Page 25

UNWELCOME VISITOR

Pember

It was like a pendulum had been strung up in Pember’s chest, making him dangle helplessly between Blake’s hands.

His body told him to press up into Blake’s arms, whilst his brain shrieked at him to step away.

Not the alpha. Don’t trust the alpha. But Blake’s mismatched eyes kept him rooted to the spot.

“Pember,” Blake’s voice rumbled, the pitch so low it vibrated deep in his belly. His inner wolf hunkered down before rolling onto its back and baring its throat.

In that moment, Pember couldn’t have said whether they were inside or out. Up or down, or even on planet earth. But his body was certain of one thing—it was warm and safe in Blake’s orbit, in his hands, his eyes, and the alpha’s steady breaths were enough to settle his hammering heart.

“Blake…” he whispered, eyes wide as he squeezed the alpha’s forearms. George barked, making him jump. “S-sorry,” he uttered, snapping out of whatever trance he had just been in. He peeled Blake’s hands away from his face. “That was depressing… really depressing, and I shouldn’t have said it.”

He was about to step away when Blake slid a hand across his cheek and hooked it around the nape of his neck, tugging him into his arms.

“Never apologise,” he whispered. “Never for that.”

He nudged his nose through Pember’s messy hair, breath warming his scalp. Pember whimpered, but let his face be pulled against the lapel of the alpha’s coat, his arms hanging awkwardly at his sides.

“You smell like you need to shift,” Blake whispered, drawing in another deep breath. “Your body… The tension is pouring out of you.”

Pember squeezed his eyes shut, the clean scent of Blake’s cotton shirt, paired with his deep natural musk, uncoiling the knot in the base of his skull. His fingers twitched, unsure of where to go or what to grab, but eventually they balled into the front of Blake’s coat.

It was more than a hug, but not quite an embrace, and the birds, the breeze and George were their only witnesses.

It was over as quickly as it started, the siren of a police car cutting through the calm.

Pember pulled away, running his hands up and down the front of Blake’s coat as though pulling it back into place might erase the last five seconds.

“Sorry,” he said again, smoothing the material. “I… Shifting’s not at the top of my priority list right now.”

Blake pushed his glasses into his hair and sighed. “Do you want to? We have time, and there’s?—”

“Please,” Pember replied, giving him a tight-lipped smile. “Can we just drop it?”

Blake sighed and took a step back. “Call me,” he murmured. “If you ever feel overwhelmed. Day or night, it doesn’t matter, just call me.”

Pember’s mouth opened and closed before he huffed out a mirthless laugh. “If I did that you’d never have time for anyone else. It’s just a feeling… Depression, probably. It’s always with me. I don’t think it’ll ever go away.” The words came out stilted as he swallowed back the lump in his throat.

“What about your family? Your friends? Surely there’s someone you can talk to?”

Pember shook his head, a slight breeze catching his hair.

“My family is what you might call… fucked. Absolutely, catastrophically fucked. My dad and sister are dead, and my mum is—” He cut himself off before any more buried truths slipped out.

“Anyway.” He pulled back, opening up the space between them.

“What flavour cheesecake would you like?”

The alpha stared at him for several seconds, the intensity of his gaze making Pember cough and look away. Eventually, Blake straightened and held up a hand. “I was only joking about dessert. In fact, why don’t I make it?”

Pember narrowed his eyes. “Really? I mean, no disrespect, I just assumed you lived on ready meals and takeout.”

Blake scoffed, folding his arms. “I’m thirty-one years old. I’d like to think that somewhere along the way I learned how to make a fucking cheesecake.”

Pember laughed and bent down to brush the leaves out of George’s fur. He was panting heavily, but still hopped up to lick Pember’s cheek. “Then it’s the chef’s choice, I guess.” He glanced up at Blake, mouth tipping into a playful grin. “But I have it on good authority that Val likes lemons.”

They met in the car park after work, which did absolutely nothing to quell the rumour that they were in a relationship. Mark had tried three more times to convince Blake to take the overtime, but with Pember looming behind him like a menacing—albeit short—spectre, he had no choice but to relent.

The gossip made Pember marginally uncomfortable, but just having Blake finish on time made him realise that he actually didn’t care all that much.

In fact, if Samantha sent another passive-aggressive email his way, she’d find herself with more than just a heater missing.

