Chapter 9 - Cade
The first thing I noticed was her scent increasing.
It’s not the regular enticing scent of a female; that kind of scent I can deal with, catalog, and dismiss.
This is different. It’s sweet and hot, thick as honey, something that makes my head ache and my wolf pace under my skin.
It hits me the second I open my bedroom door, so strong I almost bare my teeth at the empty hallway, as if it could force a shift there and then.
I stand there, blinking in the morning light that comes through the window, trying to gather my senses.
But it’s everywhere now, clinging to the air, the walls, and my skin.
I follow it down the hall, past the dead silence of the guest room.
I peer in and find it empty and the bed stripped—she must have soaked through another set of bedding like she has every night recently with the temperature she’s running.
At first, I thought she had some kind of human sickness, but now I’m not so sure.
I check the kitchen and library next. The smell is almost overpowering now, and with it comes a physical heat that feels like walking into a greenhouse in the dead of winter.
She’s there, in the library, curled in the wingback by the window, knees drawn up to her chest, one bare foot wedged against the armrest. There’s a paperback open on her lap, but she’s not reading it; her eyes are fixed on the line of trees outside, so intensely that it takes her a second to notice me.
When she does, she doesn’t startle, doesn’t flinch.
She just looks at me, her face unreadable, and lets out a low, measured breath.
“You okay?” I ask because it’s the only thing I can think to say, and I have to force myself to sound casual despite feeling feral.
She shrugs, but the movement is all tension, her knuckles white where she grips the edge of the book. “Fine,” she says, and her voice is rough. “Just needed some air.”
I nod and lean in the doorway, arms crossed, letting my eyes slide over her.
She’s wearing one of my shirts again, the sleeves rolled up, the buttons done haphazardly, leaving a deep V of collarbone and skin visible.
Her hair is a mess, wild and tangled, and there’s a flush on her cheeks that wasn’t there yesterday.
I try not to stare, but my wolf is awake and restless, and it’s a losing battle.
She glances sideways, catching my gaze, then looks away. “You want something, Cade?” she says, sharper this time.
I almost laugh because I want everything, and the only thing stopping me is the knowledge that if I touch her now, I won’t be able to stop. I play it cool, even though the scent is making me dizzy. “Just making sure you’re not planning a third attempt at breaking out.”
She snorts. “If I were, I wouldn’t waste time sitting here.”
I let the silence hang, and it hums between us, charged and weird.
She turns the page of her book, but her hands are shaking.
Not much, but enough for me to see it. She hasn’t eaten, hasn’t slept, and she’s not the kind to show weakness unless she can’t help it, but right now, it’s leaking from her in waves.
“Do you feel okay?” I ask again, already knowing the answer won’t have changed.
Her eyes snap back to me, and I see a brief flash of rage, the same one I saw yesterday when I caught her halfway through the guest bedroom window.
I was impressed that she’d managed to gather enough household supplies to disable the window alarm, short the cameras briefly, and even get my spare truck key.
She thought I was busy on a call in my office, and she’d have time.
Unfortunately for her, she didn’t know I had cameras on the outside, too, and a monitor set up in my office.
I spotted her the moment the bedroom window opened.
I’d been on her in seconds, pulling her back through the window as she struggled in my arms. Her skin was on fire, her heart beating so hard it was deafening.
I’d pinned her against the wall, hands braced to keep her upright, and she’d finally stopped struggling.
She’d looked up at me, her eyes full of defiance and rage.
“You’re burning up,” I told her, and I meant it literally.
She tried to push me off, but it was weak. “I’m fine,” she said, even though she was trembling. “Let me go, Cade.”
“No,” I told her, letting my hands linger on her shoulders, feeling the way her pulse jumped beneath my fingers. “You’re not fine. You’re sick.”
We’d gone back and forth with her denying she was sick; the reality that she’d tried to escape almost seemed secondary, because I don’t think she’d have gotten very far.
Now, watching her in the chair, I wonder if she’s going to deny it again. Instead, she pushes the book away and goes to stand, saying, “I don’t need this bullshit, I—”
As soon as her feet hit the ground, she crumples, and I rush forward to grab her.
