Sarah
I’m hallucinating.
I have to be because Alpha Sydney of the Shadowcrest pack is standing in my doorway looking like he’s ready to rip someone in half.
He’s handsome. Too beautiful to be real. His face has been carved from the purest marble by craftsmen who spent their entire lives dedicated to their art. Soft, slightly curly dark brown hair glints with copper as he takes a single step into my apartment.
A jawline that could cut glass. A strong, stately nose. High cheekbones.
But the one thing about him that haunts my dreams are those dark blue eyes that feel like I’m looking into a pool full of pure magic when I meet his gaze. Such a dark shade of navy that they edge on a stormy, blue-gray.
And right now, those eyes are scanning my face with such fervor I feel my cheeks going crimson.
My lips part to ask him why he’s here, but his eyes lift to scan the room beyond where I stand frozen in the center of my apartment.
My baby wriggles in his sling. Sydney’s eyes dart to my chest where the baby is cloistered away from the biting cold.
“Where are your boots?” His voice–deep and dripping with venom–laces through the air and settles deep in my chest.
I glance toward the kitchenette where the oven is making creaking noises as it blares whatever heat it can muster into the room. My worn, sorry excuse for winter boots lay haphazardly on top of each other on the floor next to the refrigerator.
My toes curl in the thick wool socks I found in Ms. Eloise’s apartment this morning.
He slowly looks from my boots back to me. “How old is the baby?”
“A-A week,” I stutter. “Eight days, actually, I–”
He stalks across the room to the single crumpled paper bag leftover from when Hadley dropped off groceries last night. He violently shakes it back in shape and begins to move around the room, tossing whatever he can get his hands on inside it.
“What are you doing?” I rush out, clutching the baby against my chest. He squirms, letting out an annoyed squawk.
“Put your boots on,” he says so steadily I wonder if I’m dreaming. His voice betrays the look on his face. Sheer, unadulterated fury blurs the sharp planes of his mouth and brow.
“Why–”
He pauses at the pictures on the wall behind me. My heart stops, my lungs ceasing their gentle rise and fall.
“When is your neighbor expected back?” he asks as he picks the faded Polaroids off the wall after a few seconds of inspection. He doesn’t even look at most of them. I watch the picture of Hadley and I smiling deliriously into the lens after a concert last summer fall into the bag.
“She’s not,” I manage to reply. My chest is impossibly tight. I can’t swallow, especially when he turns his head over so slightly to look at me over his shoulder.
“Why?”
“She died last night. I found her this morning.” I’m shaking now–from the cold or the sheer shock of what the last few hours have been like.
I was sure I was going to die last night. I spent the entire night curled up in front of the oven with the baby covered in blankets, praying to the Goddess to keep us safe until morning.
It was so horrifically cold.
It’s a miracle we’re both still alive.
But Ms. Eloise didn’t make it. I found her in her bed, cold to the touch, clutching a picture of her mate and her adult son, whom she lost during the war twenty-two years ago.
A rogue tear slides down my face. Alpha Sydney watches it glide over the hollow of my cheek and along my jaw before something snaps behind his eyes and they go nearly black.
“Boots, now.”
“But–”
“Do I need to carry you both out of here?” His icy tone makes the air between us feel tropical.
I gape up at him as he crosses the room, closing the distance between us. He arches a brow, fixing me with a look that I’m sure makes grown men cower.
He will, I realize, carry me out of here if I don’t do what he says.
“My b-boots,” I mumble, tearing my gaze from his, and walk on trembling legs to where I left them after watching the group of men who own a dry cleaning business down the street carry Eloise's body away less than an hour ago.
I protectively clutch the baby to my chest as I slip my freezing feet into my boots. I can feel Alpha Sydney watching me closely.
When I fumble with the laces, tears starting to trickle down my cheeks, he lets out a long sigh and is suddenly kneeling before me, his head bent to the task at hand.
The Alpha of Shadowcrest tightens up my boots, his fingers moving with practiced grace.
I’ve never felt so small as he ties them.
Without a word, he takes me by the shoulder and hurries me out of the apartment.
I should ask why he’s doing this. I should be asking him why he’s here, carrying a single paper bag full of my things and guiding me up a windblown street, but I’m exhausted and heartbroken.
I’m so tired. I’m so cold. My plants and my shop barely register in my mind as he cuts a sharp corner and lights flash up ahead against the hazy golden glow of the sun.
A black truck with tinted windows roars to life before we’ve even crossed the street.
He opens the passenger door and tosses the bag holding everything I have left to my name at my feet after helping me inside.
Hot air rolls over my face for the first time in weeks.
I gasp out my breath at the sensation, my eyes watering from the shock of it.
Somewhere in the hazy distance, he closes the door and walks around the front of the truck, but I feel like I’m floating. I can’t focus on anything other than how good it feels to be warm.
My numb body prickles back to life, but by the time I hurtle back to reality, Alpha Sydney is in the driver's seat and tearing through the winding, snow-drenched streets leading out of the NZ.
It dawns on me that I might be in serious trouble.
I failed to report a death this morning to the proper authorities. I didn’t know what to do, honestly. I’d been so shocked and distraught to find Eloise dead that I rang the first number I could think of–the shop down the block from me–where I knew someone would be up and working.
I don’t know where they took her body.
I click on my seat belt, wishing I had a car seat for my son, but I don’t. “I didn’t know what to do with her,” I whisper, unable to look at him. “I didn’t call–I wasn’t sure who to call about her when I found her–”
He pulls his phone from his jacket pocket and dials a number without looking down at his screen, then presses it to his ear.
I purse my lips and jostle the baby, who’s now fully awake and likely very confused about what’s happening.
“I need backup in the NZ.”
