Page 4

MOOD HOOVER

Blake

The man shivered beneath Blake’s hand. He was staring up at him with wide, worried eyes despite him being the one who had just knocked them both clean off their feet. A mop of dark hair was plastered against his forehead, and his small, bow-shaped lips parted around panicked breaths.

“I-I…” the lad stuttered, voice so soft it was almost lost on the wind.

Blake huffed and let his hand loosen in his jumper.

Leaves were slowly drifting to the ground, a few landing in Blake’s hair and across the other man’s face.

Blake’s earphones dangled between them, the heavy metal blasting out sounding tinny in the open air.

Drawing back, Blake quickly tucked them into the front of his hoody and stood.

The lad stayed down, and there was no chance on God’s green earth that Blake was helping him up.

Brushing the leaves from his shoulders he jerked around. “George!” he bellowed, keeping one eye on the man as the brown and white corgi came bounding from the trees. “Here! Now!”

A black Labrador with a green collar was hot on his heels, and Blake had to stick out his foot to stop it from jumping up. George wiggled, yapping as he flung himself into Blake’s arms, his fur sticking up at all angles after being unceremoniously dumped into the undergrowth.

When Blake turned around again, the other man was cautiously getting to his feet. The Labrador sat on its haunches, nipping and licking the man’s hands as its owner's eyes flitted nervously to Blake. Green. Like moss. His gaze was wary, razor focused.

Blake’s inner wolf paused, dropping its head to let the man know he wasn’t a threat, but Blake only sniffed indignantly.

Which was when he smelled it. The delicate, peach sweet scent of an omega.

His fangs immediately throbbed, and his brain conjured images of how they’d slice through the soft, fuzzy flesh of the man’s—Blake expelled a forcefully through his nostrils before stepping back and awkwardly covering his nose.

“Well?” he snapped behind his hand, trying to keep the lad at a distance. The omega still looked like a startled rabbit, all the colour draining from his face. When he didn’t immediately speak, Blake held up a hand. “Look, you?—”

“I’m sorry,” the man blurted, finally finding his voice. “I thought… I thought you were in trouble, I thought?—”

The omega’s scent tickled Blake’s nose hairs again, so he stepped even further away until he was almost back in the woods. A bright pink flush crept up the boy’s neck, but Blake only glared at him, brows pulling into a deep frown.

“So you thought you’d throw me to the fucking ground?” he growled, unable to push down the sudden snap of anger.

“What? I-I… No! I thought you were going to jump!”

Blake let out a breath, eyes flitting towards the steep drop to the town below, then back to the man.

The corner of Blake’s mouth twitched, and he purposefully let the point of one fang glint in the early afternoon light.

A warning. The man must have clocked it from the way he bent down and wrapped his arms around the Labrador.

“Can’t a man admire the scenery?” Blake said, slowly turning towards the footpath.

He hadn’t been admiring the scenery; he’d been getting ready to shift. He had been in the process of clearing his over-cluttered mind before changing into wolf form, but the blushing, bumbling idiot before him had totally knocked him off his stride.

The omega shivered, reaching behind to pinch the back of his jumper, tugging at it as though it were stuck to his back. Despite being early spring, the dew still clung to the ground, making everything damp.

A series of short, sharp barks cut through the awkward silence. The Labrador was skittering around again and spraying soil onto Blake’s boots. Sighing, he dropped to one knee and held out a hand. After a moment of hesitation, the Labrador took a few steps forwards and sniffed his wrist.

The other man coughed. “As I said, I thought—well, it doesn’t matter. But I’m sorry I pushed you.”

When the Labrador settled, Blake frowned and rose to his feet.

“Next time you feel like going for a walk, perhaps enquire at the local rugby club instead.”

With that, Blake scooped George up and walked off in the opposite direction. He could feel the omega’s eyes glued to his back, but he didn’t call or chase after him.

Thank fuck.

His run was ruined, and his inner wolf was pawing and panting impatiently beneath his skin. He couldn’t just shift like he used to, and he’d been working himself up to it for days.

“Fuck,” he muttered, ignoring the low-hanging branches that whipped around his face. Sometimes he cursed being so tall and lanky. Today was one of those days.

In an attempt to compensate for his wolf’s abandoned run, Blake did an extra lap around the woods. Despite the quiet blanket created by the dense trees, after his experience on the hilltop there was no way he was going to be in the right frame of mind to shift that evening.

