Page 43 of Altius (The Scent of Victory #2)

Twenty-Six

Morgan

“ U gh, I’m so tired.” Kelsey exited the elevator first, lugging her suitcase and several bags of presents. It was almost midnight, a few hours later than planned, due to a bad accident on the interstate.

“We’re halving the menu next year,” she said. “I’m exhausted. Peeling that many potatoes is ridiculous.”

“You’ll get your second wind in a bit,” I said, sending Jacobi a thumbs-up emoji on the sly.

As we approached our unit, a familiar melody was audible through the door—Beethoven’s “Für Elise.”

Kelsey paused, crinkling her nose as she tried to figure out what was happening, no doubt worried that she’d left the stereo system on for three days.

Bypassing her, I opened the door, revealing the freshly polished grand piano, decked out in an enormous red velvet bow, gleaming beside the lit fireplace.

And my ever-sensible sister, my rock, squealed with delight.

“You didn’t!” she said, latching onto my arm.

“Oh, I did. With a bit of help.”

I glanced at the front door of unit 602, which was open just a smidge, and shook my head at the pair of peeping mates.

“That’s the exact model I was going to ask you for,” she half-squeaked. “It’s Jacobi’s, isn’t it?”

Pulling Kelsey in for a prolonged hug, I kissed her temple. “No—it’s yours .”

“With my blessing,” Jacobi said, emerging from the kitchen with a tray of champagne flutes full of sparkling cider. He set the tray on the coffee table, then turned off the music blaring from his phone.

“Now come, regale me, darling Kels. Make me believe the rush fee for getting this blasted behemoth tuned at the last minute was worth it.”

Kelsey dumped her things on the couch, pulled off her coat, and went to the piano, wasting no time beginning a live rendition of “Für Elise.”

As I turned to close the door, I was surprised to find that we had an audience.

A grinning Wyatt leaned against the opposite wall with his arms crossed, while Joaquin and Alijah cuddled in the open doorway.

Owen was visible in the background, sitting in the leather chair by the bookshelves, pretending to read.

Lunch with my parents? A bit uncomfortable at first, but doable.

Text messages? Manageable.

But this was too much.

It made me feel like they’d been waiting for hours to welcome me home.

“Goodnight,” I said, pushing the door shut.

“Goodnight,” three men responded in near unison while the fourth watched my every move with that flinty stare of his.

That night, Jacobi and I stayed up late, huddled together in the library nest, sharing a pot of tea and nibbling on his mom’s double chocolate muffins, eavesdropping as Kelsey quietly played piece after piece on the other side of the fireplace.

***

The crowd roared as the Narwhals scored another touchdown. We were late in the second half of the quarterfinal game, and the home-field advantage for winning the conference championship was helping. They were up twenty-eight to ten.

Without a single pheromone spike to show for it.

I refreshed Cal’s tablet for the hundredth time. “I don’t understand the bomber’s thought process.”

“Maybe there isn’t one,” he said, propped against the side of the medical cabinet, scanning the passing players and staff. “Could be a spur-of-the-moment impulse. Or they could be happy because they’re winning.”

“But they won most of their games. There has to be a reason—and don’t say rut cycle.” I gave his stomach a light swat with the tablet. “Reproductive urges are too convenient an excuse.”

Cal accepted the tablet with a low chuckle. “What you consider excuses are valid reasons for most oddities in my field of medicine.”

“Then stop thinking like a doctor,” I said, running a frustrated hand through my hair beneath the hood of my coat. “And start thinking like a football player. What are we missing?”

Alijah burst through the crowd, holding onto his camera for dear life, skidding to a halt in front of us.

“Cal—Cal, check your phone,” he said, panting hard. “Need to check your phone. Now. Joaquin said so.”

A glance at Cal confirmed he was just as confused—and alarmed—as I was.

While I was wary of Joaquin’s schemes, I knew he wasn’t the type to overreact. He wouldn’t activate Alijah as a messenger if it weren’t important.

We both pulled out our phones. Aside from Papa’s constant gushing about how wonderful the guys were, my texts were ordinary.

Cal’s expression darkened as he scrolled through his messages, unconsciously emitting a wave of icy dominance.

A pair of physical trainers took a few large steps away from him. Even Alijah shifted back.

“Shit,” Cal cursed. “I need to go.”

“What’s wrong?” I pressed closer, almost reaching for his arm—but I stopped myself in time.

“Fucking Roddy,” he spat, pulling off his hat to tug at his already mussed hair. “You were right. The shareholders leaked to the press about his embezzlement.”

It was December twenty-ninth. Two full days before Chaz planned to announce Roddy’s departure.

I did a quick search on my phone and frowned at the headlines.

Rotten Successor Scandal Rocks Verray

Shipping Leader in Violation of Designation Equity?

Entitled, Egocentric, Embezzler: All the Dirt on Roderick Carling

The articles included all the gory details about Roddy and then some.

How convenient…for Heather.

“Are you sure it was the shareholders?” I asked.

Cal wheeled on me, shaking his head. “No, no. Heather would never. She respects Chaz too much.”

“I wasn’t talking about her .”

He froze, staring at the scoreboard, forcing deep breaths. We both knew Anya Sethi could be ruthless.

“It’s possible. But I still have to help.”

“I don’t understand,” I said, edging closer, fingers latching onto the side of his coat. “Why is this your battle to fight?”

