Page 50 of Omega's Forbidden Heat
What he needs to do is use his nose. Her scent is something he’s sure he can track, even through the rain. It seems to light up the very molecules of the air, so vividly he can almost see as well as smell it, like a path that always leads to her. He hopes it will do the same for him now.
Stuffing the blanket, water and chocolate into an old rucksack strewn into the passenger footwell, he jumps out of the car and heads for the main path. It’s dark now and his is the only car in the small dirt car park. The track is difficult to see through the gloom and the wet, and he curses himself for not bringing a torch. Still, he knows as an Alpha his eyesight is better than most, especially his night time vision. He just needs to be patient and give his eyes a few minutes to adjust to the dark.
He sniffs the cold breeze. Nothing. So he continues up the track, taking a shortcut up the steep bank to climb to the brow of the Down. It’s lighter up here above the tree-line and he can see the countryside rolling away below him all the way down towards the sea; smudged and hidden behind curtains of rain. He sniffs the air again, twisting his head first to his right and then to his left. He smells moisture, the earthy aroma of mud and the musky stench of rotting leaves. Perhaps what he thinks might be a fox somewhere off in the undergrowth, but not Amy. He curses, scraping his nails over his scalp.
“Where did you go, little Omega?” he says, then cups his hands around his mouth. “Amy,” he calls through the rain, “Amy!”
He waits. Nothing.
Panic boils in his gut, threatening to bubble over, an unease creeping over his skin.
He closes his eyes and throws back his head to the sky; raindrops battering his face. Come on! Think!
And then it happens. So subtle, he wonders if he imagines it, the slightest, weakest of tugs. He feels it right at the centre of his core, nudging him to the South.
He shakes his head. Nonsense. But he has no other clue, nothing else to go on, so he descends the path back into the trees, his feet slapping the water running over the ground as he runs. He’s halfway down when his nose twitches and he skids to a halt. He scans through the trees, his eyes now keen, but finds nothing, so once more he closes his eyes and inhales, allowing all his attention on his sense of smell. The tiniest hint of peach registers on his tongue and his eyes spring open. Amy!
He shouts her name, and it ricochets off the trees, echoing around him. The only response he receives is the hammering of rain and the distant hoot of an owl. He sniffs, spinning around in a circle until he finds the direction and then, as he knew it would, her scent illuminates a path for him, pulling him through the scrub and the trees towards where he knows she will be. He runs and calls her name, panting to catch his breath as he goes, his feet drenched. Her scent intensifies as he races onwards, and he picks up his speed, pumping his arms, leaping over a fallen log, scanning through the forest for her.
“Amy! Amy!” His heart pounds his rib cage as if it wants to break free, the adrenaline making his every sense and every nerve alert.
He smells horse and then he hears a snort. He slows. Where are they?
And then he spies her horse, tossing his head and pawing at the ground. He remembers him from years ago. A strange grey colour that always made him appear mythical, along with his fine stature and bright eyes. Now, as he approaches him with caution, his arms raised, hushing him softly, he sees how old he’s got. His eyes cloudy, his posture stooped.
The horse’s eyes him as he closes the distance between them. He expects him to bolt. But he remains bizarrely still, as if he knows Jack has come to help.
“Hey boy,” Jack says, gripping his bridle and resting his palm on the horse’s nose. “Hey there.” He runs his hand down the damp fur. “Where is she, hey?” The horse’s eyes flick to the side and instinctively, although it’s stupid, he follows his gaze. She’s definitely that way, her scent stronger than ever.
Releasing the horse, he creeps through the trees, his vision swinging this way and that, sweeping through the undergrowth.
There’s a flash of red down in the scrub and he leaps over the tangle of brambles.
“Amy?”
She’s lying flat out on the ground, hidden by the ferns, and she opens her eyes weakly at the sound of his voice.
He ducks down, his hand on her cheek. Her skin is cold and her clothes wet through. How long has she been lying out like this, exposed to the elements?
“Amy, are you hurt?”
“My leg,” she whimpers, her eyelids fluttering.
“Hey,” he says, “hey now, stay awake.”
He scans down her body and finds her left ankle trapped under a heavy branch. The rest of her looks uninjured, but the paleness of her face worries him.
“We need to get you dry and warm,” he tells her. Her eyes are floating shut again. “And you need to stay awake. We don’t want you getting hypothermia.” Her eyes close. “Omega, wake up!” She blinks up at him. “Good girl.”
The log is heavy. What the hell happened? Why the hell was she alone? Somewhere out of signal? Doesn’t she know to take better care of herself?
He grips the branch. There’s no use berating her, he needs to focus on getting her safe and warm. Groaning, he lifts it from her trapped leg. Her ankle does not look good. Really, he ought not to move her, but it will take a long time for a medical crew to reach them and he needs to head off the hypothermia.
He scrambles about in the undergrowth for some sticks and twine, remembering vaguely the things they taught him as a boy scout, and splints up her leg. She doesn’t respond, apart from wincing once or twice as he shifts her leg and he worries even more for her.
“I’m going to move you now, Omega. I’ll try to be careful, but it’s going to hurt.” She stares up at him blankly and he slides his arms under her, propping her up against his chest. She lets out a yelp as her leg lifts from the ground and her eyes roll away in their sockets.
He could lie her on the horse and lead her to his car that way, but something possessive and protective grips him and he doesn’t want to let her go. So he wraps his coat around her and carries her back through the wood, up the steep banks of the Down and then down the slope to the car park. His arms burn, his shoulders scream with pain and his thighs ache, but he grits his teeth and continues, whispering words to her that he doesn’t think she hears. Words about how precious she is.
