteps pause outside the door—our alpha checking in without intruding. The mansion’s security feeds probably show him exactly where everyone is, a tactical display Finn updates obsessively since the shooting.
“But—”
“Don’t push me.” The words come out on a growl that makes the medical monitors chirp a warning. “Not when Finn’s got those machines programmed to alert the whole pack if your heart rate spikes too high. Not when I can smell traces of your blood under the antiseptic, and Theo’s still washing your scent off his hands every hour because he can’t forget how it felt when you went down.”
In the hallway, Ryker’s footsteps resume their patrol route. Downstairs, something clatters in the kitchen—probably Theo stress-baking again. The pack’s anxiety broadcasts through every floor of the mansion like a distributed network, each member processing the crisis in their own way.
That pulls me up short. I study his face—the shadows under his eyes, the tension in his jaw, the way he’s still trembling slightly with the effort of restraint.
“Okay,” I whisper, reaching up to touch his face. “Okay.”
He turns into my palm, pressing a kiss there that feels like a confession. “I’ll get your meds. And those shepherd’s cupcakes, if you’re still hungry.”
“Stay?” The word slips out before I can catch it, more vulnerable than I meant it to be. The medical monitors betray my spike of anxiety with a series of soft beeps. “After?”
Something raw and tender flashes across his face. “Try to make me leave. Though Finn’s got us all on a rotation—two hours on watch, then switch. Says we need to rest too, but...” He glances at the tablet displaying my vitals, jaw tight. “None of us are really sleeping anyway.”
As if summoned by his words, Finn appears in the doorway, glasses reflecting the blue glow of medical screens. “Your next dose is due in twenty minutes. Temperature’s slightly elevated—we’ll need to watch that.” His clinical tone doesn’t quite hide the worry underneath. “Theo’s making soup. Something about proper nutrition promoting healing.”
The pack’s coordinated care feels like the most sophisticated security system I’ve ever encountered—multiple layers of protection, each member playing their role. Finn with his medical expertise, Theo with his nurturing, Ryker coordinating security, and Jinx... Jinx holding me together with hands that only shake when he thinks I’m not looking.
He helps me settle back against the pillows, every touch still charged but gentler now. As he moves to stand, I catch his wrist.
“Hey Jinx?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for punching that orderly.”
His laugh is closer to normal, some of that manic light returning to his eyes. “Two orderlies. And a vending machine.”
“My hero.”
“Shut up and rest, Glitch.” But his smile is soft as he tucks the blankets around me. “Let me take care of you.”
For once, I do exactly as I’m told. The mansion settles around us into its nighttime rhythms—Ryker’s patrol route, Theo’s quiet humming from the kitchen, Finn’s fingers tapping on his tablet as he monitors everything from vitals to security feeds.
The pack moves like a perfectly synchronized program, each member executing their role in my recovery. Even now, I can smell fresh bread and herbs wafting up from the kitchen—Theo’s way of showing love when he can’t be in the room. The security panels chirp softly as Ryker checks each zone, his alpha instincts demanding constant vigilance while one of his is injured.
My medical bracelet blinks steadily, transmitting data to Finn’s complex monitoring system. In the hallway, feet shuffle as watch shifts change—no one sleeping properly, everyone keeping guard in their own way. It should feel suffocating, this multi-layered protection protocol.
Instead, it feels like the most sophisticated firewall I’ve ever encountered. A security system built of flesh and blood and fierce devotion.
My pack.
Then I feel it—a low rumble against my neck where Jinx has settled beside me. Not his usual growl, but something deeper, softer. A purr. The sound vibrates through me, soothing raw nerves and easing tension I didn’t even know I was carrying. He stiffens for a moment, like he’s surprised by his own response, then relaxes as I melt into the comfort he’s offering.
I file this moment away for later analysis—a feral alpha purring for a beta who isn’t even his. But that’s tomorrow’s code to crack. For now, I let the unexpected sound lull me toward sleep, wondering if he even realizes what it means.