4. Finn
The harsh morning glare hits my face and forces my eyes open.
A restless, agitated hum vibrates in my chest.
Kicking the tangled sheets off my legs, I roll out of the king-sized bed. I didn't sleep at all last night. Tossing and turning didn't do a damn thing. My inner Alpha refused to settle down.
The image of a fierce, petite hospital worker burns in my brain. Olive. Her name tastes like a raw demand on my tongue. Picturing her dark, sleek bob and those warm brown eyes sends a jolt through me. I remember protective stance she took in front of that kid’s hospital room.
She looked small enough to tuck under my chin, but she commanded the hallway like a seasoned general. She glared at Victor with enough heat to melt ice.
Showing up unannounced to stalk a hospital worker screams unhinged. Sam gives me the perfect excuse. He is my way back in. Bringing the kid a care package makes me look like the generous goalie, not the feral Alpha desperate for another hit of a girl's sweet scent.
I need to make a good impression. Stepping into the walk-in shower, scalding water beats the tension out of my shoulders.
Scrubbing my skin with body wash helps clear my head.
Smelling like crisp ozone beats smelling like stale sweat and a pissy attitude.
Drying off, I put some real effort into getting dressed.
A fitted black henley clings to my chest. Dark denim hugs my thighs.
Pulling my favorite boots on, I run a hand through my messy auburn hair.
Walking out of my bedroom, my boots hit the hardwood floor of the upstairs landing.
Alpha trying to find a place to belong. Then Maverick Jensen and Leo retired.
Malcolm, Lawrence, and Victor moved up from the second line to fill the gaps.
The three of them already formed a tight-knit unit, but they brought me right into the fold.
Victor acts like a prick most days, but we get along fine. They became my brothers.
Today, the house feels empty. My nose searches for something else.
A phantom trace of warm apple pie and cinnamon haunts my senses.
Catching a tiny whiff of it right before Olive bolted from the room yesterday drove me crazy.
My rational brain tells me she's a Beta.
She lacks the anatomy to produce a scent like that.
My inner Alpha calls bullshit on all that logic. Humming with a possessive, territorial frequency, my gut tells me that sweet scent belongs to us.
Taking the stairs two at a time, I head down to the chef’s kitchen.
Lawrence stands at the marble island, flipping a row of eggs in a cast-iron skillet. He wears a pair of black sweatpants and nothing else. Malcolm sits on a barstool across from him, nursing a steaming mug of black coffee. His long dark hair hangs in a braid over his shoulder.
Walking straight past them, I open the hall closet.
Grabbing a canvas team tote bag, I start stuffing it with merch from the promotional boxes.
A brand-new folded Iron Wolves jersey goes in first, followed by a gold and black snapback hat and a plush wolf mascot.
Snagging a silver sharpie from the junk drawer, I sign my name across the gold numbers on the jersey.
Malcolm takes a slow sip of his coffee. He squints, checking out my rigid posture and clenched jaw. "You look like you want to punch a hole through a brick wall."
"I didn't sleep." Zipping the tote bag shut, I let out a frustrated breath. "My head is a mess."
Lawrence slides the cooked eggs onto a ceramic plate. "Victor's stunt yesterday got under your skin. He acted like a prick."
"He acted like a coward." Slinging the canvas bag over my shoulder feels good. "But we leave Victor to his own demons. I care about the kid. Sam deserves better than a botched Make-A-Wish visit. I'm going back to the hospital to drop this gear off."
"You plan to drive all the way back into the city on your one day off just to give a kid a goodie basket?"
"Yeah." Snatching my keys off the counter, I keep walking.
Lawrence leans his hip against the stove. A knowing smirk touches his lips. "Sure, Finn. Tell the angry brunette with the brown eyes we said hello."
My jaw clenches tight. They see right through my excuse. Playing the role of the peacemaker in this pack comes naturally to me. I act as the emotional bridge, smoothing over Victor's abrasive edges and keeping Malcolm's intensity grounded. Caring about the kid makes sense for me.
But the feral, distracted energy rolling off my skin tells a different story.
I keep my mouth shut. Turning my back on them, I walk out to the massive garage.
