Page 96 of Let It Snow
What the hell am I doing? I’m barely conscious. None of this feels real; it’s like a dream.
Maybe itisa dream?
There’s a short silence, then I hear Snow’s voice. He’s still in the other room, but with our hearing, it doesn’t matter.
"Are you sure, Summer? This isn’t a good idea. Things like that can cut heat short or mess with it."
"I get it. But call him in anyway, just him. I don’t want a crowd."
The moment I say it, I realize it’s a mistake. I can already feel the next wave coming, but it’s too late. Snow and Lake leave.
I look down at myself, lying under a thin blanket, completely naked underneath. Of course I am; it’s full heat. Clothes are impossible. My braid is a little messy, thrown back over the pillow.
There’s a protein shake on the nightstand, so I grab it and drink it fast, hoping it’ll clear my head a bit. I know it won’t stop the wave, though.
A moment later, I hear footsteps.
Snow comes in, followed by Lake and a man I don’t recognize, solidly built, around forty, an impressive alpha.
He’s wearing something strange on his nose. It looks like one of those breathing devices athletes use, only this one seems to do the opposite, restricting airflow. Clever. He’s trying not to inhale the thick heat pheromones hanging in the air. Okay…
"Summer Ferro? Hello, I’m Detective John Arnold."
"I prefer Summer Larsen," I mumble, surprised that speaking isn't as difficult as it used to be.
My throat feels a little tight, but compared to before, it’s almost nothing. Maybe the heat actually loosened me up or something?
The man glances over my thinly covered body, which annoys me, and it gets on Snow’s nerves too, judging by the low, warning sound he makes.
Lake reacts immediately, grabbing another blanket and throwing it over me, probably because my bulge is getting way too obscenely visible under the thin fabric.
The detective clears his throat.
He’s wearing a suit, the perfect image of an FBI agent or someone from organized crime.
"We’ve been looking for you for some time, Mr. Larsen. We only managed to locate you after you used your bank account through your phone."
Of course. The easiest way to get tracked. Idiot me, thinking I could dodge law enforcement and still use money transfers. I should’ve stuck to cash.
"Also… knocking out two alphas in a mall is a good way to bring some attention to yourself," he adds in a dry voice, almost threateningly, and I curse under my breath. I need to change the subject quickly. Any questions abouthowI did it would lead to bad things.
"How’s my husband?" I ask, my tone sour enough to curdle milk.
I barely recognize myself. But right now, in this state, nothing really matters except getting filled again.
Everything feels hazy, like steam in a bathhouse.
"Mr. Ferro sent over your divorce papers," the man says, holding out a stack of documents.
I grab them at lightning speed. Lake smoothly hands me a pen, and I scrawl my uneven signature where Arnold points.
"You’re officially released from all obligations toward him," the detective says, hesitating on the last words as if unsure how to phrase them tactfully.
"But that’s not what I’m here about. This just happened to come along, he asked me to help with delivering the papers."
I snort softly.
"I’m not testifying against him, so nothing to worry about on his part. I was never involved in any of his mafia stuff, never helped him, never witnessed anything," I say, reciting the line I’ve had ready for weeks in case this ever happened.
