Page 74 of Secret Heart
The person croons. The hand traces down my spine. The brush of the shirt against my skin makes me want to rip it off. I shake off the touch, and the croon grows deeper, louder.
“Vanilla.” This time it’s a sob.
“I know, Triston,” the person murmurs. They sound… apologetic? A cramp rolls through my stomach, and I gasp. “She’s on her way, all right? We’ve called her, and she knows you’re here. She’ll be here to help you as soon as she can.”
“N-now,” I moan. “Now.”
There’s a heavy weight beside me, and then arms are pulling me into a hard chest. My shirt rubs against my skin, and I squirm.
“You need your shirt off?”
I suck in a breath.
“Yes,” I admit.
I rest my nose in the crook of their shoulder, not opening my eyes. I don’t want to see them, don’t want to be reminded it’s not my vanilla. It’s nother. They croon again, low enough it vibrates through me, too. Some of the painful cramping eases even as slick coats my thighs, soaking the pants I’m wearing. Clove swirls around me, that edge to it growing sharper.
The Alpha breathes in slowly, their hands faltering for a moment. Then they carefully guide my shirt over my head. The crush of fabric falling to the floor has me grimacing. Their touch is just as soft as before as they trace my spine and then my shoulders. I shiver and press harder into them.
“It’s going to be okay, Triston,” they whisper. “Let me soothe the ache enough and then she’ll be here to make it go away completely.”
With a careful nod, I press my chest into theirs. Except it’s still not right. I pull at their shirt, too, needing it off my skin. Without a word, they pull me just far enough away that they’reable to take it off. Then it’s my skin against theirs, their lavender scent surrounding me. The worst of the cramps fade, and my skin no longer feels like it’s burning off. I press my nose into their neck again and breathe deeply. A sob catches in my throat, and they croon. They trace my ear and jaw and then my throat, their touch no more than a whisper of sensation at any moment.
It’s enough.
Chapter Forty
EMILY
Caleb doesn’t say a word the entire hour we’re in the air and he’s guiding his Cessna toward Billings. His voice rumbles through the headset as he communicates with the local airport, and then my stomach is in my throat as he pitches the plane toward one of the runways. When we taxi into a spot designed for a much larger plane, he takes off his headset and turns to me.
“You want me to stay?”
I shake my head and grab my bag from the back. “Go back to your pack. It’ll be several days until he’s out of the heat, and you know it.”
He stares at me for a long minute. The circles under his eyes are as deep as mine.
“Go,” I urge him.
Finally, he nods. “Text me when he surfaces, and I’ll get my ass up here. He’s not going to be up for a commercial flight after the next several days.”
I swallow down my immediate need to turn down the offer, to stand on my own without help. Instead, I offer a small smile.
“I will.”
He nods. With shaking hands, I open the plane’s door and step onto the tarmac. Some of the airport personnel run up to me, quickly escorting me across the asphalt and into the terminal, while another pair stay behind to communicate with Caleb. The rideshare’s waiting for me, a young man leaning against the passenger door, when I navigate through the small building and to the main entrance.
“Ms. Monroe?” he asks.
When I nod, he opens the door. I slide in, nestling the small bag at my feet. I close my eyes as the small town passes by in a blur of lights, trying to keep my breathing steady the same way I had during the drive to Jackson and then in the plane.
Is he doing all right? My phone hasn’t gone off at all since ending the call with the Haven nearly three hours ago. My scent seeps out from me, tinged with my worry. The driver tightens his hands but doesn’t say anything. I try to calm my body, reel in my reaction. It’s not fair to this guy to have a complete freak out in the passenger seat of his car while he’s driving me in the dead of night. Even still, it takes more willpower than I knew I possessed to get my scent to fade.
I murmur my thanks when we get to the Haven, then quickly jog to the mixed designation entrance. A middle aged man sits behind the desk, a small set of glasses perched low on his nose, a worn paperback in his hands. He glances up as the doors close behind me, his eyebrow slowly rising.
“Do you have an appointment?” he asks.
I shake my head. “I was called about my Omega being in heat.”
