Pheromonal: One Night With the Alpha-Chapter 83: Rescue’s Here

Fifteen minutes and another seven percent of battery later, just as I’m contemplating whether it’s worth opening another snack, a sound breaks the silence. At first, it’s faint—a scraping, grinding noise that makes me sit up straighter. Then, clearer now, a voice.

"Hello? Is anyone in there?"

The voice is male, deep and authoritative. Relief floods through me.

"Yes!" I call back, scrambling to my feet. "I’m here! I’m stuck!"

"Ma’am, this is the fire department. We’re here to get you out. Are you alright?"

I guess the emergency call button worked after all.

"I’m fine," I reply, pressing closer to the elevator doors. "Just ready to get out of here."

"Understood, ma’am. We’re working on it now. It might take a few minutes, but we’ll have you out soon. Can you tell me your name?"

"Nicole," I say, then hesitate. Should I give my full name? But he’s a firefighter, right? It’s probably fine. "Nicole d’Armand."

"Alright, Nicole. I’m Jim. Just hang tight, okay? We’ll have you out in no time."

"Thank you!"

The scraping sounds resume. I pace the small space, careful not to trip over my grocery bags.

"Nicole?" Jim’s voice comes again. "We’re almost there. When the doors open, I want you to stay put until we give you the all-clear, okay? There might be a drop."

"Got it," I call back, eyeing the doors warily.

More grinding, a loud pop, and suddenly, a sliver of light appears between the elevator doors. It widens slowly, revealing a slice of the hallway beyond. I blink, my eyes struggling to adjust after so long in the dim light of my phone.

As the gap grows, I catch sight of a figure standing just outside. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in what looks like firefighter gear. But something feels... off. I can’t put my finger on it, but a prickle of unease runs down my spine.

"There we go," Jim says, his voice sounding different now that it’s not muffled by the doors. He peers into the elevator, his eyes locking onto mine. "You okay in there, Nicole?"

I nod, forcing a smile. "Yeah, I’m fine. Just ready to get out."

He grins, and my unease grows. He’s friendly and kind, from what I can tell. But for some reason, my skin prickles.

"Don’t worry," he says, reaching a hand towards me. "I’ll get you out of there."

I take an involuntary step back, my heel catching on a grocery bag. Stumbling, I catch myself on the elevator wall.

"Careful there," Jim says, his tone light but his eyes sharp. "Why don’t you come on out? It’s safe now."

Is it, though? Every instinct I have is screaming that something’s wrong. But what choice do I have? I’m trapped in here, and he’s my only way out.

I take a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart. Maybe I’m just being paranoid. After everything that’s happened lately, it’s no wonder I’m jumpy.

"Okay," I say, my voice steadier than I feel. "What about my groceries?"

Jim’s smile doesn’t waver. "Don’t worry about those. We’ll get them for you once you’re safe."

I nod, taking a tentative step forward. The gap between the elevator and the hallway floor isn’t as big as I feared, maybe a foot at most. I could easily step over it.

Jim extends his hand again. "Here, let me help you."

I take a deep breath, trying to shake off the irrational fear clawing at my insides. This is ridiculous. He’s a firefighter, for crying out loud. Here to help, not hurt. I’m just on edge after everything that’s happened lately.

"Okay," I say, forcing a smile. "Thanks."

I reach out and place my hand in Jim’s. His grip is firm, almost too tight, as he helps me step over the gap between the elevator and the hallway floor. My heart races, but I tell myself it’s just leftover adrenaline from being stuck.

"There we go," Jim says, his voice warm and reassuring. "You’re safe now."

As soon as my feet touch solid ground, relief washes over me. The hallway’s fluorescent lights seem impossibly bright after the darkness of the elevator, and I blink rapidly, trying to adjust.

See? He’s a good guy. A firefighter, here to help.

"How are you feeling?" Jim asks, his hand still holding mine. "Any dizziness? Nausea?"

I shake my head. "No, I’m fine. Really. Just a bit shaken up."

He nods, but still seems concerned. "That’s good, but we should still check you over. Sometimes injuries aren’t immediately apparent, especially after a stressful situation like this."

"Oh, that’s not necessary," I protest weakly. "I was just sitting in there. Not exactly an action movie scenario."

Jim chuckles. "Better safe than sorry. It’s procedure."

Before I can argue further, he gently turns me to face the wall. "I’m just going to check for any bumps or cuts on your head, okay? Sometimes people hit their heads without realizing it."

"Really, I’m fine," I insist, but I don’t resist. After all, he’s the professional here. And maybe a quick check will ease the nagging worry in the back of my mind.

I hear Jim shift behind me, and then his hands are on my head, fingers probing gently through my hair. It feels strange, invasive almost, but I try to relax. This is normal, right? Just standard procedure.

That’s when I smell it. A sharp, chemical odor that definitely doesn’t belong in a hallway or on a firefighter. It’s familiar, tickling at the edges of my memory, but before I can place it—

Something presses against my face. Wet fabric, reeking of that same chemical smell. My brain finally makes the connection—chloroform—just as the world starts to tilt.

And then I realize why everything’s weird.

He keeps saying "we". But he’s the only one here.

I try to scream, to fight, but my limbs feel impossibly heavy. The edges of my vision blur, darkness creeping in. My last coherent thought is a jumble of panic and disbelief.

This can’t be happening.

Then, nothing.