Chapter 7 #2
Maybe he’d known them beforehand, and I just happened to be there. But then, why was he stalking me in the first place?
Quickly throwing on a pair of joggers and a T-shirt, my head spun in circles. The most timely question, though, was why was he here, now? Had something changed? Did the police know what’d happened?
The only way I’d find out was to go out there and ask.
But first, Jeffrey.
“Fluffy boy,” I cooed, down on my knees, peering under the bed. “Wanna come out? I promise I won’t let the big, scary man hurt you.”
He growled. His claws could do a lot of damage if he wanted to, so I doubted he’d been hurt. Plus, a man who killed someone for attempted rape just didn’t give animal abuser vibes.
He seemed more like the kind of guy who happened to be around when animal abusers got into really unfortunate and tragic accidents, but maybe that was just wishful thinking on my part.
I gave the bag of cat treats one last shake before giving up. He always hid when the cleaner came; he’d come out when he wanted to.
With a deep sigh, I grabbed the knife, which was even heavier than it looked, and cracked open my bedroom door, slowly creeping down the hall.
I found him standing in the middle of the living room, shuffling from foot to foot like a child about to be scolded. “I’ll fix the wall. And I’ll get you new glasses. I really didn’t mean for this to happen.”
Cradled in his hands were my glasses, frames bent askew. One of the lenses had completely popped out. Welp, I guess I’ll be using my old pair for a while. I looked at the elbow-shaped dent in the wall. “You know how to patch drywall?”
“Yes.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Huh. Okay.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, eyes big and glassy. I couldn’t help but compare him to the night we first met, when he kicked down that door like a demon hell-bent on revenge.
He certainly hadn’t apologized for that property damage.
Where’d that man go? Was he lurking just out of sight, waiting to pounce? Or was this closer to the real man beneath the mask?
I couldn’t take the risk of letting my guard down, so I kept the knife held aloft and pointed to the couch. “Sit. Tell me why you’re here.”
I paused the television when Ina was mid-clambake, and we sat on opposite ends. Knife held between us, braced for any sudden movements, I couldn’t help but notice how uneasy the Masked Man was. He fidgeted with the string on his hoodie and pulled at his collar before clearing his throat.
“What do you remember from that night?” he asked.
My shoulders stiffened. There was only one night he could be referring to.
“Not much. They brought me to a private room and drugged me. You showed up and killed most of them. I don’t remember anything after that.
And I haven’t told anyone about what you did or that you were even there, so if that’s why you’re—”
“That’s not why I’m here,” he cut in. More of his calming pheromones surrounded me, and I began to wonder if it was intentional or an involuntary reaction on his part; some kind of predatory adaptation, like a venomous snake paralyzing its prey before consuming it whole.
“And you remember most of it. Weber was my target. I was waiting for him to leave the club, but when I realized what was happening, I intervened.”
“Intervened is an interesting word choice,” I mumbled, but I dropped the knife to my knee at the admission that he’d intentionally stepped in on my behalf. It was stupid to let that color my judgement given what he was capable of, but… I couldn’t help it.
After shooting me a look that said, “Really?” he continued. “I intended to go after him when he fled, but you were in a bad way, and those types of unregulated clubs attract some shitty people, so I took you to the shelter instead. But…”
Oh, God. What happened? What didn’t I remember? I searched my memories, but there was only darkness after he found me. “But what?” I asked in a whisper.
“You weren’t the only one… affected.”
I let out the breath I’d held. My brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”
He cleared his throat. “The drugs sent you into an unnaturally strong heat. Fast. Very fast. You went from trying to crawl under my skin to passing out in the span of minutes. I think it would’ve killed you if I’d left you there.”
My face burned. Logically, I knew none of it was my fault, but I still didn’t like to be reminded of what I’d done when I wasn’t in control. “What did you do?”
“Nothing,” he said vehemently. Eyes boring into mine, he repeated himself. “Nothing, Max. I did not touch you. But the heat you were in was very strong, and hit me sideways. By the time I got you to the car… I was in rut.”
I stared at him. Oh, fuck.
“Fuck,” I repeated out loud, just for good measure. “But… how is that possible? I mean, we’re not… compatible.”
Under normal circumstances, alphas didn’t rut unless they were sharing a heat with someone they wanted to mate with.
Usually, it took time to form enough of an attachment to send an alpha into rut.
Then, the couple would seal the bond through a mating bite, ending the rut, and they’d live happily ever after.
Or so the stories said.
But if I’d been drugged into an artificial heat, that meant his reaction to me had to be artificial, too. It wasn’t something either of us actually wanted. We weren’t really… mates.
Right?
The Masked Man just stared at me. “Of course we’re not compatible.”
Well, that’s just rude.
“How are you even alive?” I asked, shaking off my irrational irritation at the dismissal. “That can kill you.”
An alpha in rut without an omega was practically a death sentence, unless they had access to highly regulated hormone suppressants.
The side effects of not fulfilling a rut could be horrific—headaches, light-headedness, weakness, and inability to, uh, perform, unless it was with their compatible mate, were the least concerning.
Eventually, the body shut down completely, and organs failed.
“I’m aware,” he answered sardonically.
I waited for him to continue. It seemed he wasn’t one to provide a lot of detail.
“Well? How did you stop the rut?” I pressed. If the man didn’t want to answer questions, he shouldn’t break into people’s apartments.
“Suppressants.”
I cringed. As bad as the side effects of an unmated rut were, I’d heard suppressants could be just as unpleasant. “How long did you have to be on them?”
He swallowed. “I still am.”
Wait. If he was still taking them, that meant…
His eyes met mine. “Which is why I’m here. To ask you to help me break the bond that formed while you were in heat and end this rut for good.”