Pheromonal: One Night With the Alpha-Chapter 110: Five Names

"You’re not helping the situation," Logan snaps at the man, but the stranger doesn’t seem to give a shit about what he thinks.

My eyes zero in on where his hands hold my mate against the glass.

Through the panic, something deep in my chest snarls at the sight. A monster waking from slumber.

"Ms. d’Armand, if you don’t control yourself, you’re going to force another mana explosion. If that happens, I’ll be forced to neutralize you myself, for the safety of the public. Do you understand?"

That faint stirring of a beast inside of me settles abruptly; his words carry an authority that stomps on any rebellion.

Alpha.

It has to be some sort of alpha power. Wolf? Maybe. But the way his words resonate through my body, the way they squash my urge to fight, is not normal. Mere words wouldn’t do that.

But words mixed with alpha dominance will.

A shiver runs through me at the realization that something inside me—something primal and foreign and beastly—responds to alpha dominance. What the hell did that serum do to me? The purple lines under my skin pulse with my racing heart.

But when I glance at my arms, I don’t see them.

"I’m fine," Logan says, his voice steady and reassuring. "Just get yourself under control, and they’ll let me in there with you."

My gaze locks onto his. Beautiful emerald green. Warm. Safe. His stare draws me back from the edge of hysteria. A warmth spreads through my chest, different from the burning of the serum—this feels like sunshine after rain, like coming home. But with it comes an ache so profound it steals my breath. I need his touch, need to feel his arms around me, need to know this nightmare is over.

My throat constricts as I try to speak, raw and painful. I’m not intubated this time, at least. Hopefully the pain will go away soon.

Tears well up and spill over. They trace hot paths down my cheeks as I drag myself off the bed to stumble across my tiny glass hell, pressing my palm against the glass separating us. Right where his face is pressed against it, as if I can touch his skin.

I’m barely able to reach, tied down by different wires as I am. But the machines monitoring my vitals gradually quiet, their frantic beeping fading to silence.

Even separated through this glass, his presence calms my body. Makes me feel a little more like myself. There’s a part of me desperate to be with him, frustrated by our distance, but at least I can see him.

Vaguely, I can recall the way my brain completely melted down before I lost consciousness. How strange thoughts intruded about his absence.

Was that it? My strange, intense level of insecurity turned into paranoia, and my paranoia caused a meltdown?

That can’t be. Can it?

Logan’s smile breaks through my tears, a beacon of warmth that makes my heart stutter. Each hiccup sends daggers through my raw throat, but I can’t stop the silent sobs wracking my body. The wires and monitors tangle around me as I press harder against the glass, desperate to close the impossible distance between us.

The stranger’s grip on Logan loosens. My breath catches as he steps away from those restraining hands, relief flooding through me when the stranger doesn’t move to stop him. The glass wall parts without a sound—I hadn’t even noticed the seam before this—and then Logan’s warmth engulfs me.

His arms wrap around my waist, careful of the wires still attached to my body. His scent and pheromones fill my lungs as I bury my face in his chest. My fingers clutch at his shirt, twisting the fabric until my knuckles turn white. The steady thump of his heartbeat grounds me in this moment, drowning out the persistent hum of medical equipment.

"I killed—" My voice cracks, barely a whisper.

Logan’s arms tighten, and he presses his lips to my temple. The gesture sends tingles down my spine, chasing away the lingering cold of the glass cage. My legs shake, threatening to give out, but Logan’s strength keeps me upright.

"You didn’t," he says firmly, pressing his hands against my cheeks and forcing me to meet his eyes. "It was an accident. You didn’t do anything."

Another hiccup.

"It... was... me." Each word is torn from my sore throat. "Magic. Right?"

Again, he shakes his head, denying what I already know is true. What the stranger’s told me I’ve done. "No, Nicole. You didn’t do anything to anyone. This isn’t your fault."

The tears flow faster now, but they aren’t of relief. They’re just tears of horror.

"Not safe."

"You’re safe," he whispers against my forehead, peppering it in gentle kisses. "I won’t let anything happen to you."

No. Not me. I’m worried about him. Worried about others.

It isn’t safe for me to be here.

"Who?" I ask softly.

Logan draws back with a frown. "Who what?"

"Died."

His lips compress. "Don’t worry about it, Nicole."

I shake my head. That’s not going to work. If people died because of me—because of this serum they’ve injected with—or because of this Catalyst that I am...

I need to know.

He can’t protect me from my reality. No matter how much it hurts to hear.

"Who... died?" I ask again, my throat hurting more than ever. I can’t keep talking, but this is important.

Logan’s jaw tightens, but the stranger’s voice cuts through the silence like a blade.

"Private James Cooper. Age twenty-four. Survived by his wife Sarah and their unborn child. Died in the first explosion, during the escape."

My knees buckle. Logan’s arms tighten around me, but the stranger’s words pierce straight through my heart.

"Dr. Maria Santos. Chief resident. Age thirty-two."

I squeeze my eyes shut, but it doesn’t stop the tears. But I have to keep listening. These names need to be burned into my head forever.

"Nurse practitioner Robert Chen. Age forty-five. Father of three."

My fingers dig into Logan’s shirt as I try to anchor myself against the tide of guilt threatening to drown me.

"Nurse Danielle Walsh. Age thirty-eight. Nurse Jessica Martinez. Age twenty-nine. Recently engaged."

My legs give out completely. Logan catches me before I hit the floor, but I barely register his touch. All I can see are their faces—faces I’ve never known, lives I’ve destroyed. Vague memories of people leaning over me, of people who ran into the room because they were worried I was dying.

A wife who will never see her husband again. Children who will grow up without their parents. A woman who will never walk down the aisle.

"Murderer," I whisper, the pain of the word ripping not just my throat, but my heart. My soul. The very essence of my humanity.

The truth of it settles into my bones. Five people. Five lives snuffed out because of me. Because of whatever this thing inside me is—this power I didn’t control. This curse that turns me into a weapon.

My body shakes with silent sobs, each one ripping through my raw throat. But the pain is nothing compared to the weight of those five names crushing my chest.