Page 45 of Down Knot Out
From within the elevator, the speaker crackles. “This is emergency services, do you need help?”
Dominic’s body tenses, his hold on me tightening. “No, sorry. But thank you.”
The line clicks off, and he half turns to someone who stands behind us. “Security to the stairwell. Second floor. Man in delivery uniform. Attempted kidnapping.”
Voices and the squawk of radios move around us, but I can’t bring myself to lift my face from Dominic’s chest. His heartbeat pounds beneath my cheek, strong and steady, telling me I’m safe. That Dominic will always come to save me.
“I called the police when you vanished,” he murmurs into my hair. “Building security is already searching. You’re safe now.”
My fingers clutch at his shirt, bunching thefabric. The adrenaline that kept me functional drains away, leaving me trembling.
“He knew things about me,” I whisper. “From university. About my parents. Things no one should know.”
Dominic’s arms tighten around me, his chin resting on top of my head. “We’ll figure it out. I’ve got you.”
“I don’t want to go back to my apartment.” I tug him down so my nose can find that spot behind his ear where his pheromones are strongest, needing to soothe myself. “Not ever again.”
He kisses my forehead in reassurance. “You don’t have to. I’ll go back up and get you anything you need.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ve got you, Chloe.” He rubs my back. “I’ve got you.”
The reassuring words seem to be for himself every bit as much as they are for me. Then he shifts and lifts me into his arms to carry me toward the building manager’s office, past the curious and concerned faces of neighbors and security personnel.
I snuggle closer and focus on the steady rhythm of my Alpha’s heartbeat.
Chapter Thirteen
Dominic
Igrip Chloe’s elbow as she steps down from the SUV, the pink strands of her hair catching the fading sunlight.
Red rims her haunted eyes, and as soon as her foot touches the ground, she leans into me, burrowing close and breathing in my pheromones.
The encounter with Simon had left a mark, shaking her sense of safety. The police had found a tracking app on her phone, which must have been how he found her. The delivery guy was discovered unconscious in the maintenance room, though thankfully still alive.
Every instinct screams to hunt Simon down, to ensure he never gets within a hundred feet of Chloe again. But right now, what she needs isn’t my rage, it’s my protection.
I rub her back, using the open car door to buffer her from the dropping temperature. “You okay?”
Chloe’s chin dips, the movement jerky, and her scent carries a sour note of fear that opens an ache in my chest.
When apartment security had checked the second floor after Chloe escaped, Simon had vanished. Just as he had before. The police arrived twenty minutes later to take statements, check footage, and search the back parking lot. But they found nothing.
Then came three hours of questions, each one wearing her down. She folded in on herself as time passed, her answers growing thinner with every retelling. By the time they let us go, heading to my hotel felt reckless. If Simon has been tracking her, he’s probably researched the rest of us, too. None of our regular fallback spots can be trusted.
I cradle the back of her head and kiss her hair. “I’m here. I’m not going to let him hurt you.”
She pulls in a shaky breath, then steps back and wipes her face before turning to the cottage I parked beside.
The single-story home could have been plucked straight from a fairy tale. Wildflowers spill from window boxes in purples, reds, and yellows. River stones line the walkway leading to the front door,polished smooth by time and water. Rose bushes climb trellises on either side of the porch, their fragrance thick and sweet in the evening air. Wind chimes tinkle from the eaves, glass and copper catching the last light of day.
Chloe touches the lucky shamrock hanging from her neck, rubbing over the birthstones. “This is Emily’s house?”
My lips curve in understanding. Emily is a six-foot, no-nonsense Alpha. This gingerbread cottage is a stark contrast.
Thin wisps of steam rise from a brick chimney on one side of the cottage, and while the lawn surrounding the cottage isn’t perfectly manicured, it’s lovingly tended, with patches of clover and thyme between the grass blades. With the long hours she works, I have no idea how she maintains everything.
