Page 26

“Yeah, kind of. I didn’t tell Mum I was moving out until the day. Which was pretty selfish on my part, but… Without him, I don’t think she—” His eyes grew glassy as he thought about how she’d snarled and spat as he walked away.

“I have a spare lead,” Blake said, reaching over the threshold to grab George.

Pember was grateful for the change of subject, as his eyes drew back into focus. “Thank you. But are you sure you aren’t going to get in trouble for refusing to stay on? That guy, DS Matthews? He?—”

“Mark Matthews is the biggest, laziest prick I’ve ever met. In fact, I’m fairly certain he’s the king of lazy pricks. How he got the job in Major Crime I have no idea.”

Pember barked out a laugh. “I see. Good to know. Now you mention it, I don’t think Wallace likes him much either. N-not that I’m trying to stir up trouble between CSI and Major Crime, mind you.”

Blake smirked, the tip of a canine grazing his bottom lip. “Oh? And what does CSI think of me?”

Pember ran his tongue across his lip, making Blake’s eyes flit to his mouth. “Nice try,” he said, crossing his arms. “I know a trap when I see one.”

Blake chuckled, raising his hands in a supplicating gesture. “No trap, I’m genuinely curious.”

“Well…” Pember padded over to the alpha and reached up to plant both hands on his shoulders. Blake looked momentarily taken aback, but did not move from Pember’s touch.

“CSI thinks you’re a very dedicated detective who works too hard and has a bigger heart than he’d have people believe.”

With that, he shoved Blake’s shoulder, turning him away from the front door and directing him towards the steps.

Bailey followed, sticking her nose in the alpha’s pocket.

Pember leant against the doorframe; it was still warm from Blake’s body.

He smiled a little when Blake shot him a wolfish grin over his shoulder.

“ Anyway ,” he muttered. “The shopping isn’t going to put itself away.”

He hummed as he slid the overfull salad box back into the fridge. There was something deeply satisfying about reorganising the kitchen, making sure everything had its own place and could be reached easily.

He’d wanted to make Val something to remind her of her time with Earnie on the Tibetan border, but unfortunately the supermarket didn’t sell yak meat, and he had zero experience of cooking tripe.

Not to mention, the way her false teeth rattled between her jaws made him nervous about cooking sinewy red meat without giving it hours to soften in the slow cooker.

Ultimately, he settled on a creamy fish chowder with soft boiled potatoes.

Sure, she’d probably complain about him fussing over her, but something about her creased face and watery eyes made his heart hurt.

He wanted to pamper her, give her something to do in the evenings other than having the TV on full blast. The thought of her sitting alone in the dark filled him with a deep sadness.

Then his mind wandered to Blake again. How his face hardened when talked about his ex-wife, like he’d slammed up an invisible wall and plastered on a smile.

He’d even laughed about it—a cold, joyless sound that’d made Pember feel a bit sick.

Obviously, he had no idea what it was like to be bite bound, but he knew the severing of a bond could send some people mad. Omegas especially.

Perhaps the laughter was some kind of coping mechanism, because he’d come to realise that police officers had an uncanny way of laughing about the most horrific things. Suddenly the ‘Laugh Through the Tears’ poster in Oliver’s office made a lot more sense.

Whatever the reason, he couldn’t help but wonder what Blake’s wife might have been like.

Attractive, most definitely. Beautiful, even, given that she had been Blake’s wife for ten years.

She was probably really nice—despite being a cheater —really successful and absolutely not a walking disaster like Pember.

Did Blake even like men?

Shaking his head, he chased the thoughts away. He had no right to assume how Blake should feel, nor should he have been thinking about his wife. But then there’d been the baby… Pember’s stomach lurched.

Sugar Plum meowed, winding between his legs and leaving white hairs all over his black trousers. A knock at the front door made her hiss. Smoothing his hands down his cheeks, Pember padded to the door, expecting to find Blake, Bailey and George waiting on the mat.

It wasn’t Blake.

The colour drained from Pember’s face as he swallowed, eyes trailing up the form of a huge man standing on his doorstep. He was roughly Blake’s age, wearing a backwards-facing flat cap, black shorts and a dirty red T-shirt. He smelled like cigarettes.

“Hey, hon,” the man said, one arm pressed against the top of the doorframe. A lazy smile stretched across his face, peeling back over his massive canines. “How’re you?”

Pember stepped back, gripping the door handle.

“S-sorry, who’re you?”

The alpha’s smile widened, showing off entirely too many teeth. “Your new window cleaner. Max.”

