Pheromonal: One Night With the Alpha-Chapter 151: Crisis Management (?)

Logan’s already dialing a number before I can spiral completely into panic mode. His face is a mask of focused intensity, a stark contrast to the possessive animal who pinned me to the bed last night.

"Marcus, it’s me. We have a situation." His voice is measured, controlled. Alpha werewolf in crisis management mode.

Sexy, but not enough to overwhelm the panic in my head.

I try to look casual, leaning against my dresser like my world isn’t imploding. Like I’m not about to get arrested for a murder I didn’t commit. Again.

"Go take a shower," Logan says, covering the phone as his green eyes meet mine. "Decompress. I’ll handle this."

He looks so damn professional, even with his golden hair tousled and sticking up in every direction. Mostly from me grabbing at it last night—more than once—but the lack of sleep from our... angry acrobatics probably didn’t help either.

"I’m fine," I say, pretending my voice isn’t pitched slightly too high. "Totally fine. Not freaking out at all about going to jail for murder."

His eyes narrow at me.

Yeah, I know. I’m not doing a great job at masking right now. My mouth’s on verbal diarrhea mode, not Ice Queen none-of-your-business mode.

"Shower. Now. I’ve got this."

I trudge to the bathroom, shedding clothes as I go—not like there’s much to shed. When the hot water hits my skin, my brittle facade crumbles.

My hands shake uncontrollably as I squeeze shampoo into my palm, missing completely and dumping a glob onto the shower floor. My heart keeps dipping and diving in between jackhammer beats, like it’s trying to escape my chest. Deep breaths turn into panicked gasps. I’m lightheaded. Dizzy.

"This is fine. Everything’s fine," I mutter, scrubbing my scalp too hard. "They’ll just add this to my magical rap sheet. Sure! Let’s add ’murdered fiancé’ to the list. No problem."

The walls of the shower feel like they’re closing in. I press my forehead against the cool tile.

Hope my giant-ass ego had fun playing angry footsie with Logan while the real world was busy planning my prison debut.

It did. For the record.

But right now I wish I’d apologized instead. Wished we’d talked it all out so we’re fighting against this new hurdle as a sturdy unit and not this awkward one pretending nothing happened while we’re still sniping at each other.

I slide down until I’m sitting in the tub, letting the spray hit my back. Through the rising steam, clarity comes.

Logan’s out there fighting for me. This fight? It isn’t a big deal. It’s certainly not something to stand my ground over. I can’t even remember what I was so pissed about anymore.

Logan’s been nothing but supportive. Protective. Even when I’ve been a complete nightmare.

Maybe a little over protective, but it comes with the alpha wolf territory. I should have been prepared for that the moment I fucked him the second time.

By the time I shut off the water, I’ve pulled myself together enough to form a few coherent thoughts. I wrap a towel around myself, tucking the edge securely. Time to swallow my pride and apologize. For real this time.

I crack open the bathroom door and freeze at the sound of Logan’s voice. Not calm anymore—he’s yelling.

"What the hell do you mean we don’t know who the witness is?"

I press myself against the wall, heart in my throat.

"We have resources at our disposal. Use them." His voice drops to a dangerous growl that makes the hair on my arms stand up.

I inch closer to the door, straining to hear. Silly, because it isn’t like Logan would stop talking if he saw me there. Plus he can probably smell me. Wolf noses, you know?

But it’s instinct.

"I don’t care if it isn’t the Conclave’s prerogative. Make it happen."

The sharp click of him ending the call echoes in the sudden silence.

I stand there, dripping onto the floor, a fresh wave of emotion washing over me. Guilt. Awe. Something that feels dangerously close to falling in the big, scary L word.

This man is going nuclear for me. Pulling strings. Making demands. Putting his neck on the line. I’ve been an absolute gremlin to the one man who’s gone to war for me—without ever asking a single thing in return.

I owe him more than a half-assed apology, I owe him honesty. Trust. The good girlfriend version of me I never let out of the basement.

I tiptoe into the room, towel clutched to my chest. In my head, I’m rehearsing the perfect apology: I’m sorry I’ve been a brat. I’m sorry I didn’t apologize properly. I’m sorry I haven’t appreciated you enough.

What comes out instead is: "Who was that? What’s going on?" in a voice a little too sharp and brittle to be considered perfect girlfriend material.

Logan turns, his expression softening when he sees me. In three strides, he’s there, wrapping his arms around me, drawing me against his chest. I guess he doesn’t care about perfect girlfriend material.

More reasons I need to apologize to this wonderful, infuriating man.

"You feel good," he mumbles into my neck, the warmth of his breath making me shiver. "I like your shampoo."

"Was that Marcus? You sounded... intense."

"It was." His voice vibrates against my skin, and it tickles.

I shiver and pull back slightly to see his face. "Why would you talk to Marcus like that?"

His lips twitch downward. "He shouldn’t be so annoying."

That pulls a reluctant laugh from me. I burrow closer into his warmth, working up the courage to say what I need to say. I can feel his heartbeat against my cheek, strong and steady.

"I’m sor—"

SLAM.

The apartment door bangs open with enough force to rattle the windows. "Nicole!" Penelope’s voice rings through the apartment.

I startle, peeking out of the bedroom, confused and still clutching my towel. "I thought you left early?"

Penelope stops mid-stride, eyes darting between Logan and me. Her gaze fixes on my neck, and her mouth twists into a smirk. "Are the hickeys absolutely necessary?"

I slap my hand over my neck, mortified. I hadn’t even thought to look in the mirror.

Glancing behind me, Logan looks positively smug. Freaking wolf.

"The entire campus is shut down," she continues, breathless with excitement. "Nobody knows why. No classes. No warnings. Just emergency closure."

Logan scratches his jaw, looking supremely unconcerned. "That’d be the bomb threat."

Penelope’s eyes widen to comical proportions. "There was a bomb threat?"

"Yeah. I had Marcus call one in."

"You what?" we shriek in unison.