He’d hide her stapler too. Maybe even her hole punch.

Blake humoured him as he followed him around the supermarket, looking with quiet interest at Pember’s arms laden with a shopping basket, coffee machine and home brewing kit.

At one point, Pember nearly toppled over, so Blake tugged the coffee machine from his grip and rested it on his shoulder.

The brewing kit swiftly followed, the glass vat and plastic tubes clinking under his arm.

“Thanks,” Pember said, nibbling his lip as he turned to the shelf that housed the coffee.

He was debating whether to get the Peruvian dark or Italian classico, when his eyes drifted to something on the next shelf along.

It was silver with white feathers, and had little tinkly stars laced through the threads of wool.

A child’s dreamcatcher, taken from the home section and abandoned in favour of caffeine.

Chuckling at the irony of it, his gaze slid to Blake, who had wandered off towards the end of the aisle.

He appeared to be surveying the biscuit selection, so Pember took the opportunity to pluck the dreamcatcher from the shelf and bury it at the bottom of the basket.

It was a childish trinket, but he liked the stars and he needed all the help he could get.

When they arrived back at Pember’s house an hour later, Bailey came barrelling out of the front door and smacked into Blake's shins with such force that he nearly dropped the coffee machine down the steps.

“Oof. Been teaching her your techniques, have you?”

Pember frowned, hooking a foot over Bailey’s body in an attempt to usher her back into the house.

It was a fruitless endeavour, because the next thing he knew, George was huffing and panting between Blake’s legs, doing his best to trip the alpha up.

The dogs greeted one another with sloppy kisses and playful nips, just as a fluffy white cat came sauntering out of his house.

Its tail swayed nonchalantly as it bumped its head into Blake’s knee, a bloody stain present around its mouth.

“What the…” Pember said, propping the brewing kit on the low wall that separated his and Val’s front gardens. “Bailey, what the hell have you been doing whilst I’ve been at work?”

The Labrador looked up at him with large, innocent eyes, before turning her attention back to licking George’s ears.

“Ah. Did you leave your bedroom window open?” Blake said.

“What? No? The bathroom window is slightly ajar, but it’s tiny.”

Blake nodded, bending to tickle the cat's head. “That’ll do it. Sugar Plum has no concept of personal space. I thought she’d gone missing last Christmas, but it turned out she’d commandeered Val’s bed over winter.

It’s one of the reasons she sleeps in the chair—not that she thought to tell me that my cat had gone for an extended sleepover, of course. ”

Pember scoffed and toed open the front door. “I’m beginning to think you have a whole menagerie in there. I woke up the other morning and my patio looked like a murder scene—pun completely intended.”

Blake tapped his chin. “In that case, you should probably check your house for… gifts. Especially under the baseboards. That’s her usual spot for concealing dead bodies.”

Pember chuckled as he took the shopping inside, and Blake passed things to him from the doorway. Bailey, meanwhile, invited George inside to roll around on the rug in the living room.

“I’ll take you out in a minute, Bee, just let me put the shopping away,” Pember said, sighing as they kicked up the rug and almost toppled over a reading lamp.

“Do you want me to take her for a run?” Blake said, leaning against the doorframe. His light blue shirt strained against his bicep. Pember looked away.

His arms were aching as he placed the final bag of shopping on the table.

There was rather a lot, and he was beginning to worry that he wouldn’t be able to fit everything in his tiny kitchen.

Perhaps he should get a chest freezer… or turn the closet into a pantry.

He could get some of those aesthetically pleasing jars from that popular Swedish place.

Maybe he could even invest in some embroidered sacks to put his root vegetables in. The possibilities were endless.

Blake gave a quiet cough. “Pem?”

“Oh! Well, I mean… you don’t have to. I wouldn’t want?—”

Blake raised a hand. “Do you have a lead, or are you still using a tie?”

“Oh… yeah. I’m still using a tie. Bailey was an unexpected addition to my moving out plans.” Pember drifted back across the living room until he and Blake were standing opposite one another. Blake’s eyebrows rose above the rim of his glasses, a look of understanding crossing his face.

“Was moving out unplanned?”

Pember shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck. “Not exactly. It actually took a lot of planning. It was just quite hectic at the end. But then again, Oliver was involved, so it was always going to be chaotic, I guess.”

“Oliver helped you?”