Pheromonal: One Night With the Alpha-Chapter 67: Magical Contract

Logan’s cough turns wet, and suddenly, a spray of crimson splatters across the pristine white sheets. My heart leaps into my throat.

"Holy shit!" I scramble back, eyes wide. "Logan, what—"

"Fuck a duck in a thunderstorm," he growls, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. The smear of red against his skin makes my stomach lurch.

He stands, calm as you please, like he didn’t just hack up blood all over the bed. "Excuse me."

Then he heads to the bathroom.

I sit there, frozen, listening to the sound of running water.

"Logan?" I call out, my voice embarrassingly shaky. "Are you okay?"

The water shuts off. "I’ll be fine," he replies, his voice muffled through the door. "As long as you don’t try to make me talk."

Something in his tone makes my blood run cold. I slide off the bed, wrapping the sheet around me as I approach the bathroom. Logan emerges, wiping his face with a towel. His chest is still flecked with red droplets.

I reach out, my hand hovering over his back. "What do you mean, as long as I don’t make you—"

The realization hits me then. My hand freezes, inches from his skin.

"Logan," I say, my voice sharp with sudden understanding and no small amount of fear. "Is this... contract backlash?"

He turns to face me, his expression unreadable. But his silence speaks volumes.

"Oh my God," I breathe, taking a step back. "Oh my God, Logan."

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Nicole—"

"No," I cut him off, anger flaring hot and bright in my chest. "Don’t you ’Nicole’ me. What the hell have you gotten yourself into?"

Logan’s jaw clenches. "It’s not what you think."

"Really? Because what I think is that you’ve signed some kind of magical contract that’s literally tearing you apart from the inside out if you try to break it." I’m practically spitting the words now, fury and fear warring for dominance. "Please, tell me how that’s not exactly what I think it is."

He doesn’t answer, just stands there looking frustratingly stoic. It only serves to fuel my anger.

"Who did this to you?" I demand. "Was it the people who bailed you out? The ones who told you to keep an eye on me?"

Logan’s eyes flash. "I can’t—"

"Talk about it. Yeah, I got that." I run a hand over my face, suddenly exhausted. "Jesus, Logan. What have you done?"

He takes a step towards me, hand outstretched. "Nicole, please. I know this looks bad, but—"

I jerk away from his touch. "Looks bad? It looks fucking terrifying, Logan! You’re coughing up blood because you can’t tell me the truth. How is that not the very definition of ’bad’?"

Logan’s expression hardens. "You think I don’t know that? You think I wanted this?"

"I don’t know what to think!" I throw my hands up in exasperation. "Because you can’t tell me anything!"

We stand there, staring at each other, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. I’m trembling, I realize distantly. Whether from anger or fear, I’m not sure.

Logan breaks first, his shoulders sagging. "I’m sorry," he says softly. "I’m not trying to upset you."

Guilt washes over me and I wrap my arms around him, burying my face in his chest.

"I’m sorry," I murmur. "This just makes talking to you really hard when you can’t actually talk back."

Logan’s chest rumbles with a low chuckle. "Sounds like an ideal relationship for a normal woman."

I poke him hard in the ribs. He groans, squirming away.

"Mercy, woman. I yield."

His arms encircle me, and for a moment, we just stand there, wrapped in each other’s warmth. It feels safe. It feels right. But the nagging worry in the back of my mind won’t let me relax completely.

Logan sighs, gently setting me aside. "Let me change these sheets."

I watch as he strips the bed, efficiently replacing the blood-stained linens with fresh ones. The normalcy of the act feels surreal. Also, surprisingly sexy. But that’s not a priority right now.

"Logan?" My voice sounds small. "Should I be worried?"

He freezes, hands clutching a pillowcase. For a heartbeat, he’s perfectly still. Then he turns, his face a mask of calm.

"I’ll keep you safe, Nicole. I promise."

Ice trickles down my spine. He didn’t answer my question. And that, I realize with growing dread, is the real answer.

I swallow hard and change the subject. "What’s next with your charges?"

Logan shakes his head, tossing the pillow onto the freshly made bed. "They won’t stick. They’re just wasting time."

"Who’s wasting time?" I ask carefully, watching his face for any reaction.

A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "I truly don’t know."

I narrow my eyes, studying him, but it seems like he means it.

But I really need to figure out the types of questions he can and can’t answer.

"Logan," I start, choosing my words with precision. "Can you tell me about the people who bailed you out?"

He shakes his head. "I can’t discuss that."

"Okay," I nod, filing that away. "What about your job? Can you talk about your work with the Supernatural Enforcement Division?"

"Some aspects, yes," he says, sitting on the edge of the bed as he smiles at me. He’s already figured out what I’m doing. "But there are restrictions."

I pace the room, my mind racing. "Alright. Let’s try this: can you tell me about any supernatural factions in the city?"

Logan’s brows pull together, and he stays silent for a minute. "In general, yes. But I can’t discuss any specific involvement or knowledge I might have."

"Interesting," I mutter. "What about me? Can you talk about why people might be interested in me?"

His jaw clenches, a muscle ticking. "That’s... complicated."

I stop pacing, turning to face him fully. "Because of the Catalyst thing?"

Logan’s eyes widen fractionally. "I can’t say."

"But you know what it means," I press. "You just can’t tell me."

He doesn’t say anything.

I run a hand through my hair, tugging at the strands. "Okay, let me think. You can’t talk about who bailed you out, or why they’re interested in me. You can’t discuss anything related to ’Catalyst.’ Are there other topics that are off-limits?"

Logan hesitates, then nods slowly.

"Can you tell me what those topics are?"

He shakes his head.

I groan, flopping down onto the bed beside him. "This is like playing the world’s most frustrating game of Twenty Questions."

Logan’s hand finds mine, squeezing gently. "I’m sorry, Nicole. I wish I could tell you everything."

I turn my head to look at him, studying the lines of worry etched around his eyes. "Is it dangerous? This... whatever’s keeping you from talking?"

He doesn’t answer immediately, and that silence speaks volumes.

"What have you gotten yourself into?"

His eyes meet mine. "What I had to do."

I sit up, facing him fully as a suspicion glimmers. The first time he reacted strangely to my questions was after my hospitalization. There were rumors he paid for my care. I didn’t believe them, but now...

"To protect me?"

Logan’s silence is all the confirmation I need.

"Damn it, Logan," I breathe, torn between frustration and a warmth that spreads through my chest at his dedication. "I don’t need you to sacrifice yourself for me."

He cups my face in his hands, his touch achingly gentle, but he doesn’t say anything.

The intensity in his gaze steals my breath.

I lean forward, resting my forehead against his. "I’m going to figure this out," I promise. "Even if I have to play supernatural charades to get answers out of you."

A soft chuckle escapes him. "I’m sure you will."