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Carefully, I press open the door and peek into the hallway. As suspected, it's quiet, no one left to hear me scream.
I tiptoe down the hall and let myself into their office. I know they aren't here, but I'm no longer concerned about seeing them. If I did, I'd jump on them so fast… I lower myself down onto the couch, but then I think about all the staff that comes in and out of here, their scents hitting me in a cloying, sticky way, and I nearly gag.
Clutching Red's jacket, I whimper, then pull the couch out a tiny bit, away from the wall. Down on my knees, I put his jacket down for me to lie on, then, dissatisfied, move it, fluffing it up, opening it wide, then folding the edges in like a cocoon. It's not great. But it'll have to do.
It's the best nest I've ever had because it's made with stolen affection from my mates. I slip on Iggy's gloves and curl up into a ball, slipping my fingers into my underwear.
I already know it's not going to be enough. I rub my clit until I come, and it takes no time at all, but it's like I was dying of thirst and got a single drop of water.
It's not enough.
And as I writhe in pain, surrounded by the fading scent of my mates, I wonder how I can get through a lifetime of this lunacy.
Chapter 13
Cass
"You get that alert?" Red grumbles tiredly through my truck's speaker.
I sigh, exhausted, but flatten my palms on the steering wheel and pull a U-turn in the middle of the street. It’s three am, no one around to hassle, but the action fuckin' tires me.
"Yep. On my way back."
"Nothing on the cameras," he adds, though those only point at certain parts of the club, so that doesn't necessarily mean anything.
The new security system in Queenie’s started beeping fifteen minutes after I left for the night. I’m a block from our warehouse and tired as fuck, especially since I just spent the last hour talking Iggy down. Though she seemed fine, still a little sick, he thought he scared Imogen, then went off on a tangent about his alpha's infatuation with her, before taking off on his bike, claiming he wasn't safe to be around. When I went back to the club to close up, I was both relieved and disappointed Imogen had left for the night.
I circle back since the silent alarm on our phones is telling me there’s movement inside the club. Not that there’s much worth stealing, but we keep a tight ship, and just in case it’s some asshole with a grudge, we don’t want to risk someone busting shit up in the after-hours.
Red and I hang up, and I pull up in front of the club on the still, empty street fifteen minutes later. It’s quiet inside, no broken windows, so I unlock the door and stroll in, not expecting to find anything—probably a false alarm.
The club is silent, only the faint aroma of fruity perfume some girls wear and pheromones from bouncers and customers lingering in the air, highlighting the stark contrast to what I left half an hour ago when the place was still bustling.
Running my hands over my tired face, I glance behind the bar and around the booths, just in case someone is hiding, before I follow the hallway down the back of the club.
Greeted by more silence, I find nothing in the break room or any of the private dance rooms. Saving the office, the obvious choice for a burglar, for last, I brace myself and, without announcing my presence, swing open the door.
Flicking the switch, dousing the room in an obnoxious bright light, I’m ready to dismiss the alarm as false when a faint whimper cries out from behind the leather couch near the wall.
"Yo, someone in here?" There’s no answer, but I definitely heard something. I tiptoe around the empty office, moving slowly when suddenly, there’s Imogen, the blonde bombshell I haven’t been able to stop staring at in a sweaty, crying heap.
"Imogen?" I kneel down, tentatively reaching out to pull her up. These fucking scent blockers, they’re so strong, if it weren’t for her whimpering, I’d never have known she was back here.
Which is hella concerning, considering she looks like a fucking mess. "Imogen," I say more forcefully, gently shaking her shoulder. The second my fingers touch her skin, I nearly rip them away.
"Holy shit." Prepared now for the intense burning heat of her skin, I reach out again, attempting to pull her out from this little hidey-hole she’s dug for herself. Come to think of it, it looks suspiciously like a makeshift nest with a small piles of clothes, while she's wrapped in my missing hoodie and a pair of lacy black underwear.
Strands from her long blonde hair have fallen loose from her ponytail. I’ve never seen her face, always hidden by the black feathered angel mask, but as I pull her back and into my arms to help her up, her neck rolls, and it's like the earth drops away beneath my feet. Something inside me rights itself, realigns.
She’s the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen in my life. Her wide blue eyes, watery with unshed tears, pert nose and perfect mouth, soft round cheeks make her look—no surprise—angelic.
Sweaty strands of hair stick to her cheeks, pupils nearly blown and dilated, lips stained red from the lipstick she wore earlier tonight, and still, this goddess in my arms is fucking extra.
Swallowing, my throat dry and desperate for a taste of her, I have to shake out the desire to rut and remember she looked sick all night, and only now do I put the puzzle pieces together: she's in fucking heat.
"Imogen," I try again, my voice a raspy plea. I free her body loose and take stock of the tiny little nest she’s built—Red's leather jacket, Iggy's motorcycle gloves, huge on her tiny hands, in addition to my large gray hoodie, which swamps her body.
There's a voice in the back of my head, my alpha nudging me, trying to point out the obvious.
