10. Mikkel
Mikkel
The ride to the penthouse suffocates the SUV cabin with thick, unbreakable tension.
Marcus white-knuckles the leather steering wheel. The tendons in his hands pop against his skin. He navigates the Manten traffic with a rigid, furious focus, refusing to glance in the rearview mirror.
I sit in the spacious backseat, pressing my thigh flush against Nadia's right side. Soren mirrors my position on her left. We box her in, forming a solid wall of Alpha heat and scent to shield her from her father's aggressive posture.
Nadia slumps against Soren's shoulder. Her exhaustion wins the battle against her anxiety. I rest my hand on her knee, my thumb tracing small circles into her skin to keep her grounded.
We pull into the underground parking garage of Nadia's luxury high-rise. Marcus throws the car into park. The engine cuts out, plunging the car into a suffocating quiet.
Marcus steps out and slams his door.
Soren and I guide Nadia out of the backseat. We flank her, matching her exhausted pace as we cross the concrete garage toward the private resident elevators.
Marcus turns around, planting his boots on the cold concrete. He points a finger at my chest.
"Stay down here." Marcus locks his dark eyes on mine. He jerks his chin toward the elevator doors. "Take my daughter upstairs, Soren. Get her safe. Mikkel and I need a minute."
Soren nods. He wraps a protective arm around Nadia's waist, guiding her past her father and into the private elevator car.
Nadia glances over her shoulder, her dark eyes hunting my face for reassurance.
I give her a nod. The chrome doors slide shut, leaving Marcus and me alone in the dim, echoing garage.
Marcus turns his back and walks toward his vehicle. He leans his hips against the front grille of the SUV and runs a hand over his face, wiping away the exhausted fury. He looks like a man pushed right to the edge of his sanity.
"The Coast Guard called me while the cutter towed you in." Marcus leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "They found the root of the problem."
I cross my arms over my chest, waiting for the explanation.
"A dockhand screwed up." Marcus shakes his head, a bitter edge coating his words.
"After I cleared the crew for the weekend, some idiot failed to secure the aft mooring lines.
The knot slipped. The yacht drifted away from the pier, and an aggressive outgoing tide dragged it miles out into the open water before the current stabilized. "
I clench my jaw. A single stupid mistake turned into a nightmare scenario. "The biometric lockout killed the engines."
"I know." Marcus exhales a rough breath. "The Coast Guard verified the dead console and the drained batteries. The mechanical failure adds up." He looks up, his dark eyes turning lethal. "But that fails to explain what happened to my daughter out there. I demand the truth, Mikkel. Right now."
I stand my ground. I refuse to apologize for the reality of our bond. "The yacht lost air conditioning by midday." I keep my voice level, authoritative, and direct. "The lower deck turned into a goddamn oven. We stayed in the main lounge to catch the cross-breeze. Nadia went into Heat."
Marcus flinches. His hands ball into tight fists.
"We fought it." I take a step closer, forcing him to hold my gaze.
"We spent the entire day pushing her away.
We put the company and our friendship first. But we share a scent-match, Marcus.
You know how a scent-match works. The fever spiked.
She begged us to stop the pain, and we couldn't deny her anymore.
Walking away became an impossible option. "
Marcus stares at me. His chest heaves under his wrinkled dress shirt.
He processes the brutal honesty of the situation.
He has a mated Omega sitting at home. He understands the undeniable, instinctual pull of a true match.
The furious betrayal bleeds out of his posture, replaced by a defeated understanding.
"She initiated the bite." I point a finger at the concrete ceiling. "She demanded the mark. And we claimed her."
"You realize what you've done." Marcus pushes off the SUV. "You realize the target you put on her back. The media, the board, the entire goddamn city will tear her apart for taking her father's two business partners."
"Let them try." A possessive rumble vibrates in my chest. "Soren and I will burn the city to the ground before we let a single person disrespect her. We worship the ground she walks on. We protect her with our lives. You have my vow on that, Marcus."
Marcus searches my face. He hunts for a crack in my armor or a shred of doubt. He finds nothing but the unyielding devotion of a bonded Alpha.
He lets out a long, shuddering sigh. The tension fractures and falls away.
"Take care of my little girl, Mikkel." Marcus nods once. "I mean it."
"Always."
