Page 20 of Altius (The Scent of Victory #2)

Twelve

Morgan

S cent cards covered the entirety of Chantal’s desk, spotless little harbingers of doom. Or destiny. I hadn’t decided yet.

All I knew for sure was that I was on a mission. Even if this was an exercise in futility, I had to try.

“You’re sure about this?” Chantal asked, toying with her beaded necklace. “I could just pull their cards out.”

“No, I want to try… Not to make sure, but to see what happens.”

“For peace of mind before asking them to join your heat?”

“Yeah. Let’s go with that.” I picked up the first card. Holding it close to my mouth, I inhaled deeply, trying to pick up the scent using my sense of taste. A dud. “How many cards did you put out?”

“Fifty.”

You’re only looking for five, I told myself as I worked through the first row. Just five. Don’t stress out.

There were plenty of cards. Plus, I knew three of their scent profiles for sure: amaretto, Earl Grey tea, and boxwood. Alijah was citrus of some kind.

As for Joaquin… Not a clue. I’m sure Cal or Kelsey had mentioned it at some point, but I’d forgotten.

Lucky number sixteen flooded my system with the rich, amber warmth I’d come to crave. “This one’s Cal.”

Chantal scanned the barcode, and we both smiled when his profile appeared on the monitor. One target acquired, four to go.

Card twenty-two was mouthwatering—a rich, peppery spice that I wanted to devour. “Joaquin. That has to be Joaquin.”

I handed the card to Chantal, whose pleased smile after scanning the barcode spurred me on.

The black tea and bergamot of Owen’s scent were more delicate than I expected, with a lingering bittersweet note that I found comforting. But he was card thirty-five.

I only had fifteen cards left to find Alijah and Wyatt—if I hadn’t already missed them. I didn’t like my odds, but I had to keep going.

Bright, tangy orange burst on my tongue as I inhaled card forty-one. Alijah’s scent was more straightforward than the others, but it was perfect for him.

Pure, simple sunshine.

Card forty-two didn’t give me anything. Same for the next three.

There were only five cards left. Wyatt had to be there. He had to.

After taking a deep breath to center myself, I tried card forty-six. Nothing.

But card forty-seven seemed familiar. Natural, with a hint of sawdust. I needed another hit before I remembered. The card belonged to the anonymous alpha heat partner I’d picked out during my last visit.

“Very funny,” I muttered, shooting a fake glare at Chantal, and set the card aside.

“Just doing my due diligence.” She held up her ring-covered fingers, protesting her innocence. “You might need a backup. And who knows? He could be quite the catch.”

“My horizontal dance card is full, thanks.”

Card forty-eight offered a faint whiff of mothballs. Gross.

Not that it mattered. Finding four compatible scent cards was my personal best. I didn’t need to find Wyatt’s, too. He was my scent match. Our compatibility was a given.

It also didn’t matter that I hadn’t tasted his pheromones during our first kiss. There would be more kisses during my heat. Longer, better ones. One failure didn’t mean I’d never pick up his pheromones again. I just had to be patient.

Reaching for card forty-nine by rote memory, ready to be finished with scent cards and start talking logistics, I was unprepared for the heady, nostalgic musk that coated my tongue.

Wyatt.

Fresh, resinous greenery, warmed by the lazy rays of an afternoon sun. Turning the phantom hedge maze where I’d been trapped for ten long, lonely years into something tangible. Proving that our connection hadn’t been all in my head.

Pressing the card to my mouth, I drank him in, on the verge of crying, trying to bury myself in his scent because he was mine.

Mine .

A seismic chasm of desire ripped through me, and I doubled over from the intensity.

When I returned to myself, I found I’d all but ruined the card with saliva, tears, and maybe a bit of snot.

Chantal’s demeanor was professional, but she couldn’t mute the delight sparkling in her eyes as she offered me a box of tissues. Her most challenging client finally struck gold.

“That’s the one?”

“Yeah. It’s him—it’s Wyatt.” Before tending to my face, I cleaned up the card so Chantal could scan the barcode, hesitant to hand it over. “Can I have it back?”

“Of course. It’s a very powerful souvenir, especially for scent matches.” After a quick scan, she returned all five cards to me in a specially designed scent-preserving envelope. “You’ll want the complete set. Trust me.”

Turning back to her computer, Chantal pulled up my prior heat agreement and began making edits.

“Okay. I’ve got all their contact details… Everyone’s got a clean STI screening within the past calendar year, but I’d suggest getting new panels, just to be safe.”

