Obsidian Heat

Chapter Three

Isme asked a few questions about alphas and omegas, but not as many as Jonah would have expected. Jonah told him he was a fox shifter, but he didn't shift all the time. Isme barely even reacted to that, other than to comment with a frown that he'd figured Jonah would have been a bear, which made Jonah chuckle.

Perhaps he was still processing. He wore his emotions on his face but Jonah still couldn't read him well; staring wasn't helping in that regard. After they finished off breakfast and said their goodbyes, Jonah returned to his office, chatted with Bevi and pointedly ignored her gossip about the detective's personal visit, and returned to his private office to shut the door and think. Maybe sulk, a little, too. Work passed by in a blur. Barely anything got his full attention.

By the end of the work day he was still out of his mind. He didn't know what to make of the strange alpha and he couldn't stop thinking about him. He had an overwhelming urge to check on him to make sure he was okay, an urge which he didn't understand in the slightest. He was keeping up with his medications; close contact with an alpha shouldn't affect him so much. Isme had been worried about hurting omegas, but Jonah was just as worried about Isme hurting himself. But he had no business worrying that way about an alpha he'd just met.

The week went by at a crawl as he threw himself into work. He had no further visits from Isme and he was more weirded out by that than anything else. He kept staring at his phone as if daring him to call. Isme had seemed so compelled by the smell thing that Jonah wasn't sure how he could resist it. But he seemed equally terrified of it, so maybe not so confusing. Good riddance, at any rate. He had no use for a confused alpha who acted nothing like an alpha. Even if that alpha needed his protection.

Friday came and went and he gratefully found himself at his local bowling alley, his one nod to normal social interaction, even if it was with humans who only knew his surface level details. They never got too deep, and chatter was always about the game. Just enough to ease the loneliness that clung to him like a cloak. It turned out he had a talent for bowling, too. After a couple of years of average scores, he'd really gotten the hang of it.

Emerald Lanes was lit up tonight, the usual cadre of cars parked out front. Some teens were having a party there. He strolled in, had a beer and some cheese fries, and said his usual greetings to the crew. Balls struck wood as they rolled and clattered toward pins, and he settled in, determined to forget all about work and Detective Isme Gallagher for one damned night.

He was scoring high, nearing the end of his round, when he turned, his face warm with the biggest smile he'd worn all week. The smile faltered, then, as he saw who was watching him, drinking a beer at the bar in the back. His haunted hazel eyes were framed by his gaunt face. He looked tiny, sitting there, all five feet four of him, and he hadn't shaved in a few days. He wore sweats and a T-shirt that were wearing him. It should have creeped Jonah out. He had a stalker who could smell him wherever he went. But it didn't. Instead his eyes narrowed and irritation crackled in his chest.

He had all week. All week to find him. And now he came here, the one place Jonah had to be himself, to be alone, his escape from work and creature shit? Fuck him. Seriously, fuck him. He put a hand on Harold's polo shirt clad shoulder and said, "I'm done for the night. I need some air."

"But you're just getting started." Harold's laugh lines crinkled at the corners of his eyes. His smile faded as he noticed who Jonah was watching. "Oh. Boy trouble?"

Jonah snarled. "No."

"Sorry I asked," Harold said. "Just don't break anyone's heart, because you sound like you're spoiling for a fight."

"Good night, Harold," said Jonah, forcing equanimity into his voice. His buddy nodded at him and shrugged, turning back to the lane.

His teammates waved at him and he stalked away from the bowling alley into the parking lot, stuffing his hands in his trenchcoat pockets as he pounded the pavement back to his truck. That alpha was fast, faster than he looked. He was leaning casually against the driver's side door of Jonah's Ford Explorer, not looking smug, just... timid. Eyes dancing everywhere but at Jonah, shifting on his feet. A timid alpha. Fuck's sake. Anger turned into fury as Jonah pulled his pistol and pressed the barrel to the left temple of Isme's pale face. He didn't even flinch, and that made Jonah's nostrils flare.