“I’m not doing this for the family legacy. It’s for…” Cal let out a frustrated huff and turned his back to the field, bracing an arm on either side of the medical supply cabinet, shielding me from view.

Alijah shimmied over a few steps, forming a secondary barrier between me and the rest of the world, taking photos while trying not to eavesdrop.

“I’m doing this for us,” Cal whispered. “If Roddy’s out of the picture for good, if I don’t need to worry about Spencer’s future, then… Then we…”

Placing my hands on his chest, I looked up into his pleading hazel eyes and nodded. “Then it’s one less thing to worry about…when the time comes.”

Cal swallowed hard. He didn’t want to lose his grandfather, but he’d lived in deference to his outdated notions for far too long.

“Yes,” he promised, the words slow and heavy. “When the time comes, will you—”

“Oh my god!” Alijah reached back, snagging my elbow. He pointed a shaking finger at the video board. “I think Tyler just caught the ball.”

“What?” I ducked beneath Cal’s arm, staring at the replay in disbelief.

A nose tackle was one of the last players you’d expect to make an interception.

“Tyler Hartsen continues to have the game of his life!” the announcer crowed. “Two quarterback sacks and now an interception. For someone who just recovered from a hand injury, it’s unbelievable!”

Yes, I thought as I watched Cal’s departing back. Unbelievable.

If Tyler had waited another second, I might have experienced a second romantic milestone during a critical Narwhals game.

Being scent-marked by Wyatt—and proposed to by Cal.

***

The last place I expected to spend New Year’s Eve was at Arlotti’s, ye olde steakhouse downtown, still as unfashionable as ever, ensconced in a private room in the far back.

“Here’s your drink,” the server said, placing a virgin mango daiquiri before me—Joaquin’s doing. I’d been content with water.

Owen and I occupied opposite ends of the table, with the mated pair to one side and Cal and Wyatt squabbling about who got to sit next to me on the other. Wyatt won tonight, leaving Cal closer to Owen.

“Before we commence with the festivities,” Owen said without preamble, catching us all off guard, “Tabitha wants to know what you’ve decided about the consulting position offers.”

I glanced at Cal.

He was trying his best to maintain his usual casual confidence, but he didn’t have the energy. Two days of calming down shareholders and emotionally supporting Spencer had taken a toll on him. Therefore, his pleading gaze was less than subtle.

We had an excellent partnership in every way, and he wanted it to continue after my fellowship ended in July.

If I only thought about the overly generous proposed hourly compensation rate, it was a no-brainer.

Yet when it came to Owen, I had my doubts.

He wanted to keep me close—but why?

My ability to interpret his scientific intentions into plain language was a valuable skill. It allowed reluctant executives to believe in his ambitious ideas. But I antagonized him. Challenged him.

What if I pushed him too far? What if we were at each other’s throats for the next two years, with nothing to show for it at the end?

He could ruin me with a flick of one long, finely-honed finger at any moment. Owen was too dominant, too crafty, too alpha.

Yet he continued to indulge my stubbornness, just like during my heat… When he went down on me for what must have been hours, with such single-minded dedication that he broke my fever with foreplay. Something that should have been next to impossible.

He confused me. Maddeningly brilliant and attractive in ways I wasn’t prepared for. His steadiness and foresight. Those solid quads. How devoted he was to the concept of a pack, even if he had no idea how to lead one.

And he’d turned my half-baked pitch about purr therapy into a real project and made sure I received credit for the idea.

But I couldn’t trust the mercurial flashes of warmth in his gaze.

What if he wasn’t like the others—who had or were developing feelings for me—and this was all a long-term ploy to ensure the success of PheroPass and the vibration therapy unit?

I should want him to be a ruthless executive, driven by ambition, devoid of personal feelings—because that’s how things were supposed to be between us.

And yet…

Joaquin leaned closer and tapped the stem of my daiquiri. “You’re thinking too much.”

“Easy for you to say.”

“I’m serious, doc. Don’t focus on whether you want to move forward.” Resting his weight on his elbow, nose ring glinting in the dim light, Joaquin leveled me with a piercing gaze. “The real question is if you can accept stepping aside.”

“The man has a point,” Wyatt added between bites of his ribeye.

Closing my eyes, I exhaled, letting go of everything except one question: did I want to see PheroPass and vibration therapy through to the end?

I wasn’t sure where the resounding yes came from first—my pride as a medical professional or my omega.

When I opened my eyes again, they were instantly arrested by Owen’s magnetic silver gaze.

He sat back in his chair, hands clasped low on his stomach. A forefinger tapped twice against the back of his opposite hand. The corners of his mouth quirked upwards.

“Is that a yes?” Joaquin asked.

Cal chuckled. “Sure looks like one to me.”

“Morgan can speak for herself,” Alijah said.

“Yeah,” Wyatt agreed, with his mouth half full. “Let her talk.”

Owen raised a brow.

I nodded. “Count me in.”

“Welcome aboard,” he said. “You won’t regret it…much.”

His sculpted lips pulled back to reveal two rows of even white teeth. The smile sharpened his features, making them even more eye-catching. A treacherous brand of handsome.

The kind people warned you about.

And I’d just contractually bound myself to his pirate ship, for better or worse, in the name of science.

I could only hope it wasn’t a colossal mistake.