Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
QUINN
Leaving the dogs to their happy reunion, and the wild dogs still trying to break the door down, I go back to my suite. Because, once again, I need a fucking minute.
If I wasn’t frozen to the bone, there’s no way I would go anywhere near my room, but hypothermia isn’t something I’m keen on experiencing.
I have to stop outside the door to my room as nausea bubbles in my tummy.
I seriously wonder if losing a couple of toes is easier to deal with than the state of my room.
Logic is hard to justify when my designation is pining and pining hard.
Losing prized possessions isn’t about materialism for an Omega; it’s the sentimentality of scent and the times that object has become your only comfort in a crisis that strikes deepest. It’s like losing a friend.
“Come on, Quinn, you’re better than this,” I say, my head resting on the door as another wave of uncertainty steals my thunder. I hate what she did to my belongings, but doing this to me, punching holes in my psyche, makes me hate her as a person.
Closing my eyes, I take a series of calming breaths to center the flyaway nature of my current mood. I need to get inside and shower. Parts of my body are cramping up, while other parts are numb because of the freezing cold.
The bite on my hand tingles, and I’m not sure if it’s in warning or encouragement. I lean in to the comfort side, and then I go with the rip the Band-Aid off approach and throw the door wide open.
I nearly fall flat on my face.
My senses are blown, my thoughts tumbling again but for a completely different reason.
His scent wraps around me, so real and tangible that warmth spreads from deep inside my chest, chasing away the shadows she left in her wake.
He must have spent hours in my room for it to be so saturated in his scent.
But he wasn’t just sitting idly; he was busy, which doesn’t make a lot of sense after he so willingly looked through me like I was a ghost.
There are no ruined clothes strewn over my floors or empty bottles leaking anymore. There’s no destruction, period. The room looks like it did when I first arrived—neat as a pin and dappled, no, drenched, in peaceful serenity.
He made my space mine again. He did it by himself without anyone helping him because only his spicy scent lingers. It’s so at odds with how he acted, I’m not sure whether I trust what I can see and smell.
The stack of clothes on the bed also doesn’t match the actions of an Alpha who pretended I didn’t exist. I felt how angry he was at me being here. I felt it so clearly, as though his emotions were my own.
Like my bedroom, the bathroom is saturated with him. And it’s like sunshine on a cloudy day. My soul skips a beat at the gift he left, even after he pretended I wasn’t here.
Stripping out of my clothes is no longer an arduous task. If anything, I need to be nude, to let his remaining presence and his scent do even more of its magic. Every second I stand in my space, I feel lighter, more settled.
I set the shower to lukewarm, then adjust the rail so the showerhead is at its lowest and pointed against the wall. I park my butt under the constant spray, willing my Omega back down now she’s taken her fill. It doesn’t take long. Admittedly, I’m incentivised by the pile of clothing on my bed.
His hoodie is obscenely oversized and luxuriously soft; it sends all the parts of me I’d been fighting to control in the shower to hyperdrive.
The sweatpants he left were way too big; I put them under my pillow for later.
In my overnight bag, I found things she hadn’t discovered, including a pair of gym leggings.
I have to sit on the edge of my bed for a few minutes, reveling again in the gentle afterglow of being cared for by someone else.
I haven’t let it happen for a long time; it was a weakness I couldn’t afford, but now I’m seeing how much I need it.
By the time I've dried my hair and pulled on a pair of his thick socks, I’m nearly back to being me—an Omega on a mission.
When I open the door, Nalla rolls into my room. She stays half upside down, looking up at me with slitted, sleepy eyes. I didn’t trust her for a second. Or her partner. Or her owner. “Where is he?”
Her tail thumps, confirming these two are in cahoots in scaring me as often as possible. When she doesn’t move her fluffy butt out of my way, I hold on to the doorjamb and take a wide step over her.
Before she can climb to her feet, I squat down and get in her face. “I’m giving you one chance, Nalla girl. You tell me where he is, or your lover boy is going to get real hungry until your owner comes back.”
