Chapter 35 Griff
GRIFF
As Logan steps away, I pull Savannah closer, dragging her down into the worn leather chair in the corner of the basement. The storm rages outside, snow hammering the small windows and thunder rolling like a warning. The cold concrete walls close in around us, but all I feel is heat.
I hold her tight, feeling the rapid pulse beneath her skin, the wild tremble of her breath against my chest. Without thinking, without asking, I bite down on the other side of her neck. The sharp, copper-sweet taste of her blood floods my senses, raw and urgent.
Pulling back, I stare down at her flushed face, the dim light from the bare bulb above catching the sheen of sweat on her skin. It’s too late to hesitate now. The bite mark is already swelling, bright and angry against her pale neck, so everyone will know she’s mine too.
There’s a rough satisfaction burning low inside me, but beneath it lies something else. A bitter knot of guilt twisting tight in my gut. Claiming her like this isn’t just instinct, but a promise, a weight I’m not sure I’m ready to carry.
But she’s here, in my arms, and this chaos outside feels distant and meaningless. For now, this moment is all that matters.
Her eyes are half-closed, pupils blown wide with heat and satisfaction, but I can see the fire still burning there. Her heat isn't close to being done. Hell, we're probably looking at another day, maybe two, before it burns itself out. And that's fine with me. More than fine.
I've waited months for this. Don't get me wrong, I'm not jealous of Logan. But waiting has been its own special kind of torture.
Especially when she looks at me the way she's looking at me right now.
"Griff," she whispers, voice rough and raw from crying out. Her fingers trace the line of my jaw, and I lean into the touch despite myself. I'm not usually the cuddling type, but something about the way she touches me makes me want to purr like a house cat.
Which is fucking embarrassing for an alpha who's supposed to be intimidating.
"What?" I ask, though it comes out more growl than question. I can't help it. My voice has been shot to hell since puberty, and it only gets worse when I'm worked up.
She smiles, soft and satisfied. "Nothing. Just... thank you."
Thank you. Like I did her some kind of favor instead of claiming what was mine to begin with. Sometimes I don't understand how her brain works.
Logan is sitting in the chair by the window, fully dressed again, watching us with those patient eyes of his.
He's got that calm, steady expression he always wears, but I can smell the satisfaction rolling off him in waves.
He's content. Proud, even. Like he's watching his pack fall into place exactly the way he planned.
Which, knowing Logan, he probably is.
Xavier is leaning against the far wall, arms crossed, but there's nothing relaxed about his posture.
He's coiled tight, ready to spring into action at the first sign of trouble.
His dark eyes keep flicking toward the door, then back to Savannah, then to the windows.
He's on guard duty, essentially, and taking it seriously.
Even down here in this concrete bunker, I can smell other alphas.
Faint, but they're not close enough to be a real threat yet. They’re probably drawn by the scent, and worried.
If they catch even a whiff of Savannah's heat scent and realize what's happening, they might try to help which would be a disaster for her privacy.
"How long until your heat peaks again?" I ask Savannah, brushing a strand of damp hair away from her face. Her skin is still burning hot to the touch, but the desperate edge has backed off for now.
She considers this, eyes unfocused as she takes inventory of her own body. "An hour? Maybe less?" She shifts against me, and I can feel the slick heat of her arousal still coating her thighs. "It's hard to tell. This one's been... intense."
Intense. That's one word for it.
"Good," I say, settling back against the chair and pulling her with me. She curls into my side like she belongs there, all soft curves and warm skin. "That gives us time."
"Time for what?" she asks, tilting her head up to look at me.
Before I can answer, there's a sound from upstairs. Not loud, but distinct. Footsteps. Heavy ones. Moving across the floor above us.
Logan is on his feet before the sound even finishes echoing. Xavier pushes off from the wall, every muscle in his body tense and ready. And me? I'm gathering Savannah closer, one arm wrapping around her waist while the other reaches for the knife I keep strapped to my thigh.
"How many?" Logan asks, voice barely above a whisper.
Xavier tilts his head, listening. His hearing has always been better than the rest of ours. "Three. Maybe four. They're trying to be quiet, but..." He shrugs. Whoever they are, they're not as sneaky as they think.
