Harcourt’s expensive shoes drum a sporadic rhythm on the floor as he struggles until, finally, they fall still. After that, the only sound is Jade’s ragged breathing and the wet squelch of the knife continuing its work long after its necessity has passed.
“Jade, that’s enough.”
The command cuts through the wet noises, and my head rolls on the desk, to find Aaiden Rockford standing at the end of the row of bookshelves.
“He’s done.” Aaiden crosses the space in long strides. “He’s gone. It’s over.”
Jade freezes mid-motion, the knife raised for another strike. As if waking from a trance, his head turns toward Aaiden. Blood spatters his face in a grotesque mask, stark on his pale skin. His blue eyes, so flat and empty before, now shine with unshed tears.
“Jade.” Aaiden reaches for him. “It’s okay.”
Jade flinches away from the touch, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts. Blood drips from his chin onto the floor, mingling with Harcourt’s in a grotesque union.
“It’s okay.” Aaiden’s hands raise in a calming gesture. “It’s over.”
“It won’t be over,” Jade croaks, “until they’re all dead.”
The raw, wounded quality of his words sends another shiver through me despite the inferno raging under my skin. There’s history here, a depth of pain that goes beyond the five days Jade said he was in that cage, beyond the dead man on my bookshop floor.
With the smell of blood and Alpha pheromones thick in the air, a fresh wave of fever floods my system. I whimper, sweat dripping onto the desktop as my vision blurs, darkness creeping in.
Jade turns from Harcourt’s body, his attention snapping to me as if noticing my condition for the first time.
“Fuck.” He throws an arm out to warn Aaiden off. “Don’t come any closer. He’s in Heat.”
Aaiden freezes, his expression shifting from concern to careful neutrality. The unmistakable scent of my Heat fills the shop, cutting through the metallic tang of blood.
“Cover your nose,” Jade warns Aaiden, backing further away from me. “Seriously, this is bad. Early stage but accelerating fast.”
I curl tighter against the desk, humiliation burning through me alongside the fever. Sweat soaks my skin, and the fibers of my cardigan irritate my hypersensitive nerve endings. The wooden floor beneath me is both too hard and too soft, reality warping under the influence of hormones and pheromones.
Aaiden reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small black mask, the kind used by medical professionals when treating Omegas in Heat. He slips it over his face with practiced efficiency, the movement so smooth it speaks of routine use. Of course, as head of the Rockford family, he’d be prepared for any situation that requires him to maintain control around unbonded Omegas.
Jade retreats to the far side of the shop, near the entrance. His hands still tremble, blood drying on his body in flaking crimson patterns.
“Better get back upstairs,” Aaiden says, the words muffled, and he assesses me with more kindness than he’s ever shown before. “We’ll handle this.”
“This?” I manage to croak, unable to stop myself from looking at Harcourt’s crumpled body.
The reality of what just happened crashes through me. A man died in my bookshop. But he came here to kill me. I can’t find it in me to care about his loss.
“We’ll handle everything.” Aaiden steps between my line of sight and the dead man. “The body. The mess. By the time we’re done, no one will know anything bad ever happened here.”
Jade pulls out his phone. “I’ll call the clean-up team.”
“Thank you,” I croak. “For helping me.”
Aaiden’s eyes crinkle above the mask in what might be a smile. “Family takes care of family.”
The words sink through layers of Heat and confusion, landing somewhere deep and uncharted within me. Family. As if my connection to Ezra extends beyond the collar around my neck, beyond physical claim into something more lasting, more substantial.
I stand using the desk for support. My legs wobble beneath me, threatening to fold, but I manage to remain upright.
“Where’s Ezra?” The question spills out, rough and needy. My fingers touch the collar, seeking connection to the man whose absence I feel like a physical wound. “Why isn’t he here?”
Another pulse of Heat leaves me gasping, clutching the desk as my knees threaten to buckle. My body calls for its Alpha, demanding the completion of what began with this collar, with the nights in his bed, with every moment since we first locked eyes across a crowded gallery.
Aaiden busies himself with surveying the damage to the shop, his back to me. “He’s waiting for your call.”