I sit back on my haunches, glaring hard into her hazelnut-colored eyes. And I swear I’m losing my mind, because all I see is her laughing at me.
“Have it your way,” I growl, rolling up to standing.
And because he’s scared me the last few times, I switch on all the lights and check the shadows as I walk through the deserted house.
Passing the front door, there’s a noticeable absence of both the dogs and the wailing winds. It’s still fucking freezing, but it’s not fucking freezing and blowing a gale.
Before I start making something to eat, I need to find the controls for the central heating.
I can’t imagine Sergey being the sort to do anything himself, including setting the temperature, which is why I look in the staff wing and not his.
The thermostat is exactly where I thought it would be, and even though the instructions are in Russian, they’re not hard to figure out.
I hit the button for full house, and then set the thermostat to eighty-five degrees Farenheit.
If I was home alone, there’s no way I’d have it set so high and on in every room.
I also wouldn’t have all the lights on. I guess that means I’m Petty Betty by running up a huge electricity bill.
It’s an entertaining thought. And I keep smiling as I go to find something to eat.
Given the size of his kitchen, I’m pretty sure Sergey has a bad case of small-man syndrome going on.
The layout resembles a restaurant kitchen, including all the state-of-the-art appliances—ovens, microwaves, grill plates, and even teppanyaki areas, which only confirms again that so much of Sergey is about appearances.
It explains why he gets along with Victor so well.
The two of them are peas in their matching, egotistical pods.
Even from the door, it’s easy to see how empty the fridge is. It’s one of those fancy glass-door fridges. There are a few things left on a shelf, but I need real food—carbs or potatoes.
I spin around to go see what’s in the pantry and scream.
“That’s it!” I shout at them both, because of course, the black guy has crept in to stand next to Nalla when I wasn’t looking. My heart is beating so hard, it feels like it’s going to bruise the inside of my chest.
They stand side by side, gloating as much as dogs can gloat. He’s so much taller and bulkier than Nalla, I instinctively shrink down on myself. He most certainly is an Alpha, and a bossy one too.
He takes a step so close, I can see a small scar on his nose before he saunters right past with all the swagger of an Alpha.
The two of them work together, herding me again, right out of the room this time.
They keep me between them until we’ve woven our way through a series of shorter hallways, coming to stop in front of a closed door, a key waiting in the lock.
Twisting the key, the latch opens, and like up in my bedroom, I’m floored and confused when his scent rushes out.
I get a shove from Nalla, making me stumble inside. The air is thick with his scent and theirs, and his presence lingers so obviously I can almost see him.
“What the hell is going on?” I murmur, looking around for answers.
This space is so different from the kitchen I was just in.
In one corner, there’s an oversized fridge, and next to it is a freestanding stove and oven, along with a large pantry.
A huge window, like the one you’d see in a country estate, steals a lot of my focus, directing my view towards a high-walled garden.
Nalla walks past me and disappears out of view but pokes her head back around.
I go with her and find another door and a note with four numbers and an arrow pointing at a keypad.
Pushing Nalla out of the way, I go back to the window, wanting to see the outdoor space again.
It’s completely walled. There’s no way any of the other dogs could jump that height, but it’s Nalla and her crazy heroics I’m worried about.
When I deactivate the alarm and unlock the door, both dogs rush out.
There’s more space now they’re outside, and I can move around easier and see things better. It’s a very pretty room. The bright yellow on the walls brings a smile to my face.
Opening the fridge, I’m pleasantly surprised to find it full of vacuum-sealed cuts of meat, loads of vegetables, and a whole shelf obviously devoted to the dogs.
It’s as if the Alpha knew I’d find this room.
Kind of presumptuous thinking on his part, or perhaps he just has complete faith in his dogs.
Right on cue, over the exact spot where his claim sits, a gentle tingling sensation spreads over my hand and down my fingers.
I’m not sure if it’s an actual physical thing I feel when I think of him, or if it's psychosomatic. The sensation is as confusing as his acting like I didn’t first exist, then cleaning up my room like I matter.
My tummy rumbles, and instead of worrying about things I can’t solve, I focus on what I can do, which is feed the dogs and make something for myself to eat.