"Shit," Logan mutters, running a hand through his hair. "They must have tracked the scent."
Of course they did. Even with the storm, even with us being underground, Savannah's heat is potent enough to draw every unattached alpha within a fifty-mile radius. It's like sending up a fucking flare.
Savannah has gone very still in my arms. I can feel her heartbeat picking up, and can smell the fear starting to mix with her arousal. "What do we do?" she asks.
"We handle it," I say, and my voice comes out rougher than I intended. The idea of other alphas coming anywhere near her while she's in heat makes my alpha snarl and snap at the inside of my chest. "They're not getting near you."
Logan is already moving, checking the locks on the door, testing the hinges. "This door will hold," he says, "but not indefinitely. Not if they really want in."
The footsteps above us have stopped. Whoever they are, they're either listening or planning their next move. Neither option makes me feel particularly warm and fuzzy.
"I should go up there," Logan says, and every protective instinct I have roars in protest.
"Like fuck you should," I growl, sitting up straighter. Savannah makes a small sound of protest as I shift her, but I keep one arm around her waist. "You think I'm letting you walk into an ambush?"
"It's not an ambush if I'm expecting it," Logan points out with that irritating calm of his. "And someone needs to draw them away from here. If they figure out where she is..."
He doesn't need to finish. We all know what happens if a group of well-meaning but instinct-driven alphas finds an omega in heat.
Even good people can lose control when biology takes over.
It doesn't matter that she's claimed or that she's got three pack alphas here.
If enough of them gather outside this door, their combined instincts could overwhelm their better judgment, and someone could get hurt trying to 'help. '
"I'll go," Xavier says quietly. "I'm faster than either of you."
"No." Logan's voice has that tone that means the decision is final. "This is part of my job, running away from danger. Protecting. I should do it."
He’s right. Xavier mends people. Logan faces the most danger day-to-day than all of us.
Most of the time I respect the hell out of him for it.
Savannah pushes herself up on her elbows, looking between the three of us. "Wait. What exactly are you planning to do?"
Logan meets her eyes, and I can see him calculating, weighing options. "I'm going to lead them away from here. Make them think you're somewhere else."
"How?"
"By carrying something that smells like you. Your shirt, maybe. Lead them on a chase through the resort until they lose interest."
Savannah frowns. "That's... actually not terrible. But what if they don't follow you?"
"Then Griff and Xavier will handle them."
The confidence in his voice is absolute, and it sends a warm rush of pride through my chest. Logan trusts us to protect what matters most. Trust us to keep Savannah safe while he plays decoy.
"I don't like this," Savannah says, and her voice has taken on that stubborn edge that means she's about to argue. "It's dangerous. What if something happens to you?"
Logan's expression softens, just a little. "Nothing's going to happen to me. I'm not planning to engage them directly. Just lead them away and disappear into the storm."
Another sound from upstairs. This time it's definitely footsteps, and they're moving with more purpose. Whoever they are, they're getting bolder.
"Decide now," Xavier says urgently. "They're moving toward the basement door."
Logan is already pulling off his jacket, then his shirt. "Savannah, I need something with your scent. Something strong."
She doesn't hesitate. She sits up and gives Logan his flannel shirt. She was wearing it earlier, I think - and hands it to him. The movement leaves her bare from the waist up, and the sight of her like that, flushed and marked and perfect, makes my mouth go dry.
Focus, Griff. Now is not the time.
Logan takes the shirt and presses it to his face, breathing in deeply. When he pulls it away, his eyes are darker than before. "This should work."
"Give me ten minutes. If I'm not back in an hour..."
"You'll be back," I interrupt. Because he will be. Logan's too smart and too stubborn to let himself get caught by a bunch of territorial assholes.
He nods, then moves to the small window near the ceiling. It's barely big enough for a person to squeeze through, but it opens onto an alley behind the building. Logan has always been good at finding the exits.
"Lock this behind me," he says. "Don't open it for anyone but me."
Xavier is already moving to help him up. Logan boosts himself through the window, pausing only long enough to look back at Savannah.
"Be safe," she whispers.
"Always am," he replies, and then he's gone.
Xavier shuts the window and turns the lock. The sound seems unnaturally loud in the sudden silence.
And then we wait.