The new cohort of detectives who had recently joined the Major Crime Unit had well and truly fried his fucking brain, and the stranger on the hill had been the final nail in the coffin.

Even as he navigated a path between the trees, he could feel his phone repeatedly vibrating in his pocket.

He grumbled, cursing the inspector for putting his contact details up on the whiteboard.

As if twenty wet-behind-the-ears graduates having his phone number was going to make the department run any smoother.

Tugging his phone out of his pocket, he saw five missed calls and several more messages, all overlapping one another.

‘ Sarge, do I put urine samples in the fridge or the freezer? ’

‘ Sarge, can I take annual leave next Thursday? My nan’s having her gallbladder out. ’

‘ DS Smith, when taking evidential swabs, am I supposed to take wet or dry samples first? Tina says dry but I think it’s wet. ’

Blake snarled and almost threw his phone into the wilderness, because he may as well have stayed at fucking work.

‘ Fridge. ’

‘ Yes. ’

‘ Wet. ’

Jogging along his back fence, he glanced up and saw that his bedroom window was a little condensated.

It must have dropped colder in the time he’d been out, and when he rounded the corner onto Bell Lane there were small dust clouds floating across the narrow road.

They were laced with grass from the fields, meaning a storm was probably about to blow in.

His inner wolf snarled when it realised they were returning home, and Blake had to take several long breaths to stop the sound bubbling out of his mouth.

Sighing, he clocked his elderly neighbour, Val, teetering on the garden wall between their houses.

Her stockings were pooled around her ankles, revealing a network of varicose veins and purple bruises.

She was trying to reach the electricity box again, which had been the cause of the bruises last time.

“Valerie!” he shouted, knowing full well she couldn’t hear him. Pushing open the wooden gate, he hopped up the six uneven steps and gently tugged her arm. “Val, for the love of?—”

Val jerked round, her bright white perm swaying slightly in the early evening breeze.

“Eh? What?” She shouted, yanking her arm away. “Don’t sneak up on an old woman, you . I could have knocked yer lights out!”

Blake snorted. Although she was almost ninety and as deaf as a post, he had to admit the old alpha still possessed a stunning left hook.

“Val, if I’ve told you once I’ve told you a hundred fucking times. If the electricity cuts out, you use the trip switch next to the telephone.”

“What’re you on about? What switch?”

Sighing, Blake coaxed her back off the garden wall and led her inside. Deciding it was pointless showing her the trip switch for the twentieth time, he settled her in her grubby cream recliner.

“Have you eaten?” he said, putting his face right in front of hers.

Val’s eyes darted to his lips, and she scowled. “Yes, yes,” she said, waving him out of the way of the television.

Grimacing, Blake eyed the stack of dirty dishes by the sink. Running a hand through his hair, he straightened. “And where are your hearing aids?” he said, turning back to her.

Without answering, she flicked a hand towards the wall cabinets hanging above the ancient fridge. Blake groaned when he noticed the African Grey parrot sitting on top of the cabinets, staring at him with her smug, beady little eyes.

“For the love of—” Stalking over to the kitchen, he reached out and shooed the bird away. She flapped and squawked, sending a flurry of feathers into Blake’s face. “Cherry,” he said through gritted teeth, “move.”

Reaching over the filthy wooden cornice, he felt around on the top of the cabinet, running his fingers over all the things Cherry had stolen over the last few weeks.

He sighed when he found the TV remote, a wooden spoon and a pair of Val’s compression socks hidden underneath a pile of shredded paperwork.

Eventually, his fingertips located the purple hearing aids and he dusted them off and handed them back to the elderly alpha.

If Val minded him doing the washing up, she said nothing, and as he hung the tea-towel over the back of a kitchen chair, he noticed her CPAP machine lying next to her recliner in pieces.

“Val, what happened to?—”

His ear twitched at the sound of a key rattling in the front door of number 1 Bell Lane.

He listened for a moment, reckoning that the end terrace had been empty for at least six months.

Perhaps it was the police officer in him, or perhaps he was just a nosy fucker, but before he could stop himself he was striding towards the front door and out onto Val’s porch.

His expression dropped when he saw who was standing there.

“O-oh, hello,” the omega said, one hand still gripping the key in the door. He took a step back, a purple gift bag in his hand. The messy handwriting on the tag read, Almost forgot, congrats on the new place!