Chapter 21: A Call to Rina
The front door clicked shut.
Aurora stood frozen for half a second, the towel her only armor.Then she moved, a frantic scramble of bare feet on wood floor. She darted back into her bedroom and the smell hit her anew—spiced alpha, her own sweet slick, the raw, musky truth of it. It choked her, made her head swim with a dizzying cocktail of aftermath and need.She lunged for the window, shoving it open. Cold, clean air rushed in, scattering the pages of a journal on her desk.
Her phone was buried under a pile of discarded clothes.She dug for it, fingers trembling, the screen blinding in the dim room.
Rina picked up on the second ring.“Aurora?Jesus, where have you been? I’ve been texting for two days.I was about to send a search party. What’s wrong? What happened?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” Aurora breathed, sinking onto the edge of the bed.The sheets were cool now.“Everything’s… I don’t know. He’s here.”
A beat of silence.“The alpha. From the site.”
“Yes.”
“And?Is he… are you okay?You sound winded.”
“I’m okay. I’m more than okay. That’s the problem.” The words spilled out in a hushed, desperate torrent. “Rina, it was… my heat, it was so much, and he was just… he was so there.He never… he wasn’t rough. Even when I couldn’t think, when I was just this animal asking for it, he was gentle. He made me eat. He held a glass of water to my lips.” She let out a shaky laugh. “He’s downstairs right now getting tools from his truck because my kitchen faucet drips.”
“He’s… fixing your faucet.”
“Yes!”
Another pause. Aurora could hear the low hum of Rina’s office in the background.“Okay, okay. Slow down.You’re post-heat, your hormones are doing the cha-cha. You’re vulnerable. It’s natural to feel… attached.”
“It’s not just that,” Aurora whispered, pressing a hand to her stomach. She still felt tender, full in a way that had nothing to do with food.A pleasant, haunting ache.“He saw me. Not just the heat-me.He saw me panicking.He saw my stupid ceramic owl. He told me he wasn’t leaving. Today.”
“Did he now.” Rina’s voice shifted, the protective edge softening into something contemplative.“And what does your gut say? Not your omega instincts.You.”
Aurora looked around the room. The open window was diluting the scent, making it a memory instead of a blanket.Her breathing steadied. “My gut says he’s honest.He told me he got cheated on. He told me he was just here for sex. He’s not pretending.”
“Hmm.” A soft clack of a keyboard.“A fixer, huh?Literally and figuratively. Sounds like a classic alpha provider trait. Not the worst thing in the world.”
“But I’m not a thing to be fixed,” Aurora said, a rare flash of defiance tinting her words.
“No, you’re not.But letting someone steady the shelf while you find your footing isn’t weakness, Rory. It’s… practical.” Rina sighed, fondly. “So he’s fixing the faucet.Then what?”
“He said we’d order pizza. Or something.”
A low chuckle came through the phone.“Real romantic.I like him.He’s not blowing smoke. He’s… doing.Be careful, but… let him do. See what he does next.”
From downstairs, a heavy, purposeful footfall echoed in the hall. The front door opened and closed.A metallic toolbox thudded gently on the tile.Her heart lurched. “He’s back inside.”
“Go,” Rina said, her voice warm. “Put on some actual clothes.See if the man knows his way around a washer seal.And call me tomorrow. I want a full review of both the plumbing and the pizza.”
Aurora managed a quiet, “Okay.Thanks, Rina.”
She ended the call. The silence of the room was different now—not empty, but expectant. From the direction of the kitchen came the distinct sound of water being turned off at the valve, a low grunt of effort, the clank of a wrench.She stood, letting the towel fall.The cool air raised goosebumps on her skin. She pulled on soft cotton underwear, a simple pair of lavender leggings, and an oversized sweatshirt that swallowed her hands.She didn’t look at the rumpled bed. She braided her damp hair over one shoulder, the action methodical, calming.
Taking a deep breath, she inhaled the new air mix: cold window breeze, faded lavender from a candle on her dresser, and now, subtly, the clean, dry scent of metal and soap wafting up from below.
He was in her home.Working.
She padded out of the room and down the hall, her steps silent on the rug.She paused at the entrance to the kitchen.
Rhys was on his knees under the sink, his broad shoulders straining the fabric of his t-shirt. The toolbox sat open beside him, organized chaos of polished steel. He had a small flashlight clamped in his teeth, its beam illuminating the pipes.His focus was absolute, brows knit in concentration.He removed the flashlight. “Found your problem,” he said, his voice slightly muffled by the cabinet.“Corroded washer. It’s basically dust. Good news is, I had one in my truck that’ll fit.”
He hadn’t even looked up.He’d known she was there.
Aurora leaned against the doorframe, watching the powerful shift of his back muscles as he worked. A strange, profound calm settled over her.This was real.This was a thing she could understand.A dripping faucet. A man fixing it.“Can I help?” she asked softly.
He slid out, sitting up on the floor.His eyes found hers, taking in her changed clothes, her braid. A faint, appreciative glint passed through them.“Yeah.Hand me the blue-handled screwdriver. The little one.”
She knelt, the cool tile seeping through her leggings. The space under the sink felt intimate, domestic. She picked up the tool, its metal warm from his toolbox, and placed it in his outstretched palm.Their fingers brushed.
“Thanks,” he said, holding her gaze for a moment longer than necessary before turning back to the pipes.
She stayed there, kneeling on her kitchen floor, watching his capable hands make order out of decay, and waited for whatever came next.