LOVING MY DAD'S ALPHA BEST FRIEND

4

Charles doesn't need to finish the thought. The unspoken possibility of Larry not pulling through hangs heavy in the air between us. I swallow thickly past the lump forming in my throat.

"We can't leave him," I blurt out, my voice trembling slightly. "We have to stay until he's okay."

Charles gives me an appraising look, holding my gaze intently. "You're damn right we can't leave him," he says, a hard edge creeping into his tone. "Not with that...thing still out there."

A shiver runs through me at the steely resolve in his words. I can't even begin to imagine how it felt for them to be attacked by that nightmare beast, having to fight for their lives like that. The fact that Charles isn't a blubbering mess of PTSD right now just shows what an incredibly strong man he is.

And I know in the core of my being that I absolutely cannot leave his side, no matter how torturous it may be to be around him constantly with my raging, forbidden desires. He's already thrown himself into protector mode watching over me. If anything, I need to be the strong, supportive one for him right now.

With a resolute look, I lean forward and place my hand atop his where it rests on the couch between us. "Then we'll get a place to stay in town until this is figured out," I declare firmly. "No arguments."

The muscle in Charles's chiseled jaw twitches almost imperceptibly as his gaze drops to where I'm touching him. He looks back up at me through those impossibly long lashes, green eyes burning with some indecipherable emotion.

Is it just my hormones going haywire again, or does he suddenly look at me with a trace of that same intensity and longing that I constantly battle when it comes to him?

"All right, kiddo," he rumbles in a low tone, not pulling his hand away from mine. "Whatever you think is best."

Those three simple words instantly have me flushing scarlet. Did he really just put the decision in my hands so deferentially? I mentally kick myself for reading too much into things, forcing my mind away from any dirty assumptions.

Before I can stammer out a reply, Charles clears his throat and gently pulls his hand back, rising to his feet in one smooth motion. "But first, you need to clean up." His eyes slowly rake over my disheveled, bloodied appearance in a way that makes my heart skip a beat. "You can't go waltzing around looking like you just crawled out of a slaughter-house."

My face flames even hotter at being scrutinized under his smoldering gaze like that. "R-right, yeah," I mutter, averting my eyes as I twist my fingers into the hem of my tank top anxiously.

"There's a private bathroom down that hallway," Charles says in a gentler tone, nodding towards the corridor behind me. "Get yourself freshened up while I go make some calls and arrangements for us."

"Okay," I mumble, scrambling up from the couch, eager to put some distance between us before I completely combust from the heated tension suddenly crackling in the air.

As I hurry down the hallway, away from his penetrating stare, I catch my reflection in a window and grimace. My once carefully done hair and makeup is a total disaster area, strands askew and mascara smeared everywhere from crying. And the splatters of Larry's blood coating my top and shorts are truly horrific.

With shaking hands, I peel off the ruined clothes and step into the small bathroom in just my bra and panties. Gripping the edges of the sink, I try to steady my ragged breathing as I stare at my reflection again.

Those vivid flashes of the massive, wolf-like beast tear through my mind - the glint of razor fangs, those murderous amber eyes, thick fur rippling over bulging muscle as it charged...

A choked sob escapes my lips. How could something so terrifying, so nightmarish exist? And it very nearly killed the three of us. Poor Larry may never wake up again if his condition worsens.

Silent tears roll down my cheeks as the trauma catches up to me all over again. I know it's silly, weak behavior at my age to be crying like this. But I've never felt so scared and threatened in my entire life. It was such a harrowing, overwhelming experience.

And through it all, Charles stayed so calm and in control, protecting me every step of the way. At the first sign of the monster, he immediately shielded me behind him without hesitation, yelling for me to run while they tried to fend it off. He got me to safety and diffused the tense situation in the aftermath while I could barely put two coherent thoughts together.

I roughly wipe the tears away, ignoring the sting of smeared makeup in my eyes. I don't know what's going to happen next or what other unbelievable dangers may be in store. But I have to pull myself together if I'm going to be as strong and supportive for Charles as he's already been for me. He shouldn't have to constantly worry about my emotional state on top of everything else.

Sucking in a fortifying breath, I quickly strip the rest of the way and step into the shower stall. The hot spray pounds over my lithe frame and I let the soothing rhythm work its magic, gradually centering myself again under the steam. My racing thoughts settle and I'm able to put my mental walls back up, shoving away the lingering terror and doubts to focus.

By the time I step out and start toweling off, I've compartmentalized the trauma enough to keep shoving forward. There's a tiny bathroom basket with miniature shampoos and whatnot, so I give my hair a quick rinse before wrapping up in a thin towel.

Grabbing my filthy clothes in a ball, I crack open the door and quickly peek my head out. The hallway is thankfully empty for the moment. I scurry across towards the vending area, damp hair leaving trails on my upper back as I scoop up a couple cheap tops and bottoms to purchase.

As I tug on the oversized t-shirt and baggy sweatpants, I try to refocus and psych myself up. No more weepy damsel-in-distress antics, Cassie. From here on out, you need to be a rock for Charles as he tries to sort this mess out. No incessant girlish lust, no weak-willed breakdowns. Just steady, calming support.

With my chin set in determination, I head back towards the waiting area, bunching my damp hair up into a hasty knot. Charles is already there, his body turned slightly away as he hisses something tense into his cell phone. As I approach, he lifts his head and does an almost imperceptible double take when his eyes land on me.

"...Look, just get it done. And be discreet, you hear me?" Charles growls in a low tone, jaw working tensely, before finally ending the call.

"Everything okay?" I ask once he puts the phone away, giving him a timid once-over. His white dress shirt hangs open to reveal a snug undershirt stretched over that broad, muscular frame. A ghost of a bruise darkens his sharp cheekbone and there are a few fresh cuts on his face from the earlier struggle.

The fact that he looks like he just went a few rounds but came out as the clear alpha only fuels the rekindled flutter low in my belly.

"We've got a place to stay," Charles says in a gruff rumble, holding my gaze with those piercing eyes. Something steely and primal flickers across his expression for a split second as he openly rakes his gaze over my damp, towel-dried look before snapping his eyes back to mine. "A friend's little cabin on the outskirts of town."

I blink dumbly for a moment, momentarily dazed by the naked yearning in his look. "O-Oh...yeah, that sounds...uh...good."

Did he just blatantly check me out in this ratty old outfit? No, that can't be right. I must be reading too much into things again, as usual. My deprived, thirsty mind is probably just playing tricks on me.

Charles grabs his leather jacket off the chair and steps closer to me, that intense charisma and raw masculinity radiating off him so strongly I nearly get light-headed.

"Come on," he murmurs, reaching out to lightly grip my elbow in a way that has delicious tingles shooting up my arm. "I know I am your dad's best friend, but that doesn't mean I can't have feelings for you."