Climbing into the driver’s seat of my black Jeep, I slam the door shut. The engine roars to life. Gripping the leather steering wheel turns my knuckles white. My foot presses harder on the gas pedal while I take the winding roads down to the city.
Traffic stalls on the interstate, feeding my agitation. Every red brake light feels like a personal insult.
My mind loops back to Olive. Remembering the bizarre flush on her cheeks makes my chest tight. Her breath hitched right before she tripped over the trash can.
My gut twists. A Beta catching a stomach bug shouldn't make my Alpha claw at the walls of my chest. It shouldn't make me want to rip a hospital apart just to pull her into my lap and check her temperature myself.
The towering glass structure of the hospital comes into view.
Pulling into the parking garage, I throw the Jeep into park.
Grabbing the tote bag off the passenger seat, I kill the engine.
I don't know what kind of instinct just tripped in my system, but finding that fierce, beautiful woman is the only way to make this agonizing hum stop.
The sliding glass doors of the main hospital entrance hiss open. A blast of air conditioning hits my face, carrying the stench of bleach and sterile alcohol. I ignore the nasty smell and head straight for the elevators.
A few nurses point and whisper as I cross the lobby. I keep my head down and my expression neutral. Wearing a fitted henley and jeans helps me blend in a little, but it's hard to hide a hockey goalie frame in a space meant for sick kids.
The elevator dings. I step in and hit the button for the fourth floor.
The ride up drags. My boot taps a restless beat against the metal floor. The hum in my chest intensifies the higher the car climbs.
The doors slide open. I step out into the pediatric ward. The yellow suns and painted cartoon animals mock my dark, agitated mood.
I walk the corridors from memory and stop outside room 414. Peeking through the open doorway, I spot Sam sitting up in his bed. He looks a bit more tired than yesterday, but he still clutches his Nintendo Switch in both hands.
I knock twice on the wooden frame.
Sam looks up. His hazel eyes widen. He drops his console onto the blankets.
I step inside and force a relaxed, easy grin onto my face. "Hey, man. I know the visit got a bit chaotic yesterday. I wanted to drop this off for you."
I hold up the folded jersey, keeping the silver signature visible.
Sam gasps. "No way. Is that a real game jersey?"
"Brand new." I walk over and lay the fabric across the foot of his bed. "Wear it for luck during the playoffs. There's a hat and a mascot plushie in the bag for you, too."
Sam runs his thin fingers over the embroidered logo. A gap-toothed smile stretches across his face. "Thank you. This is the coolest thing ever."
"You got it." I lean against the metal bed frame. Crossing my arms, I casually scan the room. The space feels empty. The lingering trace of that apple pie and cinnamon scent vanished, scrubbed away by the harsh hospital cleaners.
I turn my attention back to the kid. He trusts me. He considers me a hero. Using him as a wingman feels manipulative, but my Alpha refuses to leave the building without seeing her.
I tilt my head. "Is your mom around today?"
Sam shakes his head. "She had to pick up an extra shift at the store. She comes back tonight."
"Gotcha." I tap my fingers against my bicep. "What about the nice lady from yesterday? Olive. She rushed out in a hurry. I wanted to make sure she was feeling better."
Sam points a small finger toward the hallway. "She came in this morning. She told Brenda she still feels sick, but she doesn't think it's the flu. She went to the staff lounge down the hall to get some tea. It's right past the vending machines."
A surge of triumph hits my gut. I push off the bed frame.
I point a stern finger at the kid. "You get some rest. I expect you to cheer loud for us on Thursday night."
Sam salutes me. "I will!"
I walk out of room 414 and turn in the direction he pointed. The corridor stretches out in front of me, lined with closed doors and supply carts.
I pass a row of glowing vending machines. I take two more steps.
Then, the scent hits me like a freight train. It crashes through the sterile air, wiping out the smell of bleach, rubbing alcohol, and cheap hospital food. It smells like warm apple pie and crushed cinnamon, but the sweetness carries a raw, jagged edge.
It smells distressed, slick, like an unbonded Omega.
My boots stop moving. The linoleum floor seems to vanish beneath my feet.
A shockwave rips through my system. The hum in my chest erupts into a deafening, territorial roar. My vision tunnels until all I see are the sterile white walls leading toward that overwhelming scent. Every muscle in my body locks tight.
