Chapter 34
Lark
The Uber pulls away from East Rock, and I sink back against the seat, crossing my arms over my chest like I can hold myself together if I just press hard enough.
I needed space. Space from Saint. From his scent. From the stupid pull my body feels when I stand next to him.
The city blurs past the window, but I’m not really seeing any of it.
All I can see is Saint’s angry, wild face, completely unrecognizable.
Okay, so maybe the angry part I’ve seen a few times.
But the wild? That was new and it threw me.
The wild looked like someone who cared. I don't know what to do with that.
How can he spend weeks acting like I’m an inconvenience… and then turn around and nearly strangle a man for touching my arm?
Maybe Cammie was right. Maybe making him jealous was the key to getting his attention. I certainly seemed to make him snap out of his avoidance phase. I huff out a breath at that. Yeah. Because that worked out so well.
I press my fingers to my temples and close my eyes. Yes, he overreacted. But… maybe I did too. The thought settles in. It’s uncomfortable and unwelcome. I want a little more time with my anger.
Maybe we should have stayed.
Shut up.
Maybe you should have made him talk.
My throat tightens. Stupid omega’s always talking shit, and she chooses now to be reasonable?
Go back, she says. He needs you.
I pull my coat tighter. As if I don’t know that.
My phone rings in my hand, and I answer without looking.
“Lark, don’t freak out.” Cammie’s voice is high and tight. I know her well enough to know she’s trying not to panic.
So, of course, I immediately do exactly what she tells me not to. “I’m already freaking out. What happened?”
“Building 2 collapsed.”
I sit bolt upright. “What do you mean collapsed?”
“Partial,” she rushes to add. “Partial collapse. One side of it just… gave. But no one was in there. Or near it.”
Relief slams into me so hard I almost sag. “Okay. Okay, that’s—okay.” I drag in a breath. “Police? Fire?”
“Already here.”
“Good.” I look out the window, trying to orient myself. “I was already on my way. About halfway there.”
“Come fast.”
“I will.”
I hang up and lean forward.
“Can you go a little faster?” I ask the driver. “There’s been an emergency at my warehouse.”
He glances at me in the mirror, takes in my expression, and nods. “Yeah. I got you.” I don’t know why that makes my eyes sting.
The car surges forward, weaving a little more aggressively through traffic. I sit back, heart pounding, mind racing. I need to let someone know I’ll be late. I take out my phone and text Silas.
Me: There’s been an accident at one of my warehouses. Building 2 collapsed. I’ll be late.
Silas: Anyone hurt?
Me: No, thank god.
Silas: Graham and I will be there soon. Saint’s already on his way.
I read it twice. He’s already on his way. My foolish heart does a little flip in my chest.
By the time I arrive, the entire lot is chaos. Police cruisers. Fire trucks. My stomach twists as I step out of the Uber, the smell of dust hitting me immediately.
“Ma’am, you can’t—”
“I own this property,” I say, already moving past the officer before he can finish. That gets me through.
I’m swept almost immediately into a conversation with a man in a Garden Brook Fire Department jacket. “Lark Jensen?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“I’m Mike Davis, Fire Marshal. I need to ask you a few questions.”
“Of course.” My eyes flick toward the building, or what’s left of it. One side has caved in completely. My chest tightens.
“Did you have any indication the building was unstable?” he asks.
“No,” I answer immediately. “We had a full inspection done when I signed the lease. There were some recommendations for reinforcement, but nothing urgent. It was deemed structurally safe.”
“When were you planning to complete the recommended work?”
“A few months from now,” I say.
He nods, jotting something down. “And no one was inside at the time of the collapse?”
“No,” I say again, more firmly. “We don’t use Building 2 for daily operations. It’s mostly overflow storage. My office was the only other space in there.”
He nods again.
I hesitate. Something nags at me. A memory. Saint, walking through the building. His jaw tight. His eyes scanning everything, his thumbs pressing into the puckered cement. My stomach dips.
“Actually…” I say slowly.
The marshal looks up.
“My—” I hesitate, just for a second. Then push through it. “My alpha was concerned about it.”
The words feel strange. Too raw after everything that just happened. But not wrong.
“Your alpha?” he asks. He looks at my unmarked neck. I resist the urge to pull my T-shirt up to my chin.
“He’s a firefighter. In East Rock,” I add quickly. “He toured the building with me a few weeks ago.”
I let out a small breath. “I thought he was being overly cautious. A little doomsday, you know?”
The fire marshal’s expression sharpens slightly. “Do you know what specifically concerned him?”
I shake my head. “No. Silas, another of my alphas, he—”
A shout cuts through the air before I can say anything else.
“Lark!”
My head snaps up. There’s a disturbance near the edge of crumbled remains. Officers shifting. Someone pushing forward, being held back.
“Lark!”
My heart stutters. The voice is off. I don’t recognize it. But the burned ginger and singed molasses can only belong to one person.
Saint.
My pulse kicks hard as the crowd parts just enough for me to see him, shoulders heaving, pushing hard against the officers holding him in place.
“My omega is in there!” he roars. “Get the fuck off of me and help me find her!”
