43. Willow
Chapter forty-three
Willow
Everything was going fine until the storm broke.
Better than fine, really. After pushing me to my limits, Alessandro and I napped for a few hours, entwined so tightly together that we may as well have been human pretzels.
We got up leisurely, showering and dressing with lingering touches, both of us still existing in a fog of wonder over our new experience.
Jeremy sent me a text to say he’d been called in to work. I guess that means he can drive himself, since there’s been no sign of Joel since yesterday. We scent matched, he fixed my electricals, and then the alpha vanished like he couldn’t get away from me fast enough.
But Alessandro didn’t give me time to dwell—at least not until he got a call from one of his clients about a water leak.
I touch my fingers to my mouth and smile as I recall how reluctant he was to leave my side.
But I know better than anyone how work piles up when it’s not attended to.
My swollen lips puff under my fingertips, and half a dozen different muscles ache faintly from the morning’s work out.
That sly, suave man is a sexy beast in disguise, and the discovery proves a thrilling surprise.
But every shred of delight evaporated when the first thunder roll shivered through the house. I always check the weather app. Every morning, without fail. But drugged alphas and new mates obliterated my established routine.
Otherwise, I would've prepared for the worst.
Now I can’t even reach my panic room.
Another crack shakes the house, and I squeal and press myself under my bathroom sink cabinet. The tiles chill me on two sides, and my veins feel like they’re turning to ice inside me.
I can feel it; the vengeful presence spread out above the roof. Hunting for me. Squeezing the atmosphere in its search for someone to strike. Not just anyone. No, those sharp golden bolts are just its frustration flinging about when it can’t find me, Willow Sheldon.
Mr Shares barks shrilly in the distance. Shivering, I grip my knees, feeling the mark of the lightning god burned into my skin beneath my pants.
Most people would laugh at the idea of an elemental spirit hunting in a storm. That’s the stuff of mythology. Hell, I would’ve laughed too, before I got struck twice.
The hairs on my arms prickle with warning and I hunch down deeper, covering my head.
Thunder booms, a senseless voice calling for me.
I squeeze my eyes shut and scream. Reason dictates I stay silent, but logic vanishes in the face of a killer storm.
My entire body spasms, expelling air and another scream in one violent shake.
The phantom memory of searing energy hovers right behind my eyes.
Even with the walls between us, the lightning squeezes me. Strips my sanity.
My throat shreds. The world spins and the room closes in, the storm crushing the house. Maybe I should give up; run out into the storm and let the spirit finally have me.
Third time’s a charm, as they say.
I dig my fingers deep into my ruined thigh and scream again. My heart pounds so fiercely it rattles my chest. I’ll die in here anyway, from the tension headache, or an apoplexy thanks to my blood pressure. Pure fear can kill a person.
I gasp, my throat closing up. But the breath brings me a whisper of Alessandro’s scent lingering on my skin. Or maybe not on my skin? Blind, I reach my hands out, and they tangle with fabric. His towel, still damp but coated in his happy ocean scent.
With another scream, I bury my face in the cloth, clinging to the folds with all my strength. I’m an independent woman, yeah, but in moments like these, I know deep in my soul that I never want to be alone.
But who could ever fight a storm to save me?
Thunder growls and I shout back at it, half muffled in the precious towel.
“Willow!?”
I laugh, a crazed sound part horror part dark humor. Now the storm is calling my name. It found me, plans to tear through the roof.
“Fuck, Willow! Open the door!”
Trying to bewitch me to step outside once more, to surrender to my fate.
The scent in my nose keeps me clinging to hope that maybe I’m not alone.
A different booming bangs on the house. I twitch and raise my head. Mr Shares barks non-stop, and another dog yaps in reply.
“Where are you, Willow? Answer me, dammit!”
It’s not the storm.
“Here!” I croak, my bruised throat catching and garbling. “Here! I’m in here! In the bathroom.” Every word hurts.
“Stay right there. I’m coming to get you!” Joel’s deep voice spikes through the wall.