I suck the air through my teeth. The slick, burning sweetness coats the back of my throat. It tastes like an invitation and a desperate plea for an Alpha.
My rational brain shuts down. Olive is an Omega in the middle of a Heat, and she smells like she belongs to my pack.
Our Omega.
A low, feral growl vibrates in my throat. I push forward, my long legs closing the distance down the hallway. My entire focus narrows down to finding the source of that distress and ripping apart anything that stands in my way.
Rounding the corner past the supply closet, my boots skid to a halt.
Olive leans against the painted drywall outside the staff lounge. She looks like a total wreck.
Her navy scrubs hang off her petite frame.
Dark sweat stains patch the fabric. Her sleek bob sticks to her cheeks in damp, messy strands.
A wicked flush burns across her skin. It turns her chest and neck a deep, feverish crimson.
Gripping the metal handrail on the wall with white knuckles, she pants through her open mouth.
My control shatters.
Closing the distance between us takes three strides.
"Olive." I grit her name out in a harsh, demanding rumble.
Her head snaps up. Her wide, blown-out brown eyes lock onto my face.
The potent scent hijacks my system. The instinctual pull takes over. It drags me toward her with an undeniable force.
A desperate, high-pitched whine rips from her throat. Her eyes roll back. Whatever held her upright gives out. Her knees buckle, sending her dropping toward the hard linoleum floor.
I lunge forward and catch her before she hits the ground.
Pulling her against my chest, her body feels like a furnace. The heat radiating through her thin cotton scrubs burns against my skin. She's soft, pliant, and fragile. Burying her face into the crook of my neck, she inhales my scent with frantic, greedy gasps.
The smell of her slick arousal hits me. It smells sweet enough to make my teeth ache.
My inner Alpha roars in victory. The need to carry her away consumes me. I need to scoop her up, carry her out to my Jeep, and lock her inside my bedroom. I need to drag her into a nest, strip those scrubs off, and bury my knot deep inside her.
"I got you." My nose buries into her damp hair, my arms wrapping tight around her waist. "You're safe."
"Finn." She whimpers my name. Her hands grip the fabric of my t-shirt with no strength at all.
Rushing footsteps break through my tunnel vision.
"Hey! Back away from her!"
Brenda, the head charge nurse, sprints around the corner. Two huge hospital security guards follow close behind her.
Baring my teeth, a vicious snarl tears from my chest. I pull Olive tighter against my body, shielding her from the intruders. My instincts scream at me to fight. They demand blood from anyone trying to take my Omega.
Brenda ignores my warning. She recognizes the danger of a dropping Omega in a public space. Hospital protocols kick in fast.
"Code Silver in the north corridor! Unbonded Omega in heat distress!" Brenda shouts into the radio clipped to her collar. She points a shaking finger at the guards. "Separate them right now! Get him out of here!"
The two security guards rush me. They grab my shoulders and yank me backward.
Thrashing against their grip, my muscles bunch. I prepare to throw them into the drywall. I have enough strength to shatter their jaws and take Olive back by force. The urge to bash their heads in burns hot in my veins.
But Olive's limp body slumps against the handrail. Brenda catches her, supporting her weight and shouting for a stretcher.
My rational brain fights a bloody battle against my instincts. Throwing punches in a pediatric ward risks hurting people, including Olive. Forcing my fists to unclench takes everything I have. I stop fighting the guards, even though my chest caves in with sheer agony.
"Let her go!" I roar. My voice echoes down the sterile hallway.
"You need to leave the premises, sir." The larger guard shoves me toward the exit doors. "She needs medical isolation. You're making it worse."
They shove me through the double doors and out of the ward. The thick metal clicks shut. It cuts off the sweet smell of apple pie and the sound of her distressed whining.
Standing in the elevator lobby, my chest heaves. My heart hammers a chaotic rhythm against my ribs. Agitation burns through my entire nervous system. The hospital just dragged my Omega away from me in the middle of her first heat.
Punching the metal elevator button, the metal dents under my knuckles. I'm forced to leave the building without her, but my pack will burn this city to the ground to get her back.