Oh. Shit. He thinks…
And suddenly I’m running. “Saint! I’m here. I’m not hurt. I’m here!” I push through the crowd of police and firefighters who have surrounded him. Weaving my way under arms and past burly bodies.
I finally reach him. His eyes are wild and—Are those tears?
His eyes lock on me. But they don’t see me. Not really. They rake over my face and body, searching. There’s true panic in them.
“Saint,” I say again, softer now. “I’m right here.”
His chest heaves. His grip tightens on the officer holding him. Then, finally, something shifts.
“Lark?” My name breaks out of him like it hurts.
“Yes,” I say quickly, stepping closer, hands coming up like I’m approaching a wounded animal. And maybe I am.
“I’m okay. I’m right here.”
And then he’s moving. The officers barely have time to react before he surges forward, breaking through their hold like it’s nothing. His hands are on me. Everywhere. Gripping, checking, dragging me against him.
“Fuck—” His voice is rough, wrecked. “Fuck, I thought—”
He hauls me up into his arms so fast I gasp. My feet leave the ground and I have to wrap my legs around his waist just to keep from slipping.
He crushes me against his chest. His arms are locked like steel bands around me, like if he loosens even a little, I might disappear.
“I’ve got you,” he mutters into my hair. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
“I’m okay,” I say again, pressing my face into his neck. His scent is wild, the molasses is still burned but the ginger is sharp. “Saint, I’m okay.”
He doesn’t respond. Doesn’t loosen his grip. I don’t even think he’s breathing. His heart is pounding against mine. His entire body is rigid, so rigid I fear he’s dangerously close to breaking.
“Hey,” I murmur. “Hey… look at me.”
I pull back just enough to cup his face. His eyes find mine again. Still wild. Still not fully here.
“I’m not hurt,” I say slowly. “Nothing happened to me. I’m safe.”
His jaw flexes. His grip tightens again like he doesn’t believe me.
Behind us, someone clears their throat. “I know your alpha’s going a little feral right now,” an officer says, voice calm but firm, “but you’re going to need to step out of the restricted area.”
Saint’s head snaps toward him. The snarl that rips out of him is low and vicious enough that the officer instinctively takes a half step back.
“Saint,” I say quickly, pressing my palm to his cheek, turning his attention back to me. “Put me down. I’m fine.”
“I can’t.” His voice is rough, strained. “My alpha—” He shakes his head once, sharp. “It won’t let me.”
My chest tightens at that. God.
Before I can respond, Fire Marshal Davis steps closer, notebook in hand, expression surprisingly unbothered.“Ms. Jensen,” he says, “I still have a few questions.”
His gaze flicks to Saint, assessing. “Is this the firefighter alpha you mentioned?”
I nod, shifting slightly in Saint’s arms, even though he doesn’t give me much room to move. “Yes. Saint,” I glance back at him, “can we follow Mr. Davis?”
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t even look at Davis. A low growl rumbles through his chest.
“I’m sorry,” I start, heat creeping up my neck. “He’s—”
The officer lifts a hand, stopping me. “No need,” he says easily. “We see this all the time. Alpha thinks his mate’s been hurt? Takes a bit for the instincts to stand down.”
That somehow makes it both better and worse. Saint tightens his hold on me like he’s proving the point. Eventually, with a combination of calm voices, space, and me repeatedly assuring him that I’m right here, we manage to redirect him. Barely.
He doesn’t let me go, though. No amount of reassuring him that I am fine and that I can walk will convince him to put me down. Saint follows Fire Marshal Davis with me glued to his front like a barnacle.
We end up in a small conference room in the main warehouse. Saint drops into a chair and keeps me exactly where I am. Straddling his lap. His arms still locked tight around me.
I should be embarrassed. There are three firefighters, two police officers, and the fire marshal in the room. I am very much not sitting in a normal, professional manner. And yet… I’m not. Not even a little. Because every time I shift, like I might get down, Saint’s grip tightens.
Mine.
The word isn’t spoken, but it’s everywhere. In the way he holds me, the way his nose brushes against my neck like he needs to keep my scent anchored. So I stay like this, answering questions as if it’s all normal.
“Yes, the inspection was completed before we signed the lease.”
“No, there were no major structural concerns flagged.”
I speak calmly, professionally. Like I’m not currently wrapped around a man who looks like he might gouge out someone’s eyes if they get too close.
Saint doesn’t say a word. Just sits there, breathing me in, his hands occasionally tightening like he’s reminding himself I’m real.
When the fire marshal finally seems satisfied, he tucks his pen into his jacket pocket with a small nod. “Alright. That should be enough for now.”
He steps forward, extending his hand toward me. Saint growls. It’s quiet, but dangerous. The fire marshal pauses, glances at Saint, then very deliberately pulls his hand back. A hint of amusement tugs at his mouth.
“Plan on staying close to his side for a few days,” he says dryly. “Until his instincts settle.”
My lips twitch despite everything. “Noted.”
Saint’s nose brushes against my neck again. Breathing me in. My foolish heart doesn't find this inconvenient at all.
It seems the alpha who ignored me for weeks now wants me attached to him like Velcro for the next day or so.