12. Finn
The cold March wind bites my face, but it carries a scent that stops the blood in my veins.
Crushed cinnamon and distressed apple pie. But underneath the distress lies a distinct musk. The unmistakable scent of female arousal floods the parking lot. She touched herself in that freezing backseat. The damp, sweet aroma of a fresh climax leaks through the vents of her car.
A deep, vibrating rumble of protective yearning builds in my throat.
My cock hardens inside my jeans, responding to the undeniable call of our Omega.
But the urge to comfort overrides the lust. My instincts scream to wrap her in blankets, pull her into my arms, and give her the safety she must crave.
I take a deliberate breath of the cold air. I center my mind. She needs gentleness.
My eyes drop to the grill of my Jeep. It idles right behind her bumper. I boxed her in. I refuse to trap her.
I climb back into the driver's seat. Throwing the gearshift into reverse, I back up and guide my vehicle into a parking space three spots away. I leave her a clear, unobstructed path to the exit. I want her to know she holds the power to drive away.
Killing the engine, the silence of the empty lot presses against the windows.
I stay in the quiet cabin for a moment. The pack spiraled into a dark, chaotic mess back at the mansion before I left.
Malcolm paced the floorboards, his cedar scent sour with panic.
Victor stared at the wall, drowning in a toxic sea of guilt.
Lawrence gripped his phone with white knuckles, waiting for a miracle.
We pushed her to this breaking point. Our mistakes drove her onto the freezing streets.
Every attempt we made to bring her home ended in a failure. We overwhelmed her with desperate apologies. We tried to smooth-talk her into a corner and bark orders like dictators.
I take a deep breath. The crisp ozone of my scent fills the Jeep. I need to keep my head straight. I refuse to show up and act like a sad puppy again. I refuse to act like a tyrant. She needs a steady presence. She needs an immovable shield to block the wind.
I look at the paper bag and the cardboard coffee cups resting on my passenger seat. I stopped at a late-night diner on the way here. The smell of roasted beans and hot grease mixes fill the air. I grab the food and the drinks. Pushing my door open, I step back out onto the asphalt.
The private investigator sent a long report along with her location coordinates an hour ago.
He watched her flee her sister's house in a blind panic.
He watched her try to access a locked storage facility.
She bounced from one dead end to another.
She exhausted every option until she hit rock bottom in this lot.
The thought of that Beta brother-in-law doing something to scare her makes my jaw clench. But tonight, Olive remains my top priority. The wind cuts through my jacket. The temperature hovers near freezing. Sleeping in a car without a heater guarantees hypothermia.
I walk past the empty parking spots. The crunch of my boots on the asphalt sounds loud in the quiet night. I reach the side of her vehicle. Frost coats the edges of the glass. The thin metal of the car offers no protection against the elements. I brace myself and prepare to face her anger.
I stop next to the driver's side door. The tinted window hides the interior, but her scent bleeds through the vents. The smell of her arousal hits my lungs. It tastes like a desperate plea for friction. My teeth ache with the need to bite her neck.
I swallow the urge down. I raise my free hand and rap my knuckles against the cold glass. Two quiet taps.
A frantic shuffling noise comes from the backseat. She scrambles over the center console. Her silhouette appears behind the frosted glass.
The window lowers a couple of inches.
Olive glares at me through the narrow gap. She looks wrecked. Dark circles bruise the skin under her brown eyes. Her cheeks burn with a harsh, feverish flush. She wears a thick winter coat over a gray sweater, but she shivers with uncontrollable tremors.
I keep my face blank. I offer no pity and no aggressive demands.
I lift the paper bag and the cardboard cup. "I brought food. You need to roll the glass down a bit more so I can hand it over."
She stares at the bag. Her stomach gives a loud, demanding growl. She hesitates, her eyes darting between my face and the hot meal.
The window slides halfway down.
I pass the coffee cup through the opening. She takes it with trembling fingers. I slide the rolled-up paper bag through next. The smell of hot grease and roasted meat fills the freezing cabin.
I don't reach for the door handle. I take a step back and look out across the empty parking lot.
"You didn't decide to camp out here for fun." I keep my voice low and steady. "The investigator tracked you to your sister's house a couple of days ago. You had a warm bed and a roof. Something chased you out of her house."
Olive clutches the warm coffee cup to her chest. She avoids my gaze.
"Was it your brother-in-law?" I hazard a guess, tracking her reaction in my peripheral vision.
She flinches. Her shoulders pull tight. The scent of sour, distressed apple pie spikes in the air.
The confirmation fuels a dark, murderous rage in my gut. A Beta man touched our Omega. I make a mental note to shatter his kneecaps before the end of the week. But I keep my voice calm. I refuse to add to her panic. "I'll handle him." I state the fact without looking at her.
"I don't need you to handle him." Her voice shakes. She sounds hoarse and exhausted. "I smashed a coffee mug into his face. I handled it."
A surge of pride warms my chest. My Omega fights back. "Good girl."