I moan and curl up tighter, my thoughts completely scrambled. Maybe I’m hallucinating. Wouldn’t be the first time during a storm.
Glass crashes and I squeal, body tensing and twisting. The lightning spirit is working itself inside the house to find me. Footsteps pound on the floor, coming along the hall. The impact softens as the force reaches my bedroom.
The door flies open. I squint up over my clutched towel. Instead of a light-being filled with spikes and death energy, a man drops to his knees, face pale and clothes soaked with rain.
He tugs on my arms, trying to slide me out.
“No!” I scream, clinging to the cabinet. “It’ll find me! It wants to kill me!”
“Shh!” Joel soothes. “I know, but I won’t let it. I’m here now.” With alpha strength, he peels me away and squishes me to his chest.
With no choice, I switch my desperate grip to him, clawing at his neck and winding my trembling body around his solid one. Thunder cracks so loud the house must be splintering from the impact. I spasm hard.
“You’re safe,” my alpha croons over and over, holding me tight. “I’m here.”
He lifts his head and presses my face down into his throat. I whine as his sun-baked summer scent hits me. I need that. Need it in my throat, in my veins, in my head, to drown out the terror. My tongue darts out.
“That’s it,” he croons, stroking my hair. “My precious omega. Taste your alpha. I’m real.”
Another tongue, cool and wet, laps at my back.
“Hey! Get outta here, you silly dog!” Joel growls.
I peek around to find a leggy red-brown and white dog panting along my back, slobbering and grinning.
Joel catches me looking. “That’s Jock. He doesn’t have any of your boy’s good manners.”
The dog leans his chest into my spine, snuffling at my hair. A ghost of a smile twitches on my lips, before the thunder strikes again. I scream and bury myself in Joel’s chest.
His arms tighten. “Fuck, baby. What can I do for you?”
“The p-panic r-room.”
“Where?”
Where is it exactly? With every storm I hide myself in there, but right now I’m not even sure of my own name. Past the paintings, around the kitchen. An image forms in my mind.
“P-Pantry,” I slur.
Joel scoops me up. I grip his collar tight and bury my face in his shirt as he carts me through the house.
“My d-dog.” I tap his shoulder. “H-Him too.”
He reverses direction and lets Mr Shares out of the laundry where I’d put him to finish his food, right before the storm broke.
Lightning arcs across the window; the storm god frantic to find me. I squeal and flinch.
I can’t bear the light—every trace feels like spirit fingers burning into my brain. Trying to set my nerves on fire once more. My tears flow down Joel’s chest as he carries me through the house, huffing slightly.
Finally the brightness cuts out, replaced by the moderate artificial light in the pantry.
“Where’s the door?” Joel asks.
I point to the rear shelves and when he steps closer, I grab the edge and tug. Joel finishes the job to reveal a solid titanium door with a hand scanner. When I reach out, my palm shakes so much that the panel can’t get a read. Joel rests my ass on a countertop and reaches around to hold my wrist.
Beep.
The door slides open and he sweeps me up. “How long does the door stay open?” he rasps out.
“Until someone t-touches the p-panel inside.”
He nods and sets me down on the beanbag across the small room. “Do not move, you hear me? Promise me you won’t close the door?”
I nod once.
“Good. I’ll be right back.”
“J-Joel?”
“Yes?”
“M-My blanket, in the n-nest, p-please.”
The alpha swears under his breath as he runs from the room.
Mr Shares wriggles into my arms, sniffing at me and licking my throat. I bend my head until it rests on his.
“Thank you,” I murmur into his shaggy coat. His tongue darts out and then he settles, warm and heavy on my chest.
The other dog touches the beanbag with his front paws before jumping on top of my dog, squishing us both. He's more rigid than my goldie, but the combined weight’s oddly comforting.
Joel’s back in what seems like seconds, carting a duffel bag and an armful of supplies. A roll of paper towel spills from his grip and he throws the rest in the corner before touching the side panel. The door slides shut, enclosing us in a fully soundproofed box.
