17. Jp #2
She blows right past me, never slowing down, barely glancing up as she lifts a hand in a wave—cool, effortless, meant to sting.
She’s ignoring me right back.
Just like I’ve been doing to her ever since I realized we were scent-matched.
Her face is unreadable. But then her scent reaches me, thick and rich in the rain-heavy air, curling around me, drowning out everything else.
And whatever control I had frays.
With her scent clouding my judgment, her blowing past me doesn’t feel casual anymore.
It feels like prey running.
And every instinct I’ve buried starts to wake up. Fast.
My Alpha snarls, demanding I chase her down. Demanding I trap her beneath me, press her into the wet ground, drown her in my scent until she forgets whatever the fuck has her looking at me like that.
Until the only expression on her face is pure, ruined pleasure.
I turn, digging my heels into the wet sand, jaw tight—because I can’t reconcile what watching her run away from me does to my head. My pulse spikes for a whole new reason.
“Sterling!” I bark over the wind. No real command in my voice but still she flinches, and stops abruptly, and I feel like the biggest asshole.
Her storm-gray eyes flash as she glances over her shoulder at me, her breath coming in quick, uneven pulls. By the time I reach her, she’s shaking, soaked straight through, her hair plastered to her face, her lips tinged with cold.
“Oh—hey,” she says, trying for casual. She takes a step back … as if distance is going to do a damn thing.
But I can smell her.
Anxiety sharp and bitter under the cinnamon-sweet warmth of her natural scent. My Alpha claws at the surface, furious and restless—demanding I fix it, warm her, claim her.
I step in closer, blocking the wind and sideways rain with my body, instinct screaming at me to wrap her up and never let go.
“What the hell are you doing out here?” I snap, harsher than I meant. The edge in my voice cuts between us, too sharp. But I can’t help it.
I can’t regulate shit when she’s around.
She’s shivering, soaked to the bone, looking at me like I’m the problem. Maybe I am. But right now, I just want to get her inside where it’s dry and safe. Her teeth chatter slightly, but she glares up at me, chin lifted, her hands fisting as she tries to stop herself from shivering.
“I was running. What does it look like?”
“In this?” I gesture toward the storm-tossed waves, the rain lashing against the sand.
Sterling shrugs, defiant, stubborn, fucking impossible. “I needed to clear my head.”
“You’re freezing,” I growl, my hand going around her wrist, her pulse fluttering beneath my fingertips.
Her breath hitches, but she yanks her wrist free, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’ll be fine once I start running again.”
But her teeth are chattering so hard I can hear it over the wind at my back.
I glare at her, heart pounding, watching her lips turn blue, her soaked clothes doing nothing to keep her warm.
She’s shaking. Fucking shaking. It suddenly feels dire. I know it’s not rational. But scent matching, bonding, mates…not a goddamn thing about any of this is rational.
That’s it. Decision made. Consequences be damned.
I grab her hand, lacing my fingers in hers and start pulling her toward the marina, back the way she came.
“JP! Hey! What the hell are you doing?” she shouts, trying to plant her feet, but she’s cold and exhausted, and I’m almost twice her size.
“Trying to keep you from dying?!” I snap, my grip tightening around her wrist. “Jesus, Sterling!”
“Dying?!” she echoes, indignant even as she stumbles behind me. “What are you talking about?”
“I just—” My jaw locks, my brain misfires, frustration bubbling into something worse. “I just—fuck. Hypothermia can set in and you wouldn’t even realize it, and then you’d just?—”
I can’t even say it.
She lets out a breathless, disbelieving laugh. “That’s not how that works, JP.”
But she’s not fighting me anymore. Maybe sensing that until my Alpha knows she safe, there isn’t fuck all she can do about it. I lead her to the dock; I’m heading to my boat, my comfort.
The wind whips around us as I step onto the wooden planks. The waves churn beneath us, rocking the boats moored along the slip.
“Where are we going?” she asks, her voice quieter now, uncertain.
“Somewhere warm,” I mutter, pulling her onto the gangway.
“I’m fine,” she argues, but she doesn’t let go of my hand.
“Bullshit,” I growl, hauling her up onto the deck.
I don’t give her a chance to argue.
Her steps fall into sync with mine, but barely. I feel her hesitation in every breath, every slight tug of resistance at my hand. But she’s not really trying to get away.
But she’s not exactly on board, either. Still, I don’t stop. I can’t. Not when she’s soaked through and shivering, her scent unraveling around us like a damn storm of its own.
The rain slams against the wooden boardwalk, a steady drumbeat in my ears. The scent of salt and sea wraps around us, cold and biting, but not enough to drown out the sweet, cinnamon-vanilla pulse of her. It’s sharp, spiking through my restraint like a blade. And it’s not helping.
“JP, wait—” Sterling says, voice tight, just a little breathless. I just tug her gently forward, angling my body to block the worst of the wind and rain from hers. She grumbles something under her breath—probably a warning, maybe a curse—but then she follows.
Reluctant, yes. But not unwilling. I don’t miss the way she keeps glancing at me like she’s trying to figure out why the hell I’m doing this. I don’t blame her.
I don’t fucking know either. And I sure as shit haven’t given her any reason to think I’m even remotely companionable. Hell, I’ve practically made it my mission to get her to hate me.
Down the boardwalk. Onto the docks slick with rain. Past rows of boats bobbing like ghosts in the fog.
And then—my boat.
The old Hinckley waits at the end of the slip, familiar and solid, the one place that’s always been mine. My sanctuary. My line in the sand.
And I’m about to bring her aboard.
A curvy, storm-eyed Omega who makes my brain short-circuit. My cock hardens just looking at her. The last person I should ever bring here. The one person who could fuck everything up if I’m not careful.
And still, I lead her down the narrow gangway, ignoring the alarms blaring in my head.
Because even if this is the worst idea I’ve ever had?—
Even if I’m dragging her into the instability of my world just by holding her hand?—
I need her out of the cold.
I need her safe.
I need to feel like I’m doing something right for once.
She gives me this look. Like she gets it. Like she sees through the gruff, gritted bullshit I’m trying to wrap around myself. And that only makes it worse.
I’m not gonna do anything.
I’m gonna give her a blanket. A change of clothes. Maybe make some shitty tea I have stashed down below.
Then I’m gonna send her on her way.
That’s it.