Chapter 14
In A Van
Elowen
This alpha's heartbeat is the only thing keeping me tethered to the earth.
I can feel it against my cheek, hard and fast, slamming through his chest and into my skull like a second pulse. His arms are locked around me, one across my back, the other cradling my head as the van rocks violently.
Inhaling deeply, I try to steady myself, but all I get is the alpha’s vibrant scent.
Sage.
Green and herbal and clean, like something growing in dry soil after a rain. And underneath it, winding through the air like a thread of gold, are the sunflowers I’ve been craving. Warm and sweet and alive.
For two whole seconds it comforts me, then pain erupts once again.
My abdomen is seized in a cramp so deep it feels like my guts are being wrung out like a wet towel. It radiates down my thighs, up into my ribs, sitting behind my sternum like a fist. And my skin burns everywhere my clothes touch…and everywhere they don’t.
It also doesn’t help that I’m soaked. My scrubs, the alpha’s shirt, even the seat beneath us is covered in my slick.
Every bump in the road shifts the wet fabric against my skin and sends a fresh wave of lust and nausea rolling through me.
The van rocks over something large, and my teeth clack together.
The suspension groans and the whole frame shudders, the rear end fishtailing on loose gravel before Adam corrects and guns it again.
Through the gaps between the front seats, I see the dirt road whipping past, narrow and rutted, branches clawing at the windshield.
“Careful!” the alpha yells, and the van pops up and over another shift in the road.
“Goddammit, Raff. I’m trying!”
Raff.
His name is Raff.
Then something sharp cracks overhead. The sound is so sudden, cutting through the noise of the engine and the road, landing in my chest like a punch.
Then there’s another one.
And another
It’s getting closer.
Perrin's head drops below the dashboard. Adam ducks, one hand on the wheel, the other reaching across to shove Perrin lower. The windshield is still intact, but I hear something ping off the roof of the van, metallic and bright.
Are they shooting at us?
Fear grips me once again, and my stomach drops. My hands claw at Raff's shirt. A sound comes out of me that I don't recognize, wild and animalistic, but somehow still trapped behind the command Cliff gave me that's still humming in my veins.
Be quiet.
Be good.
I press my face harder into Raff's chest and squeeze my eyes shut, trying to be good while bullets hit the van.
But my heat doesn't care about any of it.
Every inch of me thrums and buzzes, reminding me that I have no control over my body. Once again, my heat has swallowed every rational thought I have and replaced it with one single, deafening need.
Desperate for friction, my hips shift against Raff's body.
Slow at first. Barely a movement. Just the instinctive roll of my pelvis seeking pressure, seeking anything to ease the hollow, screaming ache that's been eating me alive all day long.
The feel of his belt buckle through my soaked scrubs sends a jolt through me.
And I do it again.
Harder.
My swollen pussy drags over his jeans and I can feel myself opening, my body a greedy, welcoming gate as a fresh gush of slick pours from me.
Raff goes rigid beneath me. His hand on my back tightens, fingers splaying wide, and I hear his breath catch. But he doesn't look down at me. His eyes stay fixed on the road ahead, watching Adam swerve around a fallen branch.
I feel it, though—the hard, thick length of his cock stirring against my pelvis. I roll my hips again, and it jumps against me, responding to my body's frantic call.
Unable to stop myself, I grind into him again and again. A moan builds in my throat. His body is warm and hard beneath mine, and he smells like safety and sage and sunflowers. And I need more.
I need his skin.
His hands.
I need his cock inside me, filling the emptiness before it swallows me whole.
My fingers find the hem of his shirt and slip underneath, pressing flat against his stomach. His muscles tense under my touch and a low sound rumbles through his chest.
"Not now, omega," he snarls so quietly I almost miss it beneath the roar of the engine. His hand slides down and grips my hip, stilling me. The grip of a man holding himself together by his fingertips.
And I fucking hate it.
I want him to give in, and fuck me hard and deep right here in the backseat of this van.
Another shot cracks somewhere behind us, but it sounds farther now. The pinging on the roof has stopped. But Adam doesn’t slow down. The engine screams as he pushes it up an incline, and the trees are a blur of green and brown on both sides.
And I still can't stop my hips from moving.
“Turn there!!” Perrin practically yells. “Between those trees.”
“Are you sure?” Adam sounds conflicted. “We didn’t come in this way.”
“Yes! It’ll cut us straight to the main road,” Perrin says forcefully, and I feel the van turn.
"How far, Perrin?" Raff calls to the front, his voice strained.
"A few minutes." Perrin’s eyes are locked on the road. “It should be right up here.”
"She's getting worse back here," Raff warns. “I’m going as fast as I can.” Adam's knuckles are bone-white on the wheel.
Perrin twists in his seat, and his face goes pale when he looks at me. At what I'm doing to Raff. At the state of me.
