Page 15 of Altius (The Scent of Victory #2)

Nine

Morgan

M y Saturday morning pre-game preparations went off without a hitch. I worked out, showered, dressed warmly, ate oatmeal with blueberries for breakfast, took my pills, and double-checked my work bag.

The only necessary addition was the travel bottle of scent-canceling spray Wyatt had given me for my birthday.

I also tossed in an extra scarf and gloves in case Alijah forgot his again.

After bidding farewell to the cats, I opened the front door, only to find all four affiliates of Pack Redmond in the hallway.

A surprise that paled in comparison to the fact Wyatt was wearing jeans. Not baggy shorts or sweatpants. Actual pants. With a zipper.

“Good morning!” Alijah’s tone and smile were too bright for such an early hour. At least he was wearing proper winter accessories. “Guess what? We’re carpooling.”

Owen straightened his glasses, wearing head-to-toe black winter gear. “It’s more efficient.”

“Hope you don’t mind,” Wyatt said, although it wasn’t a question.

If Dr. Sethi caught wind of us traveling together, she might be tempted to make a fuss—and she was welcome to try. So long as Wyatt safely delivered me to work, she had no right to complain or police his passengers.

I shot a glance at Joaquin as we headed toward the elevator.

He shuffled along in threadbare flannel pajama pants and a leather jacket, practically glued to Alijah’s side, but I figured he was just seeing us off.

The preppy and well-pressed Alijah would never let his mate go out in public like that.

Despite seeming like a sleepwalker, Joaquin still pressed the call button and held the elevator door for everyone.

“Go Narwhals.” He yawned. “Text me, babe.”

“I will.” Alijah placed a hand on Joaquin’s shoulder, using it as an anchor to pop up for a quick kiss goodbye. “Now go back to bed.”

Joaquin nodded. As the door slid shut, he tilted his head to the side, opening his eyes just wide enough to stun me with their wolfish intensity. “Looking good, doc.”

Ignore him, I told myself. Ignore all of them. Focus on the game.

Easier said than done, with Alijah asking question after question about my family’s Thanksgiving and Wyatt opening every door between the elevator and Owen’s metallic red hybrid SUV for me, including the one to the front passenger seat.

I was about to protest, thinking Owen should sit up front, but the head alpha solved the problem by taking the driver’s seat—as if he would ever let anyone else drive his car.

Alijah ran out of questions as we drove over the bridge, allowing me to enjoy a moment of silence and the sweeping views of downtown glittering in the sunlight. The momentary reprieve allowed my own curiosity to creep forward.

If Wyatt didn’t need to drive, why was he tagging along?

I glanced over my shoulder, giving his outfit a critical once-over. Green knit hat, matching scarf, Northport sweatshirt, and a puffer jacket with gloves hanging out of the pocket. Dressed for the elements. Not a morning in the gym.

“You don’t have practice?”

“Not today,” he said, failing to tamp down the mischief in his blue eyes.

Alijah leaned forward, hands resting on either side of my seat, fingertips grazing my shoulders. “Are you going to attend gymnastics practices like you do football?” he asked. “Or just go to meets?”

“Only the women’s home meets, but Dr. Flemming might have me drop in on a few practices so I can get to know the girls.”

“What about football playoffs?”

“You’re stuck with me until the Narwhals lose.”

A quick smile of reassurance over my shoulder did the trick. The pinched crease between his brows faded away.

“Reyhan and I might even be allowed to travel with the team for a game or two if they make it to the playoffs.”

“That’s a big if. The defensive line is in terrible shape.” Alijah rested his chin on the back of my seat. “Were there a lot of injuries during their last game or something?”

I glanced at Owen, who seemed focused on driving. The subtle flex of his fingers on the wheel indicated he was paying careful attention to our conversation, which a covert sideways glance in my direction confirmed.

Unprepared to find me watching him, Owen shifted his gaze back toward the road. He reapplied his hands at the proper driving position—ten and two—and gripped the wheel tightly.

It appeared I was getting better at peering through his facade, because it was obvious he was worried about what I might say to his most sensitive packmate.

“Not during the game,” I said tactfully. “More like wrong place at the wrong time during practice.”

The pheromone bombing was strictly confidential, with an added layer of protection by my NDA with Redwing. Alijah didn’t have the appropriate clearance. Even if I could tell him, I probably wouldn’t, if only to spare him unnecessary worry.

Given the reaction of university athletics thus far, it would stay a dirty secret. They wouldn’t talk about it publicly even if they could.