I find a second note, this one stuck on the dog food shelf.
He must have used Google Translate because some of the wording is back to front, but it’s still easy to follow.
Pulling out their food, I leave it on the counter, since they're outside doing whatever they’re doing, and then I look for ideas as to what I could cook for myself.
Considering I can’t remember the last time I ate a proper meal and I’m starving, I opt for a whole roasted chicken with all the trimmings.
As soon as I put everything in the oven, the dogs reappear.
It’s a bit of a guessing game as to how much I feed them.
It’s another guessing game when I set their bowls in front of them and they look at me expectantly until I remember how well trained they are.
After a few tries of “release” words, they either get impatient or I strike it gold with, “Okay to eat.”
I make coffee in a French press, grab a mug and some milk, and after they’ve done another quick visit outside, the three of us return to my side of the house to wait for the chicken to cook.
Turning on the television, I select a Russian sitcom for background noise and wait impatiently for something to eat, trying hard not to overthink. I talk to the dogs constantly.
“Nalla, do you think it’s weird Sergey left me alone?”
She’s been ignoring me but sits up at my question and drops her head into her shoulders, growling aggressively. It’s not just Nalla that reacts to his name; the black dog’s eyes lose their warmth. The dogs prove that animals are amazing judges of character.
The timer on my phone sounds, but I was watching the countdown and make it to the door before it goes off. It’s a very odd feeling being in someone’s house when they’re not, but at the same time, it’s not the strangest thing I’ve ever done. Talking to dogs might be.
Since I am here by myself, I left the door open to the secret kitchen ajar but rearm the door to outside.
Now the hallway is full of the aroma of the roast, and my mouth waters.
I kind of thought the dogs would have been right behind me, but when I enter the kitchen, I’m alone.
Even when I pull the oven tray out and put it on the stovetop to rest, the dogs aren’t around.
Glancing outside, the day is as gloomy as ever, but it’s not as shitty as it was. The clouds are dark and moving over the sky, chased by high winds.
A blur of something along the edge of the roof catches my eye. I move backward from where I’m standing, shuffling to get a better look at the roof but standing out of view of the window. It’s probably nothing. I mean, the dogs would be going crazy if there was anything going on.
I stare at the same spot where I thought I saw something move for ages. I’m about to give myself a bit of a talking to about being paranoid when the black dog prowls past me. Tension radiates off him, and his gaze is leveled at the exact spot where I saw something.
I don’t want to twist around to see where Nalla is, in case my movement draws outside attention.
Something shifts up on the roof again. It’s not in the same spot; it’s further along. This time, the shape of a person is easy to define.
Nalla makes a deliberate noise behind me before I feel the tug on my clothing. “Jesus, you two are fucking scary,” I whisper to them, but the black dog keeps moving towards the back door.
For a second, I think Nalla will make me run. She still might, but instead of pulling me out of the kitchen, she joins her mate near the door to outside. I don’t know if I’m spurred on by insight or stupidity, but I duck low and punch in the code to unlock the door for them.
As soon as it’s done, Nalla bares her teeth at me as she moves to stand in front of me before they both start backing out of the room, forcing me to do the same.
We’re in the hallway as the noise of glass shattering from somewhere upstairs reaches us.
Barely another minute passes, and the sound of more glass shattering coincides with the thud of feet echoing from above.
The thought of leaving the dogs to fend for themselves makes me sick, but I turn and haul ass to my suite. I know this is what they’re trained for.
I make it to the top of the stairs when the whole house plunges into darkness. The hum of the heater winds down to nothing.
I freeze on the spot, worried I’ll miss hearing something or crash face-first into something or someone. I plaster my back to the wall before stepping, stopping, listening. I do the same thing over and over until I reach where the guard was stationed, at the top of the hallway down to my room.
I want to go to my room, but that’s the first place a person would look. I find a small room and race to a corner, tucking myself behind a chair and shrinking as small as possible. It’s hard not to think about the fact that I’m trapped in a house with the only two “weapons” I had, gone.