Dimmer lights glow, just enough to see by, revealing Joel’s bent back as he rifles through things. I hug Mr Shares and gently stroke the excitable pup behind him while watching my rescuer.
He strips off his soaked clothes and pulls on a shirt I recognize as Jeremy’s. So that’s what the duffel bag was. He digs out a few neat, labeled packs, grunting as he inspects each one.
“Well, that’s a blessing,” he mutters, pulling something out. As he turns, he slips a shadowy object into his mouth before coming over. He drags the second beanbag, which is usually for Mr Shares, and arranges it next to mine before sinking down.
“Feeling any better?” he murmurs, laying the sequin blanket over my legs. His voice seems oddly thick.
I nod, suddenly shy, and wriggle my toes in the soft woolen underside.
“It’s the storm, huh?”
A shudder convulses through me.
He leans over to plant a kiss on my forehead. “Okay, okay. Sorry.”
His proximity brings that full-bodied scent straight to my lungs, and the heat of it burns out the ice in my veins. When he leans back, I grab for him instinctively.
Joel chuckles, the sound velvet in my ears. “You can have me, little omega, but there’s not much room with two hounds on your chest.”
I smirk. My lips quiver, but the smile holds. Tipping sideways, I fall against his chest, letting the two dogs slide down my back. Mr Shares curls into my spine and the boxer yips and circles around to his owner.
Joel hums as he locks his arms around me. “Better.”
His steady heartbeat thumps under my ear, lulling my pulse back to stable levels. In here, behind soundproof walls, I can’t even tell if the storm’s still raging outside.
“I need to check your hands,” Joel murmurs near my ear. “That okay?”
I hold my hand out, wondering why he’s asking, and that’s when I notice the blood. And the towel still gripped to my chest. I’ve been clenching one hand so tight, I dug my nails right into my palms.
Joel sits up and drags a kit over, digging out stinging antiseptic wipes and a bandage. The medication stinks up the room, but the scent of wet dog and sun-baked earth soon overpowers it.
By the time he finishes treating me, my heartbeat’s returned to normal and the shakes have cooled to a bare tremor. The adrenaline circles my body with a cool mint sensation, rather than a vicious burn.
Joel wriggles on the beanbag to take me in his arms once more.
He doesn’t talk, just strokes my hair, lulling me into a daze.
I’ve never considered a scent-match alpha as a real possibility, but there’s no mistaking the way his musk lures me.
The world could shatter around me, and I wouldn’t care so long as I could keep breathing this spicy, sunny aroma.
“Thank you,” I murmur, once I’m sure my voice will hold.
Joel squeezes me. “I’m sorry for not getting here sooner.”
It’s an apology; not for the storm, but for taking so long to process the appearance of me, his scent match. Well, I wasn’t so accommodating myself.
“You’re forgiven.” I clutch his shirt, feeling his solid body beneath.
His chest jerks under my cheek, my words affecting him.
With a soft huff, I draw my head up to his, searching for his mouth. He kisses me, but it’s shallow, his lips oddly flat. I stroke his sandpapery jaw, trying to make sense of what I’m feeling. Then I spy the film across his teeth.
“Is that a . . . mouthguard?”
My alpha stares at me, face shadowed in the dim lighting. “Yes. I found it in Jeremy’s kit.”
“Why are you wearing a mouthguard?” I blink at him.
He strokes my jaw with his thumb, expression turning tender. “Because the desire to bond you is so strong I can’t trust myself.”
A hot jolt runs through my system. Our connection’s that strong?
“B-But,” I protest. “You don’t even know me.”
He cocks his head, studying my face. The movement brings his eyes into the light. “I feel like I do. Like you’re my everything, Willow.” He drops a kiss on my hair. “Is that weird?”
I open my mouth, and then snap it shut. It should be weird, but Alessandro said the same thing, about us being soul mates, finding each other through multiple lives. Instead of answering I bury my face in Joel’s chest again and he holds me tight.
The door beeps, making me twitch alert. What the—?
It swings open and men in black suits sweep in, guns pointed at us.
“Hands where we can see them!”