I glance at him as I unzip my coat just enough to reach inside and pull up my shirt so the baby can nurse. He roots around, latching onto my skin instead.
I wince and hiss out my breath.
Alpha Sydney glances in my direction.
I look out the window, grimacing, while fishing around under my coat to try to help the poor baby find what he needs.
“How many warriors can you get on the street today?” Alpha Sydney asks whoever he’s speaking to.
I wish I could hear the conversation taking place on the other end. I’m waiting for him to say he has me, the woman who probably killed her elderly neighbor in cold blood to steal her socks, and is taking me to whatever prison awaits me now, but he says, “I’ll meet you there in an hour.”
He slides his phone back in his pocket and rolls to a stop at a stoplight.
The only sound is the gentle hum of the engine.
I fight the urge to turn his radio on just to cut through the deafening silence.
He probably wouldn’t like that.
He exhales deeply, his eyes locked on the stoplight.
The second it turns green, we’re speeding toward the blur of glowing lights roughly a mile away.
I know where we are because I used to come to the mall here often. I’d drink coffee and walk for hours with Hadley, looking at shoes we couldn’t afford and trying on dresses for whatever party or concert we were going to that night. We’d throw coins in the fountain at its center, wishing for silly things like to find our fated mates and for our future wolf forms to have a particular colored coat.
That feels like a different life.
He drives past the mall and pulls into the parking lot of a shopping center, throws the truck in park, and gets out without a word.
I reach for the door handle, but the truck locks up tight.
I whirl to look out the driver side window as he hurries away, his head bent against a gust of wind carrying a sheet of snow in his direction.
This is a strange situation. I’m sitting in the Alpha of Shadowcrest’s truck in a parking lot. He’s supposed to be driving me to whatever prison cell awaits me, but he’s shopping instead.
I try the door handle. I flip a few switches in his spaceship of a truck but can’t figure out how to unlock it from the inside.
I press a button on the center console and music bursts from the speakers so loud I scream in surprise, which in turns sets off the baby.
His startled wail echoes through the truck. I’m sure I’m not imagining the windshield rattling as I hurry out of my coat and make quick work of getting him to latch to my other breast.
He’s incredibly angry, however. He thrashes, turning purple with rage. I slap my hand against the counsel, shutting off the music, but I hit something else that causes the car alarm to blare incessantly.
“No, no, no!” I press every button I see while the baby screams for someone, anyone, to take him away from this nightmare he’s living.
When I somehow turn the wonderfully heated air to something so frigid I could have sworn he had his AC unit crafted on the peak of Crescent Fall’s highest, snow-covered mountain, it’s just the cherry on top.
I burst into tears, and my baby screams for mercy at the very moment the car alarm suddenly switches off, and Alpha Sydney reappears.
He opens his truck door and looks at the two of us. I’m sure it’s a sight to behold. I’m sweating from stress, disheveled, with tears running down my face, and my son is the color of an eggplant.
He reaches into the truck and turns the heat back on, his eyes locked on mine, and shuts the door again.
“Shhh, shhh,” I whimper, trying to get the baby to settle.
Sydney opens the back door on the driver’s side and starts throwing plastic bags into the truck without ceremony. I wonder if dropping in on me got in the way of his usual Tuesday morning grocery run.
But then I hear a click, and the sound of tape tearing, and then the truck jostles a bit.
I turn to look over my shoulder and see Alpha Sydney, the prince and heir of the Crescent Falls, installing a car seat in the back of his truck.
“What are you doing?”
“Will you bring the baby around so we can get going? It’s freezing out here.”
My heart skips a beat then starts thundering in my chest. “I–If you’re going to take my baby–”
“I’m not taking your baby,” he says calmly, his voice losing its earlier ice. “It’s just a bumpy, uphill ride to my territory, and the roads are awful this time of year. It’s not safe to have him in your lap.”
“O-Okay,” I breathe. I feel like I’m in flight or fight mode. My mind is a blur as I step out of the truck with the baby in my arms and hurry to Sydney’s side.
He glances down at me, seeing me without the giant coat for the first time.
A thin, burgundy sweater and black sweatpants clutches my chilled body. My hair is in two long, messy braids that dust over the small of my back. Milk has leaked through my shirt, and I’m sure my face is blotchy from crying.
I’m a mess, not that it matters. I’m about to go on trial for murder, most likely.
He reaches for the baby, and I jolt back.
“I’m not taking the baby away from you,” he says, raising his hands in surrender. “But you’re shivering. Let me put the baby in the car seat so you can go sit back down where it’s warm.”
He towers over me by at least a foot, if not more. I have to tilt my chin to look up into his eyes.
I can’t do more than nod. This has to be a dream. Or a nightmare. Or I am actually dead, and none of this is happening.
Alpha Sydney takes my son out of my arms and gently sets the screaming baby in the brand new, state of the art car seat I’m sure cost him a small fortune.
“It’s all right,” he coaxes, adjusting the straps with practiced skill before clipping him in. “You’re fine, little–”
Alpha Sydney looks at me expectantly.
“He’s a boy,” I say, my teeth chattering, and I’m not sure it’s totally because of the cold.
“Little man,” he continues, a ghost of a smile tugging on his lips, revealing a dimple in his right cheek.
My stomach goes hollow at the sight of that smile. My chest aches as his large hands tuck my son in tight.
“Get in the truck, Sarah,” he says in a near whisper.
I obey because what else am I supposed to do right now?
But that’s when I notice it. The bags of things he bought in the store. Diapers, wipes, bottles. Baby soap. Baby clothes. Blankets and swaddles.
“Where are you taking us?” I ask, meeting his stormy blue eyes.
“Somewhere safe.”