Page 4 of Altius (The Scent of Victory #2)

Three

Alijah

“ Y ou’re doing it again.” Grabbing Joaquin by the elbow, I steered him away from the entrance of Morgan’s suite. “Stop prowling around. It’s not helping.”

I herded him into the kitchen, forcing him to sit on a barstool at the island, and slid a chopping board of celery stalks and carrots in front of him.

“You’re on dicing duty.” I set a knife on the board. “Chop-chop!”

Joaquin picked up the knife, flicking it lazily through the air before pointing it at me. “Making gallons of soup isn’t a solution, either, you know.”

“But it is productive.” I yanked open the freezer, looking for the chicken stock Kelsey mentioned during her call this morning.

Instead, I found a treasure trove of deliciousness: raspberry streusel muffins, a tray of lasagna, homemade granola bars, and several pounds of ground beef. Kelsey sure had stocked up. I continued rummaging.

Joaquin chuckled at my antics. “Are you excavating a tomb over there?”

I shot a glare over my shoulder. “Keep talking and see if I make you lunch… Ah-ha!”

I triumphantly pulled out several quarts of stock, each thud of a frozen container hitting the countertop more satisfying than the last. Nudging the freezer door shut with my foot, I surveyed my bounty, hands planted on my hips.

For the first time since Morgan snapped at me on Thursday afternoon, I felt like I had a grasp on things.

I never thought she could be so cold, with such a cutting voice and an even harsher gaze.

Even so, when Joaquin’s panic seared across the bond that night, a split second before Cal’s text message arrived saying Morgan was in the ER, all I wanted to do was go and take care of her.

But it wasn’t my place.

So, I decided to follow Morgan’s advice and focus on what I could control—managing domestic necessities in Kelsey’s absence.

After jotting down a tentative meal plan for the weekend, I pinned it on the fridge with a cat-shaped magnet, stepped back, and surveyed it with satisfaction.

“Okay. This should hold us until Kelsey gets back.”

“You don’t say,” Joaquin teased, taking his sweet time slicing a carrot.

“And you wonder why I stopped meal planning with you.”

“Because you never put yourself on the menu, babe.”

I frowned at him, but Joaquin just winked and mimed a kiss. The man was incorrigible today.

No, not just today.

He’d been like this since he filmed Morgan tearing into Garvey in the hallway, as though watching her assert her omega nature had flipped some primal switch in his scheming brain.

Maybe it had.

I’d noted the orchid scent and metallic tang in the air. However, I’d been too busy reeling from Morgan’s blunt dismissal to realize it was her scent.

“Babe,” I asked, filling a stock pot with water, unsure if I genuinely wanted to know, “why didn’t you tell Morgan her pheromones smelled off after she got into things with Garvey?”

“The temptation,” he grumbled, mangling the next carrot slice.

“What do you mean?”

Joaquin dropped the knife and shoved the cutting board away. “See, you can’t ask me things like that. You won’t like the answer. You never do.”

“Why?” I asked, frowning as I set the pot on the stove. “Oh, you mean your alpha stuff nonsense?”

“Yes, and I know you don’t believe me, but sometimes, it’s the only excuse I’ve got.”

It would explain why he’d been off since Thursday. All the alphas had been—even Owen. They were too twitchy and restless, and more than a little too focused on Morgan.

Wyatt’s reaction was the oddest. He only stepped foot in our kitchen to make coffee or reheat leftovers, but last night, he refilled the girls’ salt and pepper shakers and gave me a crash course on Morgan’s favorite tea flavors.

He even insisted on taking responsibility for the cats. Not that I wanted to scoop their litterbox, but Wyatt never volunteered for anything, not even grabbing takeout from the front desk.

And now, he was bending over backward to wait on Morgan hand and foot. It was too abrupt. I couldn’t understand.

“So, you’re all fixated on a sick woman because of so-called alpha stuff?”

“She’s not sick, Alijah. Recovering, maybe, but not ill. Not in the usual sense.”

His brown gaze deepened, more decadent than usual, like premium melted chocolate, luxurious to the point of being sinful. The same way he looked at me in bed, right before he…

I reared back, staring long and hard at my mate. “Joaquin!”

A downright lecherous smile spread across his face. “It’s the tail end of a heat spike.”

“I don’t care. She’s in no shape for—for you—being you .”

“I know.” Joaquin brushed his shaggy hair away from his face, then collapsed against the island with a sigh. “And I am trying to behave. But the way she smells…”

He sucked a greedy breath through his teeth.

I wrinkled my nose. Morgan’s scent was inconsistent due to all the meds and her health issues, but what managed to slip out was…unpleasant. Metallic and cloying, with the same slimy undertone as Wyatt at his worst.

