Page 71 of Into the Fire: Before

Notably absent was the one word that mattered.Safe.

How the fuck was Brea so calm? I wasn’t bonded to Taryn, and I wanted to tear the building apart, tear the people inside apart for their dismissal of her.

Maybe the alpha meds kept her in check. For once, though, I didn’t wish I could take the meds. Didn’t wish for my own instincts to be dampened and better controlled. Not if “better controlled” meant rolling over when these goddamn pigs rushed us out the door without a care in the world if it was safe for any of us. Let alone her.

One of us needed to stay ready to fight, because my gut told me we hadn’t even begun.

By the time the women stepped outside a few minutes later, my anger wasn’t gone but the pheromones had mostly cleared out. I pushed off the wall, approaching slowly. Ensuring my presence was actually welcome. Taryn looked too pale, eyes tight and lips between her teeth. Brea guided her out with her arm around her shoulder, shooting me a warning glare.

I stepped before them, heaving a slow sigh. “You ready?” I asked beneath my breath, eyes glued to Taryn. My hand tucked a strand of hair behind Taryn’s ear without my permission. I placed my fingers beneath her chin, barely touching, to lift her face up toward me.

Taryn nodded. “I’m okay.”

It wasn’t a lie, but wasn’t quite true either. It sounded more like a command to herself, a manifestation, a wish. Stubborn omega.

I dropped my hand and gave a terse nod. “You haven’t eaten yet today. We’ll pick something up on the way home.”

Neither of them corrected me.

Ten

Taryn

Brookswasengaginginsome hardcore omega distraction by way of cinnamon roll baking.

Well,attemptedcinnamon roll baking.

Caine would lose his shit when he walked into the kitchen. A swirl of white flour and brown cinnamon dusted the countertops. Dirty utensils sat in and around the sink, unrinsed. And a tall, clear water glass served as makeshift rolling pin for the even-cheerier-than-normal beta to roll out the dough. Pieces of the dough stuck to the side of the glass, though, apparently still not the right consistency.

Even with everything else going on, I smiled as I watched him dust just a little more flour onto the dough (and the surrounding countertop).

I’d read his first messages with Brea. I knew there had to be a real rolling pin somewhere in this kitchen. The extra buffoonery was for my benefit, I was sure.

“Good thing you didn’t become a surgeon,” I said, still slowly stirring the large bowl of cinnamon filling I’d been working on across the island. I glanced pointedly at the disaster zone of a kitchen. “Your OR would look like a horror movie.”

He chuckled as he tried rolling out the dough again. “ORs by definition tend to look like horror scenes,” he answered. Followed by a whispered, “Score!” as he finally managed to roll the dough without it sticking to the glass and tearing apart.

Setting the bowl and, thereby, the pretense I was still working on it aside, I leaned my elbows on the countertop. “Oh I didn’t mean horror forme,” I said. “A horror for the cleanup squad.”

“I think it’s probably equally horrible for them regardless of how messy I am.”

“I’d bet money you’d end up with blood splatter on the ceiling like you left the blender on,” I replied, grinning despite myself.

“Aw, come on, that’s not fair!” He raised his floury hands in rebuttal. “Arteries spray! That’s nature’s fault, not mine!”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “...you’ve gotten blood on the ceiling before, haven’t you?”

Fake-scowling, Brooks returned to flattening the dough. “I’m just lucky you didn’t set a price.”

Twohourslater,andwith the destruction largely rectified, Brooks and I both had cinnamon filling and icing all over our lips and cheeks from speed-eating a huge roll each.

"That," I said slowly, swiping my tongue along my lips to salvage every little drop, "was worth the carnage."

"And you doubted me," Brooks replied. He swiped a thumb over my cheek with firm pressure before bringing it to my lips,holding out the bit of frosting for me to take. My stomach fluttered as I met his gaze and took his entire thumb into my mouth. My tongue scraped the sweet, sticky sugar from his skin, my teeth nipping on his finger as I pulled back off of it.

His eyes darkened, blood rushing to his cheeks as he looked down at me with heat. "Careful, omega," he breathed, stepping closer. He grabbed my chin and turned my head to the side before drawing his tongue over my jaw, just below the corner of my mouth where, no doubt, another smear lay. "I'm attempting to be a gentleman here."

Fire pooled in my belly. I hadn't felt desire like this in the weeks since the attack. Hadn't felt much of anything, actually. I'd encased myself in...I didn't even know. Denial? Indifference? Bitterness? Whatever it was, I didn't care because it shielded me from the cutting devastation that that day had left in me.

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