Page 29 of Altius (The Scent of Victory #2)

Eighteen

Morgan

“ T a-da!” Kelsey pulled open the hidden door in the lobby of my suite to reveal…my nest, restored to its former emerald-hued glory.

The velvet wall panels had been reupholstered, pictures replaced or returned to new frames, identical faux plants positioned in the same strategic locations as before.

For once, I didn’t mind the shimmer of decorative glass winking at me from the built-in shelves—because Kelsey’s decision to restore Jacobi’s original vision was much harder than putting her own stamp on the space.

And far more touching.

I’d been dreading informing Jacobi of my original nest’s demise, and now I wouldn’t have to.

“Consider it an homage to Jacobi, but better.” Kelsey led the way into the room.

“All the lights are remote-controlled, so you can adjust the dimness whenever and wherever your little heart desires. Plus, your bedding got an upgrade—not just in thread count. I also doubled the number of throw pillows and blankets at your disposal.”

She pressed the corner of an upholstered panel next to the bed, showing off a supply cabinet stuffed to the brim with soft furnishings.

Then she moved the fabric room divider aside. I only realized it had been changed into a panel hanging from a track on the ceiling as it slid back, revealing the brand-new mini fridge. It was set in a small bank of dark green cabinetry with black soapstone countertops.

“And here’s the pièce de resistance —snack central.”

She opened various cabinets and drawers, showing off the fruits of their meal-planning labor: protein bars, crackers, spicy chips, dried fruit, single-serving packages of nuts, and sports drinks.

The fridge contained more of the same, plus my ever-faithful cheese cubes and grapes.

There was also an electric kettle and a basket of assorted teas.

I gave my sister a long, thankful hug. “Are you exhausted?”

“Surprisingly, no. This was a lot more fun than I expected. Having Alijah take over food prep helped immensely. It gave me more time to source things. And to think Jacobi chided me for keeping all the receipts.” Kelsey squeezed me tight, then pulled back, cupping my face in her hands, green gaze turning serious.

“Now, I don’t want to hear from you for at least five days. ”

“Might be six. Maybe even seven.”

“Even better. And I promise, not a word to Jacobi.” She mimed zipping her lips, hurling the imaginary key across the foyer. It landed somewhere near the cat tree in the library.

“Thank you—for both our sakes.”

I trailed after her through the living room to the front foyer.

Kelsey paused, giving the entrance to the primary suite-turned-stockroom a final once-over. Joaquin and Wyatt had placed several portable air filters inside the room before sealing the entrance with plastic tarps and tape.

“If pheromone stink still gets through,” I said, for probably the fiftieth time, “I’ll replace anything that can’t be sanitized.”

“Mm. We’ll see.” She gave a parting scratch to each cat behind the ears—the guys planned to take turns tending to them —and then put on her cape coat, rolling her suitcase toward the door.

I held it open for her, then followed her a few steps into the hall to keep the cats from escaping. “Have fun with Piper.”

“Don’t be surprised if I wind up staying in a hotel with Rory for the week. Room service sounds heavenly, and he’s still stressing about finals.”

“You’ve got my credit card— use it ,” I said, giving her a pointed stare. My sister more than deserved a week of pampering. “Go shopping while you’re at it. Get your nails done or go to the spa. Whatever you want. Because after what you’ve done for me, it can never be enough.”

Kelsey paused, eyes drifting up to the darkened skylight, frosted with snow, mouth twitching side to side as she considered my offer. “I might just take you up on that.”

“Please. I’m begging you.” Giving her suitcase a kick of encouragement, I stepped back inside the loft. “Now go forth and spend my money.”

“I’ll try my best.” Kelsey waved goodbye, heading for the elevator.

“Try harder.”

Closing the door, I turned to face the living room and exhaled, fending off the surge of emotions that threatened to overwhelm me—grateful, nervous, and horny, all at once.

It was too soon to get sloppy. Cal hadn’t even given me the injection yet. Speaking of… I checked my phone.

Four minutes to six. Perfect.

I found him in my bathroom, where he was in the middle of setting up a makeshift medical station. A portion of his travel supply bag and an assortment of blood-testing gadgets covered one end of the vanity. He’d already placed the container of vials in the kitchen fridge.

All except one.

Hopping up on a clear bit of counter, I knocked my knee against his leg, then rolled up my sleeve.

“Ready when you are, Dr. Carling.”

***

The dark, covetous corner where greed intersects torture is where you’d find me, straddling one of Cal’s thick thighs in my nest.

I nipped and sucked at his tongue, seeking out more of his pheromones, always more, because I was drunk off his scent and touch, convinced I couldn’t survive without the constant pressure of his lubed fingertips brushing against my most sensitive spots, prompting showers of rapturous sparks.

“I’ve got you,” Cal whispered against my sweaty cheek, knocking his glasses askew, “just a little more.”

“No, I want—”

Whatever I’d expected from the chemical induction, it wasn’t this, a needy mewling approximation of my usual intellect. A baser creature who wouldn’t stop palming his cock and swelling knot through his sweatpants. Furious that the pheromone stud was still fully clothed.

“Give me more. Hurry up.”

“This is just the warm-up, sweetheart. Remember?”

“Yeah, but that was then ,” I said, grinding against his leg. “This is now—and I want you now .”

As I leaned in, desperate for more of his pheromones, Cal gently bracketed his left hand around the base of my neck. He prevented me from reaching his throat or mouth, cutting off my pheromone supply.

“Who do you want?” he countered. “Joaquin, Alijah, or Wyatt?”

Wyatt.

A rush of dopamine brought forth a needy whine and a sharp cramp, which grew increasingly stronger the more I pawed at Cal’s shirt and waistband—as if undressing him would somehow reveal he was two Wyatts stacked on top of each other.

Wait.

That was weird. Really fucking weird.

Hit by sudden clarity, I sat back on my heels. The shot didn’t just lower my inhibitions. It also made me a bit loopy. And more than a little stupid.

Cal’s left hand shifted, cupping my chin while he angled my head toward the single light not dimmed to twilight levels, checking the reactivity of my pupils.

Then he straightened his glasses and looked at his watch on the opposite wrist, fingers still glistening with my arousal. “Thirteen minutes this time. Was that wave better or worse?”

“I don’t know… It was more—just more , but I’m not sure of what, exactly.”

Reaching into our nearby basket of supplies, Cal picked up a digital thermometer, the sexiest of all bedroom accessories, and took a quick reading. “Temp increasing as expected.”

After putting it back, he began licking the fingers of his right hand clean, nostrils flaring in appreciation for the potent orchid scent I couldn’t smell.

“And you’re producing slick. Not much, but it’s there. All positive indicators.”

Dropping onto the mound of pillows by his side, I nudged his calf with my foot. “What else? Nothing gets me going like when you talk clinical to me.”

Cal leaned closer, trying his best to look me in the eye, not check out my naked and willing body, and caressed my cheek. “Want me to recite the plan— your plan—in detail?”

“No,” I sighed, covering myself with a chenille throw. “I’m the one who asked you to wait until later, in case one of the other three doesn’t work out.”

“Exactly. And don’t forget, it’s still early.” Cal inched closer, resting a small but reassuring amount of his body weight against me. “You’re speedrunning through pre-heat right now. The real thing won’t hit for another few hours.”

“You’re right. At least this feels better than I remember.”

Cal tapped his finger against the tip of my nose. Then he traced a meandering path along my cheeks and lips, down to the hollow at the base of my throat, fingers lingering on my fluttering pulse.

“Well,” he asked. “Does Wyatt still sound good?”

A second later, Cal’s eyes flashed gold.

My pheromones had answered for me.