Page 66 of Into the Fire: Before

Without waiting for either of them to answer or protest, I slid into the guest room and closed the door. I leaned back against it, sinking down onto the floor with my knees bent into my chest and hugging them tight, trying to squash my omega’s splintering grief at the alpha’s rejection.

Twelve

Brooks

Halfpasteightinthe morning at Bean & Leaf smelled exquisite. The aroma of brewed coffee fully permeated the air. Fresh pastries lined the glass display. And Taryn’s toffee and cream scent complemented it perfectly, strong enough that even my beta nose had no trouble picking it out.

If only coffee fumes were enough to keep the exhaustion at bay. I’d finished a twenty-four-hour shift in the ER at eight, practically dead on my feet. I normally worked twelves and wasn’t used to the demand of a double-shift, particularly a busy one like yesterday had been. In the full day I was at work, I didn’t think a single minute went by that there wasn’t a crisis in action—a sudden alarm signaling patient distress, a critical patient rushed in who needed full and immediate attention, a missing resident (who’d eventually been found sleeping in a distant supply closet and promptly fired) that meant evenmorepatients on my rotation.

When I’d finally managed to extricate myself and leave the hospital, though, I drove to Taryn’s cafe. The others of us had been taking it in turns to pop by and check on her during the days. Taryn insisted it was overkill, that she was fine, but every time I’d been by over the week since she’d started working regularly again, her scent had bloomed and her cheeks heated when I walked in.

Hell, watching her in her element, moving about the shop with confidence and smiles, I didn’t even miss my bed.

Well. Not overly, anyway.

I hid a yawn behind my hand. I’d hang out for a little longer. The morning rush had still been going strong when I arrived and I couldn’t say more than a few quick words as I bought a chocolate croissant. When the place slowed down a bit, I’d go chat with Taryn, make sure she really was doing well before going home to crash.

By nine, the lull finally hit. A few other tables were occupied, one or two people at each, some on laptops, some sipping drinks and chatting. The line to the counter, though, had disappeared. As Taryn finished up a sweet tea and set it on the counter, calling out for Glenda, I stood and made my way toward the omega.

“I am still feeling snacky,” I said as I leaned onto my forearms over the counter, letting some of my curls fall over my forehead in the way I knew made people weak in the knees. “Is there somethingdeliciouson the menu?”

She snorted, rolling her eyes and mirroring my stance. “Yeah. We got key lime pie, made fresh this morning. Just for you.”

“Oh, no,” I said, furrowing my brow. “I smell that toffee in the air.Pleasetell me there’s some sweet little confection I can feast on coming out soon?”

Pink colored her cheeks, and she buried her face in her arms for a moment before looking back at me. “Sorry, that’s a very limited edition item. Can’t just sell them to any ol’ stranger.”

I leaned further forward, closer than a customer would normally get to the barista. “What’s your asking price? I bet I can meet it.”

She bit down on her smile. “Fifteen million dollars.”

“Huh.” I stood up, leaning on my palms rather than elbows. “I’ll need to move some things around…maybe sell the hospital…can you take partial payment in cuddles and kisses, by chance?”

“Only with an extra form of identification,” she replied. “And a notarized promissory note.”

“Oh I promise, baby,” I said, “I’m good. For it.”

She laughed again, but her eyes darted over my shoulder. Her eyes grew taut, her posture rigid.

“Hey,” I said, voice low as I reached across the counter to touch her hand. “What’s wrong?”

She shook her head, lowering her gaze. “Nothing.”

“Not nothing,” I said, all jokes and flirtations gone. “What just happened?”

My heart sank as her scent grew sharp and bitter, as her eyes took on a watery sheen. I looked behind me to see if there was an obvious answer. Just the same few patrons, the same quiet street outside. I turned back to Taryn, who was pasty and rigid.

I grasped her upper arm, guiding her to the end of the counter and around the corner, out of view of the main room. I cradled her jaw with my other hand. “Talk to me, sweetness.”

A single tear leaked from the outer corner of her eye, lip trembling. She swiped at it, a sharp exhale showing her frustration. “God, it’s so stupid.”

“I guarantee you it’s not,” I answered.

Her lips trembled again, and I wanted more than anything to know what had caused it. I’d shatter it to pieces.

“I just…” She took a shaky breath. “I feel eyes on me everywhere I go. A guy passed by the window, and I remember seeing him earlier today too. And there’s nothing suspiciousabout that, but my brain is convinced he’s—fuck.” She squeezed her eyes shut, her breathing harder. “I know it’s just, like, posttraumatic stress or paranoia or whatever. But the rational part of my brain is so quiet compared to the terrified part.

“Anytime anyone looks at me a second too long, or I notice the same person coming in a few days in a row, or passing by the window, my mind goes absolutely tornado apeshit. Are they working with the guy who attacked me? Or Heath? Or what if just my scent ends up on someone random and they happen to walk by the guy and it reminds him that I’m still here and he comes back? And what—”

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