Pheromonal: One Night With the Alpha novel Chapter 82

Chapter 82: Home Safe

Slamming my car door shut with a satisfying thunk, I take a moment to breathe a long, long sigh of relief. I’m home. I’m safe. No car accidents. No near-death experiences. One creepy encounter with a vampire. That’s it.

Of course, there’s the whole Penelope-might-become-a-vampire revelation, but my mind is shying hard from that thought process. I am not emotionally equipped to handle it right now.

Anyway. It’s absurd to feel so relieved over the completion of a simple grocery run. What’s next; a medal for successfully riding an elevator upstairs?

My thoughts make me laugh, so at least my humor button still works.

I pop the trunk and survey the bags inside. The thought of making two trips is about as appealing as getting a root canal, so I start grabbing handles left and right. Soon, I’m laden with what feels like half the store’s inventory.

I’ve faced down supernatural threats. I’m pretty sure I can handle a few measly groceries.

Plastic digs into my palms as I waddle towards the building entrance. The bags swing wildly, threatening to spill their contents across the parking lot. I’m pretty sure I look like a deranged octopus, but dignity be damned. I’m getting this done in one go if it kills me.

Which, given my luck lately, isn’t entirely out of the question.

I manage to fumble my key fob out without dropping anything. The lobby door beeps open, and I make my way inside, maneuvering my horde of bags so I don’t scrape them against the doorway.

The lobby is quiet, which isn’t abnormal around here, and I lean down awkwardly to jab at the elevator button with my most convenient finger—and the weakest. My pinky.

But I manage it after two tries.

All the plastic handles are digging into my hands and arms, threatening to slice them off, and I jiggle my feet impatiently as I wait. There’s only one elevator, and of course it was at the very top floor.

When the elevator doors open, I dash in, pushing my floor’s button with my elbow. It takes a little maneuvering, but I manage that, too, without dropping a single bag.

A few floors up, the elevator lurches to a halt, and my stomach does a nauseating flip.

I stagger against the weight I’m carrying and my new lack of balance, until I finally manage to find equilibrium. Of course, the lights flicker out, leaving me effectively blind.

Once I regain my footing, I stare into the darkness and sigh.

"Of fucking course," I mutter, my voice echoing in the confined space.

Something crunches as I set the grocery bags down as carefully as I can manage. Great. There go the chips. Or maybe the eggs. Who knows. At this point, I’m really beyond caring.

I fumble for my phone, nearly dropping it in my haste. The screen’s glow is almost blinding, and I squint as I swipe to the flashlight app.

A beam of light cuts through the darkness, revealing the elevator’s bland interior. Nothing’s changed, except now it feels infinitely smaller and more claustrophobic.

I locate the emergency call button and press it. Nothing happens. No ring, no voice, no reassuring "help is on the way." Just silence.

Is that normal? Or is it broken?

"Fantastic."

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