“Works for me.”

“And you’re sure about canceling the heat suite?”

“Absolutely. If you’re banging the neighbors, why leave the comfort of home?”

Chantal paused, turning to look at me with sky-high brows. “Neighbors?”

“Mhm. They bought the place across the hall. Didn’t I tell you?”

“No, you most certainly did not .” Her fingers flew across the keyboard, populating a new screen with data. “They all live next door?”

“Four of them do. But Cal comes over two or three times a week.”

“I should have known there was something else going on,” Chantal muttered under her breath and then hit enter with a vengeance. The tool spat out a number on a red background, making her wince. “Not good—and yet it explains your wonky hormones. Your VNO must be going haywire.”

The vomeronasal organ was a tiny accessory olfactory organ located at the base of the nasal cavity. It was more pronounced in alphas and omegas due to their sensitivity to pheromones, but it wasn’t well understood.

Research interest only picked up in the last decade, with a key finding announced last year. The VNO was triggered during instances of fight or flight, such as experiencing a pheromone bomb, and helped to amplify your reaction—whether it be fear, lust, or elation.

It operated separately from the olfactory nerve, which is why I still experienced the occasional bout of nausea in crowded places without good ventilation, despite my anosmia. The VNO wasn’t trying to decipher scents but rather how to react to pheromones in the immediate vicinity.

But what did that have to do with Pack Redmond?

“I’m not following, Chantal.”

“Your VNO was primed for Wyatt—your scent match. Then you lost your sense of smell. Now, not only is he back in your life, but you’re living across the hall from him, and three other men with compatible pheromones.

It’s like a hormonal candy shop moved in next door, and your body is looking for a sugar fix. ”

I raised a skeptical brow. “Are you suggesting my arousal dysfunction is because my VNO has been in some kind of weird stasis for a decade?”

“Pretty much. And then a combination of factors lit a fuse within you, biologically speaking.” Chantal counted each point on a finger. “Skipping heats for three years. Reducing your suppressant dose. Reconnecting with Wyatt. Finding a second compatible partner in Cal.”

Leaning closer, Chantal’s tone became softer, more tactful.

“Your body is priming itself for an intense heat, Morgan. Yes, you’re overdue for one.

And you’re an unmated omega over thirty.

I already accounted for that in your dosing.

But think about how often you’re around these five men—a pack’s worth of compatible men—at work and at home.

So, if you don’t want to go into heat prematurely,” she said, leaning across her desk, “hold back on the neighborly love for the next few weeks, okay?”

My head throbbed with every step back to the lobby.

Kelsey was waiting in the nautical-themed seating area, wearing a blue argyle print cardigan with a bow-shaped brooch embellished with rhinestones, her blonde hair woven into a pair of French braids, reading a fashion magazine.

She looked up as I approached. “How’d it go?”

“Better than expected.” I offered her the envelope with the five scent cards inside.

Kelsey didn’t need more than a cursory sniff to identify who they belonged to.

“That’s them all right.” She closed the envelope flap and handed it back to me. “Were you able to pick any of them out?”

A weird yet satisfying thrum pulsed low in my belly. “I found all five.”

“That’s amazing!” Kelsey shot up and pulled me into a tight hug. “Oh, you must be so relieved.”

“Thanks,” I said, surrendering myself to the embrace. “But I cheated.”

“A little mouth breathing never hurt anyone.” Kelsey gave me a final squeeze, then let go. “What matters is that you found a compatible pack—well, almost pack—and it’s your guys.”

“Don’t get too excited. They’re not all mine. And this arrangement is only for my heat. Besides, they haven’t seen the offer yet. Or my stipulations.”

Kelsey pulled on her cape-style coat, picked up her purse, and followed me toward the exit. “When’s Chantal sending it out?”

“Tomorrow morning. There’s a ton of paperwork involved. Cal and Wyatt get separate offers because they’re unmated and unpacked, while all pack correspondence has to go through Owen.”

Kelsey picked up her pace, eager to escape the December chill. “Did you add all the new requirements you wanted?”

“Yes. Chantal was ruthless with the lubrication wording, but I… I needed to see it in black and white. And if Owen agrees to facilitate, I’m confident it’ll be adhered to.”

After we settled into Kelsey’s blue hatchback, she turned on the ignition. A text message popped up on the dashboard LCD screen. The contents made us both break into laughter.

If she never wishes to speak with me again, dearest darling Kels, rest assured, I deserve such scorn.