The beta quickly turns back around without a word and braces his hands on the dashboard.
I should be ashamed of what I’m doing to these men, these strangers who I practically attacked in the middle of the market, but I can’t seem to care right now.
“Turn there!” Perrin points and Adam jerks the wheel.
The car rocks, I moan and Raff grunts, then he shifts on the bench seat, sitting up straighter, one hand bracing against the window for balance.
He keeps me on his lap, my thighs locked around his hips, and I know it's because every time he tries to move me, I can't stop myself from clawing at his shirt and making sounds behind my clenched teeth that don't belong to anything human.
The trees thin, and through the window I see a strip of dark asphalt cutting across the tree line ahead. A real road. Adam eases off the gas, the van decelerating from breakneck to merely reckless, and he checks both directions before pulling toward the turn.
"Easy," Raff murmurs. Whether he's talking to Adam or to me, I don't know.
The van slows further, rocking as the tires transition from dirt to pavement, and for one brief second everything is quiet. There are no shots or branches scraping the doors. All I can hear is the hum of the engine and my own ragged breathing.
Then something slams into the side of the van.
The impact rocks the entire vehicle sideways. I scream. Adam yanks the wheel. Perrin throws his arms out, bracing against the dash and the door. Raff's body curls over mine, wrapping me up in his arms.
A hand slaps against the window, and I see dark brown eyes.
Cliff.
His black hair is plastered to his forehead with sweat. Blood is smeared across his cheekbone, and his chest is heaving as he runs alongside the van.
"Open the fucking door!" His voice is raw, shredded, barely recognizable through the glass.
Adam slams on the brakes. Perrin reaches back and wrenches the sliding door open, and Raff shifts me in his arms, sliding to one side of the bench seat to make room.
Cliff throws himself inside.
He hits the bench hard, his weight rocking the van. He's barely in before Adam floors it again, the tires shrieking on the asphalt, and the door slides shut from the momentum.
And the first thing I see is blood.
Cliff’s knuckles are split and swelling. There's a gash above his left eyebrow that's dripping blood down the side of his face. And his left arm is wet with red. It’s dark and soaking through the torn sleeve of his shirt, running down his bicep in a thin river.
This is all my fault.
"Come, omega." Cliff reaches for me, his right hand extended, palm up and fingers open.
My body leans toward him, but Raff's grip tightens on my hips. His fingers dig in and I feel the alpha’s chest expand in one slow, measured breath. Then his hands loosen. He lifts me by the waist and shifts me off his lap.
Cliff's arms close around me before the air between us has time to cool.
The second his body touches mine, something inside me releases.
A tension I didn't know I was carrying unravels all at once. My bones and muscles and nerves all sag with relief the moment Cliff’s arms lock around me and his scent fills my lungs. The mating bite on my neck throbs, warm and steady, recognizing him.
Safe. Mate. Home.
My stomach aches and slick pushes from my body in a slow, humiliating wave. And I can’t help it anymore. I cry.
An ugly sob tears out of my chest in uncontrollable, shuddering gasps.
The dam breaks, and everything behind it comes flooding out. Fear, pain, guilt, followed by the bone-deep shame of what I've done today.
"I'm s-sorry." The words come out broken and wet, pressed into Cliff’s chest. "I'm so sorry. I can't—I can't stop it. I can't stop my b-body. I tried and I—I can't and I'm s-sorry."
His hand cups the back of my head. His lips press against my temple.
"It's okay." His voice is rough, his chest still heaving as he tries to catch his breath. "You're safe, omega. We're taking you home."
Home.
I don't have a home. I haven't had one in three years.
Another cramp rolls through me, deep and savage, clenching my abdomen so hard my vision whites out. But this time I don't grind down. I don't roll my hips or chase the pressure or beg for relief.
I sit in Cliff’s lap and let the pain burn through me, my forehead pressed against his collarbone, my tears soaking into his torn shirt.
I deserve this.
Every wave of it. Every cramp and throb and humiliating gush of slick.
I deserve it because I assaulted a man I didn't know in a storage tent.
Because I put my hands on someone else's mate.
Because I lost control so completely that four strangers had to fight their way out of a black market to save me.
On top of that, the cover I spent three years building has been completely blown. Everything I’ve been through…the loneliness and chemical suppression and the fear that ate me from the inside out…it was all for nothing.
And not to mention my notebooks.
My stacks of names, dates, connections, every scrap of information I've collected on what happened to my parents, are all sitting in a desk drawer in my apartment. Unprotected.
If anyone from the Morder comes looking for me, that's the first place they'll go.
By the time I can get away, it’ll all be gone. All of it. In a single afternoon.
And now, I’ll probably never know what happened to my parents.
I'll never find out who killed them.
The thought settles into my chest like a stone sinking to the bottom of a lake. Heavy, cold, and permanent.
Exhausted, I close my eyes against Cliff's chest and let the pain take me.