Chapter 34: The Call
The quiet after he left was a living thing. It pressed in, different from the lonely quiet she knew. This one was full. Heavy with the echo of his voice, the memory of his weight on the mattress, the ghost of his hands.
Aurora stood in the center of her living room and took a slow breath.
Then she got to work.
First, the windows. She shoved them open, letting the crisp afternoon air rush in. It swept through the rooms, a cool river chasing away the thick, layered scent of sweat, slick, and pure alpha. The smell of him lingered the longest, a dark thread of leather and motor oil woven into the fabric of her home. It made her shiver. Part of her wanted to bottle it. She let the wind take it instead.
Next, the evidence. She stripped the bed, her face flaming as she bundled the sheets. They were stiff in places, marked. She carried them to the washer like a guilty secret, adding a double dose of detergent. The fuzzy blankets from the couch followed. She’d hidden her favorite porcelain figurines—a delicate fawn and a robin—on the high shelf in the closet. She brought them down now, dusting them carefully with the edge of her shirt before placing them back on the side table. Her space was returning to her.
But it didn’t feel like just her space anymore.
Her body ached in a deep, fundamental way. A pleasant soreness that reminded her with every step. She moved around the apartment, wiping surfaces, fluffing cushions, a strange energy buzzing under her skin. She needed to talk. She needed to pour this out or she’d float away.
She grabbed her phone and collapsed into the armchair, pulling a fresh blanket over her legs. She tapped Rina’s name.
It rang once. “You’re alive.” Rina’s voice was flat with faux annoyance. “I was two hours away from sending a search party. A very handsome, single-alpha search party.”
Aurora let out a breathy laugh, curling tighter. “I’m alive.”
“Details. Now. Do not skip a single thing. Start with the scent. I could smell him through the phone the other day. Like a damn forest fire.”
So she talked. Hesitant at first, then in a rushing, whispering torrent. The heat coming on like a tide. His arrival, all calm control. The way he’d made her eat. The documentary. She glossed over the most intimate details with a stammer, but Rina, being Rina, read between the lines.
“He knotted you.” It wasn’t a question.
Aurora was silent, her fingers twisting the blanket.
“Holy shit, Rory.” Rina’s voice was sharp with surprise. “On your first heat? That’s… intense. How was it?”
“Terrifying,” Aurora whispered. “And then… not. It was everything. I don’t have the words.”
“And he just left this morning? After it broke?”
“He made me breakfast. He fixed my toaster.” She heard the absurd wonder in her own voice.
Rina barked a laugh. “Romantic. So what’s the deal? Is he ghosting? Please tell me he’s not ghosting. I’ll have to track him down and key his car, and I just got my nails done.”
“He asked me on a date,” Aurora said quickly, the words still feeling unreal. “A real one. Dinner. Maybe a movie. He said ‘the boring stuff’.”
The line went so quiet Aurora thought they’d been disconnected.
“Rina?”
“I’m processing.” Another pause. “He saw you through your heat, knotted you, made you breakfast, and asked you out. On a date-date.”
“Yes.”
“And you said?”
“I said yes.”
“Okay.” Rina’s tone shifted, the teasing fading into something more analytical. “Okay. This is good. This is actually really good. But, Aurora… you know this is fast, right? Your biology is screaming at you to bond with this guy forever. His might be too, after a rut. Just… keep your head on. It’s just a date.”
“I know,” Aurora said, but the protest was weak. Her head felt anything but clear. Every cell in her body felt aligned toward him. “It’s on Friday.”
“Friday. Okay. What are you gonna wear?”
They talked for another hour, circling from wardrobe choices to restaurant possibilities, from the terrifying prospect of a movie theater (too dark, too close) to the simple safety of a walk. Rina made her laugh. She also made her think.
“You’re different,” Rina said finally, her voice softer. “Your voice is different. It’s not just the heat haze. You sound… settled.”
“I feel carved out,” Aurora admitted, looking at her clean, quiet apartment. “And then filled back up with something new.”
After the call, the buzzing energy was gone. In its place was a steady, warm glow. She finished her tasks, the laundry spinning, the floors clean. The scent of lavender and vanilla was re-establishing itself, but now it mingled with the crisp outdoor air and, faintly, beneath everything, with him.
As dusk painted the sky in purple streaks, she wandered back into her bedroom. The bare mattress looked stark. She’d need to remake it. On the floor, partly kicked under the bed, was a black t-shirt. His.
She picked it up. It was soft, worn thin in places. She brought it to her face and inhaled.
The forest fire. The leather and oil. The dark, comforting spice that was uniquely Rhys.
She didn’t put it in the wash. She folded it carefully, and placed it on her pillow.
Friday was two days away. It felt like a century and a heartbeat all at once. This wasn’t the desperate pull of her heat. This was slower, more anxious. A choice. He’d seen her utterly unraveled. Now he wanted to see her over dinner.
She turned off the lamps and stood in the dim living room, looking at the ordered space, the familiar shapes of her things. It was all the same. But she wasn’t. The quiet wasn’t lonely anymore. It was waiting.
She touched the place on her neck where his teeth had pressed, not breaking the skin, but claiming all the same. A promise. A question.
Just a date, she told herself.
But as she climbed into bed, pulling the covers over her and instinctively reaching for the folded shirt on the pillow, she knew it was a lie. It was everything.