Joaquin caught my expression and shook his head. Rising to his feet with fluid ease, he slunk around the island to embrace me.

“I know you’re mostly picking up the bad parts, but for me… Rust can’t hide what’s underneath. What I want. Her .” His tongue trailed along his upper teeth. “My mouth hasn’t stopped watering since Thursday.”

“You…you know that’s weird, right?”

“See? Told you.”

Flashing a wolfish grin, he leaned down, mouth latching onto my shoulder. His teeth scraped my bond mark through the fabric of my shirt. A low growl rumbled in his chest as he gave his head an affectionate yet possessive shake before letting go.

“Alpha shit.”

***

I hesitated in the doorway of Morgan’s darkened bedroom. A tray of chamomile tea, grapes, a granola bar, and medications weighed heavily in my hands. Only the strict schedule of her pills gave me the courage to creep across the threshold.

Morgan lay on her side, burrowed so far under the covers that her face was completely hidden, throwing my next move into doubt.

What if she was asleep, well and truly asleep?

I could leave the tray on the nightstand, but then she’d wake up to cold tea, and messing up her pill schedule might have adverse consequences…

Perched on the headboard, Kip’s tail twitched in a steady rhythm, like a metronome of disapproval. I wasn’t surprised he was suspicious of me. The only one of us he seemed to like was Cal.

Tenny was much more welcoming. He offered me an eager mewl as he flopped onto his back, exposing his belly in invitation.

“That’s right. We’re friends, aren’t we?” I whispered, giving his furry paunch a fond rub. “Who needs big, dumb alphas? I’m so much better than they are. Yes, I am.”

A slight but airy laugh sounded under the covers. Morgan pushed them away and rolled onto her back.

“That’s the first time I’ve ever heard you say a remotely egotistical thing about yourself.”

“Not true. I think?” Clutching the tray, I flashed her an uncertain grin. “And uh, hi. Can—can I come in?”

“It’s a little late for that, but sure. The more, the merrier. Isn’t that the theme of the weekend?”

She eased up, propping herself against the headboard. Instead of reaching for her glasses, she squinted at me, her tousled dark plum hair framing the planes of her pale face. Mouth pinched, eyes narrowed with pain, she seemed…weak.

A word I had never associated with Morgan before.

During dinner last night, she’d shifted restlessly, picking at her chili and tensing whenever someone offered to refill her water.

She checked out for long periods of time, her eyes glazed over, lacking their usual brilliance.

Practically hissed when I turned on the overhead kitchen lighting to wash the dishes.

But as unfamiliar as this version of Morgan was, she was still Morgan. Independent, resilient, with that same slightly distant allure.

It was like discovering that a gloriously scaled mythical creature—who felled countless challengers and surveilled all of us lesser mortals from their golden nest—possessed an irresistibly soft underbelly.

I set the tray on her bedside table and took a respectful step back. Morgan didn’t seem as territorial as I expected from an omega, but I wasn’t about to push my luck.

“Who’s here?” she asked, reaching for the tea.

“Just me and Joaquin, for now. He’s got rehearsal later.”

It was a struggle to remain silent as she bypassed the food, picking up the cup of pills instead. She knew better than to take pain medication on an empty stomach—she was a doctor, after all.

But my job was to be patient and offer snacks. Lots of snacks. It was up to her whether she wanted to eat them or not.

Kelsey’s orders.

“Owen’s across the hall working, and Wyatt’s not back from practice yet.” I glanced at my watch. “Cal left a few hours ago. Said something about needing supplies.”

Morgan washed down the pills with two large sips of tea.

“Mhm.” Her thumb absently rubbed against the mug handle. “Probably getting a hormone monitoring sensor. Can’t go back to work until my levels stabilize.”

I couldn’t help but glance toward her spacious bathroom. Shouldn’t an omega have something like that on hand, given they go into heat up to four times a year?

But then again, Morgan had never been a typical omega.

Take her bedroom, for example.

Sure, it was elegant, but everything was muted, verging on dull. Dark grays and blues dominated the space—shades that probably had names like wet cement or melancholy blueberry—with a few subdued lavender accents. Nothing sparkled, not even the hardware.

The entire loft was minimalist to an almost uncomfortable degree. It’s like she was allergic to clutter. The only personal touches were the dozens of pillows scattered about, the family photos lining the staircase, and some cute kitchen accessories.

Where were Kelsey’s flowers and candles? Or the fairy lights, crystal chandeliers, mural wallpapers, gilded mirrors, and funky vases from Beaufeather’s website? You know, the typical omega opulence.