She scoffs at the praise. " Thank you for the food, but go away, Finn. Leave me alone."
I turn my head and look at her through the open window. "You can't sleep out here, Olive. The temperature drops below freezing tonight. You risk hypothermia."
"I have blankets." She grips the steering wheel.
"Blankets won't stop your Heat." I point to the vents.
"You're an unbonded Omega dealing with a presenting hormonal surges.
The suppressants failed. Your scent leaks out into the open air.
You smell slick and desperate to me. Every unbonded Alpha within a five-mile radius will catch that scent.
They will hunt the smell to its source. They will swarm this parking lot and tear your car apart to get to you. "
She pales. The reality of the threat hits her.
"You broadcast your vulnerability to the entire neighborhood." I keep my tone firm. I offer a reality check. "A locked car door won't stop a feral Alpha. I refuse to let you stay here and wait for an attack."
She takes a bite of the burger, her hunger overriding her pride. She chews and swallows, closing her eyes as the hot food hits her empty stomach.
I watch her eat. Every bite she takes eases a tiny fraction of the tension in my shoulders.
Providing for her feels right. Feeding my Omega satisfies a core instinct.
But the danger of our location keeps my nerves on a razor's edge.
The parking lot offers no security. The flickering streetlamps cast dark shadows where predators can hide.
I scan the perimeter, my eyes tracking every passing car on the main road. I push my scent out, blanketing her vehicle in a thick layer of territorial warning. Any Alpha catching the wind will smell my claim and think twice before approaching.
Olive finishes the food and sets the empty paper bag on the passenger seat. She drinks the hot coffee, her hands still shaking around the cardboard. The flush on her cheeks deepens. Her breathing turns ragged again as another wave of arousal crashes through her system.
"I appreciate the food." She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. "But I don't want your pack. I don't want a bond. I'll take my chances out here."
She tries to sound fierce, but a broken sob ruins the delivery. She sounds terrified and exhausted.
I look her straight in the eye. "You're our scent-match, Olive. My pack claims you. That isn't a threat. That remains a fact. You can hate us. You can yell at us. But we plan to keep you safe."
"I won't go to your mansion." She shakes her head, tears spilling over her eyelashes. "I won't let you lock me in a room."
I push off the side panel of her car. I stand tall, letting my massive frame block the biting wind.
"Whether you let us in or not, we're going to protect you.
" I offer the promise with flat honesty.
"If you stay in this car, I'll park my Jeep two hundred feet away.
Malcolm will drive out here and take the other side of the lot.
Lawrence and Victor will cover the exits.
We'll take shifts. We'll miss sleep. We'll watch you every second we aren't on the ice to make sure you stay safe.
We'll form a perimeter around this car and stop anyone who tries to approach you.
We'll do this every night until you move to a secure place. "
Olive stares at me through the gap in the window. Her lips part. Her breath hitches in her throat.
I watch the fight drain out of her body. Her stiff shoulders slump forward. The fierce glare in her brown eyes fades, replaced by sheer exhaustion. The biting wind whips her messy hair around her face. She looks worn down to the bone.
A loud sob tears from her throat. She drops her forehead against the steering wheel and weeps.
Listening to her cry makes my chest ache. I stand in the freezing wind and wait. I give her the space to process her options without pushing her.
A full minute passes.
Her hand reaches for the side panel of the door. Her fingers tremble.
A loud click echoes in the quiet parking lot.
She unlocked the doors.
I reach out and pull the handle. The metal door swings open.
Olive looks up at me. Tears stream down her flushed cheeks. "Okay." Her voice breaks on the word. "Okay. Take me to the house."
A wave of relief hits my chest. I strip my thick winter jacket off my shoulders. I lean into the freezing car and drape the warm fabric over her trembling frame. The jacket swallows her petite body.
"Slide over." I guide her toward the passenger side. "I'll drive."
Leaving her sedan in a dark lot means abandoning the last of her possessions. I refuse to let her lose anything else.
She melts into the warmth of the jacket and shuffles across the center console. She drops into the passenger seat and pulls her knees to her chest, inhaling my ozone scent from the collar with desperate, greedy gasps.
I climb into the driver's seat of her compact car and pull the door shut, securing the locks.
My broad shoulders cramp in the small space, but I ignore the discomfort.
I reach across her body and pull the seatbelt across her chest, clicking it into place.
The weak heater struggles, but my body heat fills the cabin.
Pulling my phone from my pocket, I open the pack group chat. I type a quick message.
FINN:
I have her. Driving her car back to the mansion.
I hit send and toss the phone into the cupholder. I shift the sedan into gear and pull out of the grocery store parking lot. I’m come back for my jeep after practice tomorrow.
Olive rests her head against the window, her eyes closed.
The scent of her arousal fills the tight space, testing the limits of my control.
But a profound sense of peace settles over my pounding heart.
The feral panic fades. We secured our Omega.
The actual work of earning her forgiveness starts tomorrow, but tonight she sleeps under our roof.