Page 14 of Altius (The Scent of Victory #2)

“No—no, come back here.” Despite his best effort to sound forceful, Alijah’s demand was a far cry from an alpha’s bark. “We have things to discuss.”

“No, we don’t,” I said, rummaging through the island drawers.

“Silence and secrets might work for you Redmonds, but not for me!”

A monstrous yawn echoed throughout the first floor, followed by Joaquin’s raspy voice announcing, “Pack meeting. Now.”

Before I could reply that I wasn’t part of their pack, Owen cleared his throat, making my voice dry up.

“Fine.” My brother headed into the living room.

After tucking the pie safely in the fridge, I joined them.

As usual, Owen sat in the leather chair by the window. The mated couple was cuddled together in the far corner of the couch. Or, to put it more accurately, Joaquin was lovingly restraining Alijah.

I perched on the arm of the couch. “What’s the matter?”

“Oh, come on.” Alijah leaned forward, fighting against Joaquin’s gentle hold. “We can’t just not talk about Morgan’s pheromones and how squirrelly it’s made all of you for the past week.”

“All of us,” Joaquin said, running his hand along Alijah’s side.

“Yes— us —but Wyatt in particular.” Alijah narrowed his eyes at me. “Why are you being so helpful all of a sudden?”

“You already know the answer to that question,” Owen said. “Pheromone compatibility.”

Joaquin fixed me with a devilish leer. “Are they just compatible, though?”

“What do you mean?” Alijah looked between us in confusion.

“There’s a reason you never got over Morgan,” Joaquin said. Hitting too close to the truth. “It’s the same reason your pheromones went haywire. Right?”

“I’m fine now.”

“Fine doesn’t mean better, though—does it?” Alijah fidgeted with the leather cuff on Joaquin’s wrist. “You’re on a pretty high dose of blockers.”

“Answer honestly,” Owen said. “Do you have a pheromone disorder?”

“Yes,” I said, hoping that would satisfy him. It was technically the truth. Kind of. “Cal’s got me all sorted out.”

“Bullshit.” Joaquin leaned forward, flashing a toothy smile that highlighted the wicked intentions in his gaze.

He knew something. Something I wanted to keep hidden. But I didn’t have enough time to brace for impact.

“Cal can’t cure you. Only the legendary Miss Montreal can do that—because she’s your goddamn scent match.”

“Wyatt.” Even a monosyllabic word from Owen could suffocate you to death when he was in a foul mood. “Is she?”

I coughed, trying to fend off the acidic sting of his pheromones. They only became heavier, more unbearable.

“Stop it,” I wheezed.

Owen’s head tilted slightly to one side. He tapped his right pointer finger on the arm of the chair once. Twice…

Three times.

Fucking hell. He was furious. Which meant I was toast.

Removing his glasses, the unchecked dominance in his cold gaze was almost strong enough to knock me to the floor. All I could do was repeatedly slam my hand against the back of the couch to signal my surrender.

His pheromones retreated enough for me to breathe, but not enough to stop being a threat.

“Yes,” I forced out between ragged breaths. “She’s my scent match. And seeing her again threw me out of whack.”

Owen dug his nails into the arms of the leather chair, pheromones gathering strength once more—not to attack me, but rather to punish himself.

“Mate waning syndrome,” he said, voice hollow. “And I missed it.”

Alijah let out a horrified gasp. He struggled against Joaquin’s hold, breaking free this time, and hurried over to me. “Are you okay? What do you need? Is there anything we can do?”

“The only cure is for them to bond,” Joaquin said, stretching his arms along the back of the couch. His blasé attitude toward my condition was infuriating. “Which means we’re working on a deadline, boys. We’ve got to woo the good doctor before Wyatt croaks.”

Alijah chucked a throw pillow right at his mate’s face. “Don’t talk like that.”

“His word choice might be crude,” Owen said, “but it is accurate. Especially if Morgan is also afflicted.”

“See—see.” Alijah turned on Joaquin, pelting him with another pillow. “I told you she was sick!”

Joaquin grabbed the pillow, then threw it across the room. It landed at the bottom of the stairs. “Morgan’s pheromones are off, but that doesn’t mean she’s got waning syndrome, too.”

“He’s right, Alijah,” I said. “They need to study her levels a bit longer.”

Alijah exhaled and deflated onto the couch.

“The situation was already complicated enough, and now this…” He pulled his thighs against his chest, burying his face between his knees. A muffled voice demanded, “If anyone else is hiding anything, spit it out. I can only take so much.”

Joaquin and I both looked at Owen. He’d spent an hour holed up with Aunt Tabitha in her study yesterday, breaking one of her cardinal rules—no business talk on holidays.

His face remained impassive as he said in a cool, steady voice, “We were finalizing a PheroPass proposal for the gymnastics program. Our current data is skewed toward alphas because of the demographics of the football team.”

I nodded in understanding. “Gymnastics mirrors the general population. More than half are girls, and mostly betas.”

“Exactly,” Owen said, steepling his fingers together. “I didn’t want to say anything prematurely.”

“Okay. I can handle more PheroPass stuff.” Alijah leaned his head against the back of the couch and then turned to Joaquin with a worried expression. “Your turn.”

Joaquin’s brows shot up. “Me?”

“Yes, you. Show them the video, so we can figure out how to keep Morgan safe at work.”

“What the hell?” I snapped, glaring at the mated pair. “Maybe you should have led with that.”

Owen leaned forward in his chair. “Explain.”

Joaquin heaved a sigh and pulled out his phone. He played the video of Morgan tearing into an asshole of a football coach and his lackeys for us.

I’d never seen her filled with such righteous anger.

“See, you’re all overreacting,” he said, dropping his phone on the end table. “Doc’s pretty much got Garvey’s balls hanging from her stethoscope like a trophy.”

“He must have said something nasty,” I said. “Morgan doesn’t lose her cool like that.”

“There was some sexual stuff, which she ignored. But then Garvey said something was wrong with her brain, and well…” Joaquin gestured at his phone. “She let him have it.”

“Look, I know Morgan can take care of herself,” Alijah said, chewing on his thumbnail again, “but I’m going to start documenting when Garvey goes near her during games and practices. Having additional evidence can’t hurt.”

Owen nodded. “Agreed. And I’ll continue attending as many football games as my schedule allows.”

Football games. That triggered a memory—one of my signing bonuses.

“It’s a home game tomorrow, right?” I asked.

“Yeah, it might be their last game of the season,” Alijah said. “Why?”

“Because I’m tagging along.”

“You don’t know the first thing about football,” Owen chided.

I shrugged off my brother’s disapproval. “A little extra muscle never hurts.”