Page 40 of Puck Your Friend

Present Day….

I still think about that night all the time. It’s a core memory, one I’ll never let go of. I fell for her then, and I fell hard.

Frankie drags her feet toward the island, hesitating at the stool near Logan.Ford moves first. He grabs a mug and pours hera cup from the still-steaming carafe. He adds syrup and cream without asking. Sets it in front of her without a word.

She takes it. “Oh, thank you.”Her voice scrapes like she hasn’t slept in days. It makes the hairs on the back of my neck prickle with alarm.

She shifts her grip on the mug and tries to set her phone down beside her. It misses the counter and slips off the edge, landing hard on the tile.

“Crap.” She crouches to grab it.

She isn’t even upright yet when her hand flies to her face. Her posture stiffens. Slowly, she rises with her fingers pressed to her nose.

My eyes widen as a line of blood slides from one nostril, past her fingers, and drips to the floor. She looks as shocked as I feel, then my brain kicks back into gear.

“Frankie!” I push off the counter and reach the paper towels in two strides. I tear one free and cross the room, crouching in front of her.

She blinks and lowers herself onto the stool, moving like her body isn’t sure what to do next. Logan reaches out to brace her so she doesn’t fall. She tries to move her head back, and I shake mine.

“Don’t tilt back. That just makes it worse.” I press the towel to her nose. My other hand settles under her chin; her skin’s too cool under my fingers, and it sets off every alarm I have.

Her icy cold fingers tremble as they meet mine. I’m shocked they aren’t blue.

I hold her there, watching her chest rise slowly, as if she’ll stop breathing any second. She nods once. I continue to use firm pressure, but I’m mindful not to hurt her.

The shift in the air catches me. Faint, but unmistakable.The scent hits in a way that throws me back to that day at the lake.

She’s not supposed to have a scent as a Beta. That’s their thing. A bland scent, no heat, no hormonal haze that hits Alphas in the chest and makes it hard to think.

I glance up. Logan’s still. Wes stares. Ford grips the counter hard enough that he just might break a chunk off.

They smell it, too.

Her hand lifts to take the paper towel from mine. It’s not easy, but I let her go, not wanting to make her uncomfortable. I stand and stare at her with a frown.

She barely meets my gaze, then looks away. “Thank you. I’m fine, stop worrying. I can see it on your faces.”

Frankie pulls the towel away and blots, revealing a rust-colored smudge across the paper.

Ford says nothing. His eyes stay fixed on her face, watching, like he’s trying to gauge if she’s about to fall over again.

Wes leaves his cooking and comes over. “You sure you’re alright?”

She nods, her eyes locked on the coffee.

I settle back against the counter, trying to steady myself while my thoughts tangle too fast to follow.

Her badge yesterday said “Beta”; she smelled like one, too. But now, with her this close, something about it doesn’t sit right. It’s like there’s more under the surface, something we’re missing.

Could she be presenting late as an Omega? No. That doesn’t explain the way she smelled at the lake. If she was late-presenting, that would’ve never happened. Something isn’t adding up here, and I don’t know what it is.

I don’t know what’s happening to her.

But I know one thing.

She sure as shit doesn’t smell like a Beta.

Chapter 9