Between a swipe of my ID badge at security and the vendor parking sticker on Owen’s windshield, we secured a decent spot in the staff parking lot. I was already out of the car and walking toward the stadium when Wyatt caught up to me, dangling a guest pass in front of my face.

“Look what I got as a signing bonus. Sideline access for today’s game.”

I gave him a flat stare over the rims of my sunglasses. “Congratulations.”

“Oh, come on!” He rushed two steps ahead, cutting me off and pouting like an idiot. A very handsome idiot. “You couldn’t have figured it out.”

Pausing, I adjusted the strap of my bag, shifting my weight to one foot.

“If you were planning to drop us off, Wyatt, we’d have taken your car and skipped going through security.

Furthermore,” I said, looking down, letting myself savor the flex of his muscled thighs within their temporary denim casing, “you’re wearing pants.

That set off alarm bells the second I opened my front door. ”

With a burst of laughter, Alijah bumped into my side. “Oh, she got you. Guess you really are old friends.”

“Indeed,” Owen murmured as he briskly walked past.

I tried to match his pace, putting several feet between us and the other two.

“It was supposed to be a surprise,” Wyatt grumbled, hurrying to catch up, head down, hands shoved in his coat pockets.

“I’m not sure we should let such a sulky baby hang out with us,” Alijah said, hooking a finger around the strap of my bag and giving it a playful tug. “Should we park him with Owen at the PheroPass tent—or maybe they need another water boy?”

Wyatt pressed closer until our shoulders brushed together with every step. “Not funny.”

“Gentlemen.”

Owen stopped shy of the bronze narwhal statue, a visual reminder that the staff entrance was only a few yards away—which meant a sharp uptick in surveillance.

“To my side, please.” His command left them with no choice but to obey. “Let her focus.”

The usually inscrutable gray of his eyes warmed ever so slightly, allowing a flicker of appreciation to break through—and maybe, just maybe, a hint of approval, too.

***

Whistles pierced through the crowd noise, followed by an eruption of yellow flags. A personal foul on Knox Aarvold—a Garvey acolyte—resulted in a first down for Garroway Forest.

“What the hell are you doing?” Coach Garvey bellowed at Knox, who was too amped up to listen, already running back to center field. “Stop trying to show off. Stay in position and block , goddamn it— block !”

His unchecked anger prompted me to move further away from the bench, where I’d just finished clearing a player to return to the field after a hard hit.

Whatever possessed the defensive line to charge around like enraged bulls for the entire first quarter had nothing to do with me, so long as they didn’t get hurt.

The whole team was on edge—staff, players, and everyone in between—not only because the Narwhals were losing.

Something was off.

“Hey.” Cal cut through the crowd, wearing an anorak coat over a black turtleneck sweater, holding a tablet in his gloved hand. Given the density of people, no one noticed when he walked right into my personal space. “You all right?”

“Yeah. Just worried someone’s going to get hurt.”

“Me too. Already showed this to Dr. McEwen.” Cal angled the tablet so I could read the real-time alerts, something I couldn’t follow during a game.

For a nauseating moment, I wished he hadn’t.

Spikes—just bomb after bomb—filled the screen. Enough to drive the entire defensive line mad.

“They need to be pulled,” I declared. “Right now.”

“The coaches refused.”

Silence descended, blanking out everything but horrified disbelief and my racing pulse as I stared up at Cal.

“ What? ”

He glanced around, looking for a less cramped spot, guiding me through the crowd by the elbow. We ducked inside a side tunnel.

Grabbing the tablet, I leaned against the cold concrete and pulled a glove off with my teeth, scrolling to the start of the game, watching as the pheromone bomber worked their way through most of the starting defensive line.

“Notice anything unusual other than the frequency?” Cal asked, gently prying the glove from my clenched jaw.

“No. At least not at first glance.” I checked the timestamps. The first spike occurred before the players took to the field. “The security cameras in the player areas might have caught something. Could one of your contacts get the footage?”

“Doubt it. We could ask Redwing’s legal department to give it a try, though.”

Threats from Redwing usually guaranteed results, but I wasn’t sure this time.

“Does Owen know?”

“He’s, uh...” Cal rubbed his neck. “Been provoked.”

“Enough to get Tabitha involved?” I asked, clicking through pheromone emission records, looking for any sign of the culprit.

A moment of silence passed, prompting me to look up. Cal was observing me with a soft smile.

“What’s that look for?”

“Nothing. Except it’s true what they say about great minds. He excused himself to call her just before I came to find you.”

“Good.”