Max reached for Pember’s hand, but Pember pulled away before he could touch him. “I think you’ve got the wrong address,” he said, starting to shut the door.

Max grinned and pressed his foot to the lip of the frame. “One Bell Lane, right?” he tapped the silver house number above his postbox. “Pretty sure this is the place.”

“I don’t need my windows cleaned, but thanks all the same.” Pember tried to close the door again, but the next thing he knew the alpha was fully leaning into his house.

“You know,” he drawled, reaching around the door to grip Pember’s arm. “You’re really cute. You sure you don’t need anything doing? Anything at all.”

The alpha’s scent slammed into Pember’s nostrils, something heavy and cloying.

It made his head go fuzzy, and he loosened his grip on the handle.

The alpha took advantage of his reaction and swung the door open again, yanking Pember back into view by his arm.

His eyes trailed up and down his body, tongue darting out to lick his lips.

“Don’t be like that, little omega. I was told you’d be up for anything. Plus, I’ll actually clean your windows if you want me to.” He grinned and jabbed a thumb over his shoulder towards a white van parked at the bottom of the steps. “Pember, right?”

Pember glared at him.

“Well, Pember, I do a really, really thorough job. You won’t have any complaints.”

Pember swallowed, his wolf padding and whining under his skin, making his hackles rise. “Sorry, but who told you I’d be up for anything?”

Max shrugged, stroking a thumb over Pember’s elbow. The touch made him shudder, but not in a good way. “The bird who booked me, hon.”

“Which was?” he snapped back, trying to yank his arm free.

Max held tight and shrugged again. “Dunno. Some bird called Tracey.”

Pember’s stomach dropped. “T-Tracey?”

Max nodded, the lazy smile making a return.

“Yeah. You know, you really are something.” He reached up to stroke Pember’s cheek, and Pember gritted his teeth, bracing for the unwanted touch.

“I bet you’d look fucking gorgeous wrapped around—what the—” Max yelped as his hand snapped back and he was wrenched away from the threshold.

Blake was there, eyes dark and lips tugging over his teeth. “Take your hands off him,” he growled, voice tremulous and deep.

He had Max’s arm pinned behind his back, the other squeezing the fingers that held Pember’s elbow. He seemed to completely fill the doorway as he peeled his hand away, spinning Max around and inserting himself between the two of them.

The dogs came skittering up the steps, yapping and barking at the man’s feet.

“O-oi! Who the fuck are you?” Max growled, trying to wrench free of Blake’s grip.

Blake only tightened the hold and bent the other man halfway over the garden wall.

There was a sickening scrape as Max’s bare knee dragged along the rough brick, his face turning an alarming shade of purple.

“Alright!” he growled. “Alright, Jesus!”

Blake released his arm, pulling him upright by the scruff of the neck and marching him all the way to his van. Pember’s eyes were wide as he watched them exchange heated words, until Max eventually hopped into his vehicle and sped away.

Pember felt light-headed again, but the giddiness quickly turned to panic as his hands began to shake. He was breathing hard as Blake stalked back up the steps, his eyes dark and unreadable.

Blake opened his mouth. “Are you?—”

Pember cut him off by slamming the door in his face. The buzzing in his ears made his head swim as he ran up the stairs, the sound getting louder and louder until he finally kicked off his shoes and collapsed on the bed. He clutched his chest and scrunched his eyes shut.

Tracey. His mum. His fucking mum. She knew. She knew exactly where he lived, and she’d sent someone to his house.

Twisting his body, he pressed his face into the pillow, trying to find some measure of calm.

“I can’t do this,” he whispered into the taupe fabric. “I can’t fucking do this.”

Bailey hopped onto the bed, and he pulled her against him. She was solid and warm, but she wasn’t enough. He felt exposed. Horribly, horribly exposed in his own home.

Without even thinking, he rolled off the bed and pushed the mattress onto the floor.

With his adrenaline pumping he was able to drag the mattress into the second bedroom, the smaller one that overlooked the garden.

Somehow, he tugged it through the doorway and positioned it in the centre of the room.

Lying down, he clutched his sides and waited for his ragged breathing to settle.

It took a while, but he eventually calmed down enough to pull out his phone.

Pressing it to his ear, he listened to the dial tone.

It clicked, then: “Pember?”

He growled deep in his throat. “Mum. Don’t you ever, ever pull a stunt like that again. Or I swear to God this’ll be the last time you ever hear from me.”

“Pember, what’re you?—”