Pheromonal: One Night With the Alpha-Chapter 98: Freedom?

My feet pound against the last flight of stairs. Each step sends a burst of pain through my legs, but I can’t slow down. Not with the building threatening to crush us both.

Princess Paws lets out another pitiful cry from her box. My arms ache from clutching her so tightly, but I won’t risk dropping her again.

The exit sign glows like a beacon, and I burst through the stairwell door into what must be the main lobby. Tall windows stretch from floor to ceiling, revealing a gray morning beyond. Freedom lies just yards away.

A deep groan reverberates through the walls, like the death rattle of some massive beast.

"Almost there, baby." My voice is reedy with panic, even as I try to soothe my kitten.

I sprint toward the glass doors. Twenty feet. Fifteen. Ten.

The ceiling gives a horrendous crack. My stomach drops as I look up. Spiderwebs of fissures race across the concrete above, spreading faster than I can run.

A massive chunk of ceiling breaks free. I dive forward, but not fast enough. The impact throws me sideways. My shoulder slams into one of the floor-to-ceiling windows. The box flies from my grip.

"No!" The scream rips from my throat.

Princess Paws tumbles out, skidding across the marble floor. Her frightened yowl pierces through the thunderous rumbling.

I lunge for her, but another section of ceiling crashes down between us. The impact shatters tiles, sending shards of marble flying. One slices across my cheek.

Dust billows up in thick clouds, choking out what little light filters through the windows. I can’t see. Can’t breathe. Can only cough, desperate for oxygen.

Princess Paws wheezes, her tiny body likely wracked with coughs that mirror my own. The sound tears at my heart.

"Princess!" My voice breaks on her name.

The window at my back vibrates with each new impact. Debris rains down, hemming me in. A steel beam crashes nearby, boxing me against the glass.

Princess Paws cries again, the sound muffled by falling concrete and twisted metal. Her coughing grows worse. Each weak sound stabs through me like a knife.

I press against the window, trapped between cold glass and the mountain of rubble. Dust coats my throat, burns my eyes. I try to call out again but double over, covering my face as best as I can, trying to give myself a barrier from the debris coating the air.

The building screams. A sound like thunder fills my ears as floor after floor pancakes down.

* * *

The silence that falls is so abrupt, it’s like the world ended.

No more crashes. No more screams of twisting metal. No Princess Paws.

My throat burns as I cough, each spasm sending daggers through my chest. The air tastes like concrete and metal, coating my tongue with grit. I can’t even see my fingers when I wave them in front of my face.

A high-pitched whine fills my head, making it hard to focus. My ears feel stuffed with cotton, pressure building behind them until my temples throb. The dust tickles my nose, threatening another coughing fit.

"Princess?" The word comes out as a croak, barely audible over the ringing in my ears.

I press my palm against the window at my back, using it to orient myself in the darkness. The glass vibrates with tiny aftershocks, or maybe that’s just my trembling hand. Sweat and dust mix on my skin, creating a gritty paste that makes my clothes cling uncomfortably.

Another cough racks my body. I pull my shirt collar over my nose, but it’s already coated in debris.

The pressure in my ears builds until I have to swallow repeatedly to relieve it. Each attempt sends more dust down my throat. My sinuses feel packed with cement.

I blink rapidly, but it doesn’t help clear my vision. Everything’s just kind of gray and golden, a complete haze, with occasional sparks that I’m not sure are real or just my oxygen-starved brain playing tricks on me. The ringing in my ears drowns out everything else, leaving me in a muffled bubble of white noise.

Something shifts above me with an ominous creak. I need to move. Now.

My hands shake as I press them against the rough surface behind me. The window. Focus on the window. That’s my reference point.

I slide my right foot forward, toe first, testing. Debris crunches under my sneaker. Another step. Something sharp bites into my palm as I brace against what feels like a chunk of wall. Blood wells, warm and sticky.

"Shit." The curse triggers another coughing fit. My lungs burn as I hack up more dust.

Can’t stay still. Keep moving. I shuffle forward on my knees, keeping low where the air feels slightly clearer. My head bumps something solid. A beam? My fingers trace its edge, confirming my guess.

The space is tight. Four feet, maybe less. I can’t straighten up without hitting the debris above. My thighs burn from the awkward crouch as I continue mapping my prison.

Something crunches under my knee. I hiss as it slices through my pants. The cut stings, but I keep going. Three feet forward. Turn right. Two more feet. Another turn.

My foot catches on something. I stumble, hands shooting out to catch myself. Fresh cuts sting my palms as they scrape against rough concrete. My fingers close around what tripped me—a chunk of rock or something about the size of my fist.

The window. If I can break it...

I grip the rock tight, ignoring how its edges dig into my cuts. One strike. Two. Three. The glass vibrates but holds.

"Come on!" My shout dissolves into wet coughs that leave me gasping.

The dust is getting thicker. Or maybe that’s just panic making it harder to breathe. My chest heaves as I try to suck in air that feels more solid than gas.

Another strike at the window. Nothing. Safety glass. Of course it’s fucking safety glass.

I slump against the wall, still clutching the rock. My throat feels like I’ve swallowed ground glass. Each breath rasps painfully. Black spots dance at the edges of my vision—or maybe that’s just darkness. Hard to tell.

More debris shifts overhead with a grinding sound that vibrates through my bones. A fresh wave of dust rains down. I pull my shirt over my nose again, but it’s useless. I can’t stop coughing. Can’t get enough air.

Is this how it ends? Choking to death on pulverized building while trapped in a four-by-four box? The thought sends a fresh surge of panic through my chest, making my next breath even more desperate.

Just as my panic is about to take over, a weak sound cuts through the ringing in my ears. My heart skips.

"Princess?" The word comes out as a desperate wheeze.

Another mew, closer this time, followed by tiny sneezes. The sound pulls me forward like a lifeline. I crawl toward it, ignoring whatever’s digging into my palms and knees.

"Keep talking to me, baby. Where are you?"

A series of rapid-fire sneezes answers me, punctuated by a plaintive cry. My throat tightens.

My fingers brush something soft. Fur. I trace the shape until I find her head. She pushes into my palm with a rusty purr that dissolves into more sneezing.

"Shhh, I’ve got you." I scoop her up, cradling her against my chest. Her tiny heart hammers against my fingers, but she’s whole. No wet spots, no obvious injuries. Just dust-caked fur and congested breathing that mirrors my own.

She squirms, trying to climb my shirt. Her claws prick through the fabric as she scales me like a furry little mountaineer until she reaches her favorite perch on my shoulder. Her whiskers tickle my ear as she hunkers down, pressed tight against my neck.

"Good girl." My voice cracks. "Smart girl."