Her skin is burning up, and as I grab her hip, I realize the shirt is soaked through.
I catch her before she hits the floor, an awkward, desperate grab that puts my hands on the bare skin of her thigh and the small of her back.
She makes a noise I’ve never heard from her before—a strangled, guttural moan—and for a moment, I think she’s going to punch me.
Instead, she lets her forehead fall against my chest, breathing hard, her whole body vibrating in my arms.
“My head,” she mutters, but it’s not her head that worries me.
I can feel the heat rolling off her, a fever that’s gone beyond anything a human should be able to survive.
Her scent is so thick that my own vision blurs at the edges.
I scoop her up, ignoring the way her fingers tangle in my shirt, and carry her down the hall, past the open door of the guest room, straight into my own.
She doesn’t fight me, not really. She just shivers, her face pressed into my neck, her legs curling up in a way that makes it impossible for me not to notice the smooth, icy-white skin of her calf against my hand.
I lay her out on the bed, trying to be gentle, but she clings to my wrist, refusing to let me go.
I have to pry her fingers off one by one.
“Stay,” she says, and her voice is so fractured that it slams straight through everything I think I know about her.
“Let me get you some water,” I say, but I’m not sure she even hears me. I detach myself, barely, and stumble to the kitchen, my hands shaking so badly that I nearly drop the glass before filling it.
In the office, I grab my phone and text Grey: Cancel meeting. Emergency.
I don’t bother explaining because I don’t care what he thinks right now. Nobody else can be here. Not with her like this.
Back in the bedroom, the air is so thick I can barely breathe.
Mara is sprawled on the covers, one arm flung over her face.
The hem of my shirt has ridden up, exposing the long, impossible lines of her legs and a flash of pale hipbone that makes my wolf lose his goddamn mind.
She’s panting, knuckles white in the sheets, and when I set the glass on the nightstand, she whimpers, actually whimpers, and my resolve crumples.
I kneel on the edge of the bed, reaching for her, but she scrambles up on her elbows, eyes wide and wet.
“Help me,” she says, and that’s when I understand. Not sick. Not fever. Not human.
She’s in heat.
The knowledge is terrifying. Not for me, but for her, because without a wolf, a heat can drive an omega mad. There’s no instinct to guide her, no pack to ease her through, and the only thing standing between her and total collapse is me.
“Tell me what you’re feeling,” I say, my voice so hoarse I barely recognize it.
She shakes her head, breathing hard. “I don’t know. I just—it hurts, Cade, everything; I feel so empty”—she turns slightly, and her hand travels down to her core—“here. Help me.”
I reach for her, and as soon as my hands land on her thighs, she parts them without hesitation.
There’s no calculation in it, no seduction, just a feverish, involuntary need.
I can feel the heat radiating from her core, and the scent is so strong now it’s dizzying.
My wolf claws at my insides, frantic and hungry, but I force myself to move slowly.
She doesn’t know what’s happening to her, and I’m the only thing standing between her and a complete breakdown.
I slide my hands up her legs, pushing the shirt up and over her hips.
She’s not wearing anything underneath, just bare skin and the thrum of her pulse beating so hard I can see it in the hollow of her thigh.
She’s shaking, but not from fear. I kneel between her legs, and she looks down at me, her lips parted, eyes dilated and almost black.
“Tell me if you don’t want this?” I ask, my voice catching on the last word. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to stop if she says no, but I need to hear it.
She nods, frantic and desperate, her fingers fisting in the sheets. “Please,” she whispers. “Please, Cade.”
I lean down and press my mouth to the inside of her knee, then higher, tasting the salt of her sweat and the impossible sweetness of her scent.
My hands grip her thighs, not tight, just enough to hold her steady as I work my way up, kissing, nipping, soothing the bite with my tongue.
When I reach her center, I pause, just for a second, overwhelmed by the way she’s already soaked.
I drag my tongue up her slit, slow, and she whimpers, a broken sound that seems to vibrate straight into my bones.
I do it again, then again, each time a little firmer, a little deeper, until she’s trembling so hard that I have to use both hands to keep her hips from bucking off the bed.
I let myself go, let the wolf take over, and devour her like I’ve been starving for years.