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“Stop!” Royce only just caught up to the conversation. “No, don’t deface my car, damn it. I’ll leave. I’ll drive. Go home, eat, sleep.”
“And then tomorrow you’ll go to work and not bother the doctor.” Amelia didn’t say it like a question, but still Royce answered.
“Yes.”
It was a downright lie. Royce knew he’d be back. At the very least, he had to confront the omega about why he was hiding, and what he was doing in Elk Cove.
“Good, now be a good boy, get your keys, and drive your ass home.”
“I’ll go with you,” Scott offered.
“No, it’s fine. You’ve done enough.” Royce dug his keys out of his jean pocket and got out of the car. Freezing rain splattered his face, cooling his skin where he’d sweated through his henley.
When had he gotten so hot?
Taking the driver’s seat after Amelia, he started it up and put the AC on blast. It was helping to clear the remaining fog from his thoughts.
A nominal amount of shame crept up his neck as Amelia and Scott stood on the side of the road watching him drive away. Why was he being so illogical right now? He was an enforcer, damn it.
An enforcer with a track record of impeccable behavior, he was a shining example of alpha control and strength. In his thirty-six years, he’d never been this irrational—acting without clear intent.
Turning the corner, he headed east to the line of alpha condos on the other side of town. The storm picked up, and he squinted out the windshield, reaching to turn his wipers up.
Before he could clear his line of sight, something hit his wheels with a sharp cry and a terrible crunch. He slammed on the brakes, put the car in park, and leapt out.
Taking in the mess on his car tire and the streak of red and fur on the asphalt, the air left his lungs as the blood drained from his face.
Holy fuck, he’d hit a dog!
Chapter seven
Theodore
Theodore had stopped to say ‘hi’ to each cat in the front room before going into the back to the surgery theater. A giant tomcat meowed, a thundering purr echoing it. Theodore inspected the name tag. It read ‘Big Poppa.’
“Aww, what a seriously silly name for a kitty.”
A black face with white splotches appeared in the crate and meowed indignantly. Theodore brushed the cat’s fur through the crate. The feline’s response was to try and headbutt Theodore, the force of which was strong enough to send the crate teetering sideways.
“Oh, careful, big guy. How big of a cat are you to knock over your crate?”
A furry paw poked out, followed by more purrs. When Theodore got up to move along, he was chased by chirping and meows.
If Theodore weren’t on the run, he’d sincerely consider adopting the tank of a cat. Just another misery about his current situation … No friends, no family, and not allowed the luxury of a pet.
He went through the surgery checklist a second time while Gerald logged the stray cats out front. When Theodore was satisfied he was familiar with the layout and all the prepped trays were arranged for left-handed usage, he started to scrub.
After pulling on sterile nitrile, he readied to perform the neutering for the first cat.
The front door slammed open and shouting filled the front room. Margarette and Gerald rushed into surgery with an alpha. He was broad with a tangled mess of long caramel-blonde hair, dripping with rainwater, his tan henley stained with blood, a whimpering mutt held in his arms.
“I didn’t see ’em!” the alpha shouted. “I didn’t, I was driving. It was an accident.”
It was the same alpha. The one from the Town Hall, the grocery store, who had been casing his cabin.
Theodore seized a scalpel from the tray, eyes fixed on the giant man’s jugular. Had he hit this dog on purpose to get close to Theodore? Ensuring Theodore would be distracted by the dog’s critical condition that he’d let his guard down and the alpha could strike?
The alpha’s eyes, Theodore hadn’t seen from the bedroom window. They were gray. A blue gray, like the sea in a storm. And he smelled … he smelled like, what was that, oranges? It was nice, almost.