Jacobi’s love for melodrama knew no bounds.

“How long has this been going on?”

“Just a few days,” she said with an amused snort. “He always does this when there’s trouble in paradise.”

“Tell him to—no, I’ll call him myself and tell him to get his head out of his ass. But please, do not share any details about my heat, no matter how much he begs. His bullshit will be limitless for the next few weeks.”

As I reached for my seatbelt, I paused, glancing at Kelsey out of the corner of my eye. Speaking of begging and bullshit…

She noticed my hesitation and quirked her head to the side. “Everything okay?”

“That depends. How amenable are you to performing a miracle?”

***

Kelsey stood in the center of my ruined nest, one arm pressed against her stomach, propping up her opposite elbow, and the hand clasped over her mouth. She surveyed the space with a critical eye, no doubt cataloging every damaged item, all picked out or designed by her and Jacobi for my comfort.

What a waste of their good intentions. Restoring my nest to its former glory would cost thousands of dollars.

The only time I seemed to spend money was in a rage.

I settled on a clear spot on the floor and started sorting through my mess. There wasn’t a keep pile. Just pitch or recycle.

Almost ten minutes passed before Kelsey spoke. “What day is your heat supposed to start?”

“Chantal moved it forward.” I pulled up my appointment notes on my phone. “I’m getting a chemical induction on the afternoon of Friday the fifteenth.”

“You’re responsible for handling the mess in here. Clean it out by Monday morning. That gives me eleven days and change.”

“Not asking for perfection, Kels. Passable is more than I deserve.”

“Why?” Kelsey turned to settle on the edge of the mattress, sitting on her hands as she regarded me with something akin to disappointment. “You don’t think you deserve nice things—or do you feel bad about asking for my help because you think I’m mad at you?”

“Aren’t you?”

“No. I’m frustrated as fuck on your behalf, but I’m not angry.

The seizure wasn’t your fault. I knew that even before Cal told us about the medication screw-up.

You’ve been working hard, but not to the point of being reckless.

Not like your first year of residency. But I do regret leaving you alone. ”

“Things would’ve panned out the same way, even if you’d stayed home, Kels. Sure, I might have been found an hour earlier because you would’ve called Cal when you couldn’t reach me, and he would’ve come to the fieldhouse or sent Wyatt to check on me. Either way, I was still hitting the floor.”

I picked up a ruined photograph—one of me and Wyatt at nationals the year we met—puzzled by what looked like drops of blood splattered on the corner. Must have cut myself on the glass insert when I broke the frame.

“And it’s not like I can yell at the pharmacist or blame Dr. Flemming because he asked me to re-tape a player’s knee before sending her home. My body is the problem and will continue to be the problem, especially if—”

My jaw snapped shut.

No one could so much as breathe about waning syndrome to my family before I received a formal diagnosis. Based on my conversation with Chantal, there was a chance I was simply a horny mess of epic proportions that needed to get laid.

Repeatedly.

“See, that,” Kelsey said, drawing circles in the air with a fingertip, referencing my verbal evasion, “is what Piper gets upset about. You think that by shutting your mouth and making yourself into a tight little ball, you won’t worry anyone.

And if you’re not a bother, no one will notice that you’re trying to hide something. ”

Her mouth stretched into a tight approximation of a smile.

“But the funny thing about secrets is that they stop being a secret once they go in your medical record.”

Oh shit. I’d forgotten to check my patient portal.

Of course, my record would mention suspected mate waning syndrome. And here I’d been so pleased with Cal printing all the new updates and adding them to the hard copy binder for her review.

What a chivalrous, unintentional snitch he turned out to be.

I didn’t want to ask, but I had to. “Does anyone else know?”

“Not about what’s in your record, no. But I’ve always worried about what staying away from Wyatt might do to you, wondering if a skipped meal or a sleepless night was the one —the start of a physical decline.

You don’t know how weirdly relieved I was when Wyatt started stinking up the place because it meant the clock was ticking.

That you two would have to work together— be together—to stay healthy.

No matter how many excuses you came up with. ”

“It never occurred to me. Not once.” I bit back a self-deprecating laugh. “That’s how little I made myself believe he valued me. Never imagined we’d end up like this.”

“But it’s a good thing, right?”

I nodded, still in awe of how their scent cards affected me. “I’m getting greedy, Kels. Which scares the shit out of me.”

“An omega who wants more?” Kelsey teased, nudging the side of my knee with her foot. “What’s the world coming to?”