Marcus turns around, opens his car door, and slides behind the wheel. The engine roars to life. I head straight for the private elevator, my mind shifting from the cold garage to the penthouse.
The elevator doors slide open, revealing the expanse of Nadia's penthouse.
I step out onto the dark hardwood floorboards.
The crushing weight of the standoff with Marcus vanishes from my shoulders.
The air up here smells like expensive citrus room spray, but underneath the commercial cleaner, the rich aroma of wild honey, crushed cherries, and toasted coconut lingers.
I follow the scent straight down the main hallway.
The master bedroom door stands wide open. I walk through the sprawling space and head for the attached bathroom.
Steam billows out of the massive, glass-enclosed walk-in shower. The sound of running water echoes off the floor-to-ceiling marble tile.
I stop in the doorway.
Soren stands naked under the oversized rainfall showerhead.
Water cascades over his broad shoulders and thick chest. Nadia stands in front of him, her back pressed flush against his stomach.
Her dark hair hangs in wet, sleek strands around her face.
Soren holds a soapy sponge, mapping the curves of her hips and arms. He washes away the dried ocean salt, the sweat, and the grime of the last two days.
A possessive, domestic ache settles deep in my chest. I pull my shirt over my head, dropping the cotton onto the tile floor. I kick my sweatpants aside and step into the glass enclosure.
The hot spray hits my skin. The heat loosens the tight, defensive knots in my neck.
Nadia turns her head. Her dark eyes lock onto me through the steam. "Mikkel."
I close the distance and take the soapy sponge from Soren's hand. He steps back a fraction of an inch, giving me the front. I drag the sponge over her collarbone, tracing the fresh silver mating scars resting on the sides of her neck. I press my lips to the wet skin, kissing the proof of our bond.
"We have you." I drag the sponge down her stomach, watching the soap suds mix with the water. "You're safe."
Nadia rests her hands on my chest. Her fingers spread over my wet pecs. She bites her lower lip, her gaze darting to the bathroom door.
"What happened? Did he yell? Did he threaten the company?"
Soren wraps his arms around her waist from behind, pulling her back against his wet skin. He rests his chin on her shoulder, waiting for my answer.
"He demanded the truth." I toss the sponge onto the built-in shower bench and pull her flush against my chest. "I gave him the unvarnished version. I told him about the lockout, the dead AC, and the reality of a scent-match. I told him we claimed you, and we refuse to apologize for it."
Nadia's breath hitches. "And?"
"He understands the bond." I cup her jaw, running my thumb over her wet cheek. "He has your Omega mother at home. He knows an Alpha can't fight a true match. I gave him my word that we would protect you and worship you. He accepted it."
Her eyes go wide. "He accepted it? Just like that?"
"He saw the truth." I kiss her forehead. "He knows I would rather die than let anything happen to you. He gave us his blessing and went home. The war is over, sweetheart."
A ragged sob tears out of her throat. The suffocating anxiety melts right off her features.
Her shoulders drop, the rigid tension leaving her frame.
She wraps her arms around my neck, burying her wet face in my collarbone.
Soren tightens his grip on her waist, a low rumble vibrating in his chest to soothe her nerves.
We stand under the hot water for another ten minutes.
We map her curves, running our calloused hands over her soft skin.
We trade the soap back and forth, cleaning the ocean grime off each other in a sweet, worshipful silence.
The frantic, desperate energy of the yacht fades into a profound, intimate calm.
I turn the water off. The sudden quiet in the bathroom brings the sound of our breathing into sharp focus.
Soren grabs three oversized white towels from the heated rack. He wraps one around Nadia's shoulders, cocooning her against the chill of the air conditioning. I wrap a towel around my waist.
We walk out of the bathroom and step into the cool, dark expanse of her bedroom. The relief acts like a massive catalyst. The adrenaline crash triggers the lingering remnants of her Heat.
Nadia drops her towel onto the floorboards. She looks at us, her dark eyes burning with a fresh, demanding hunger. The scent of crushed cherries thickens in the air, sweet and intoxicating.
She crawls onto the center of the king-sized mattress. She spreads her thighs, putting her soaking core on full display. The sweet scent of wild honey, cherries, and arousal floods the bedroom.
Soren and I drop our towels onto the floorboards. We join her on the mattress.