Page 6 of Altius (The Scent of Victory #2)

Four

Morgan

M y internal clock woke me up at five-thirty on Sunday morning. It didn’t care that I was three days post-seizure. Or that I had a sore back, an aching head, and was dripping with sweat.

Hopefully, I’d overheated because of the shirtless Cal spooning my back and the cats bracketing my chest and thighs. Not because of any lingering hormonal issues.

The first few readings from the new hormone-tracking biosensor in my upper left arm, the Tabitha Redmond innovation that put Redwing BioTech on the map, were less than ideal.

Better than at the hospital, but nothing Cal or I would consider stable.

I could only hope things would even out in another day or two.

Unable to withstand the itch for normalcy—to move my body first thing in the morning—I extricated myself from the cuddle puddle, with whispered apologies to the cats, and relaxed into the thoughtless comfort of my workout routine.

I only made it halfway through my usual stretches before the room started spinning. I sat down against the wall, trying to catch my breath.

The door opened, and the overhead light clicked on. I narrowed my eyes at the intrusion.

“Knew I’d find you here.”

Wyatt, wearing his usual combo of sweatshirt and gym shorts, joined me in time-out, knees bent, bare calves twice the width of mine, veins prominent along the backs of his tense hands.

“I’m here to propose a truce.”

“We’re not sworn enemies, Wyatt.”

“But you’re wary of me, of what’s wrong with me—with us .”

He was being uncomfortably honest for someone hardwired to avoid conflict, which meant the situation was serious, thus eliminating any further attempts at deluding myself.

“Waning syndrome.”

“Yeah.” Wyatt’s sigh morphed into a grunt of disgust. “I get rut inhibitor shots every three months because it got too difficult to keep pretending. I didn’t enjoy it.

Any of it. The haze never really kicked in, so it’s like I was…

I was trapped outside my own body, looking in, wondering if it was all fake. ”

His head dropped forward, long hair falling into his face, but not fast enough to hide his grimace, his hands fisting the edge of the mat.

“If I was broken somehow.”

My fingertips brushed against his sleeve, the fleeting contact in no way sufficient to relieve his pain.

“I maxed out my suppressants,” I admitted in a rough whisper, “to stop having heats for the same reason.”

His head snapped up, blue eyes overflowing with the most heartrending sense of dreadful hope. Regretful of our mutual suffering, yet maybe the cure was at hand. Maybe, maybe…

If only it were that simple.

“Did you get diagnosed, too?”

“No. At least not yet. Chantal doesn’t have enough data.”

“Wasn’t a problem for me. They took readings every time I got a shot.” His hand inched closer to my thigh. “I’m not in as much pain as you are, but everything she mentioned—not sleeping, not eating, shitty blood pressure—it’d all been coming on slowly… And then there you were.”

He tried to dismiss my share of the blame with a shrug, but it didn’t work.

“The plane ride from Chicago?” I asked with a jolt of alarm.

If his symptoms started almost immediately, then why wasn’t I worse?

“Felt off when I woke up the next day.” He sank lower against the wall.

“Almost like I had the flu, and more than a little squirrelly. Restless. The first pheromone bomb happened when I recognized Jacobi’s loft.

” Wyatt knocked our elbows together with a soft laugh.

“His posts are a lot more informative than yours.”

“Yes, something I’ve objected to at length.”

“Let me guess.” Mischief brought out his dimples and infused color into his cheeks, a momentary reprieve from his now customary pallor. “It’s his account, and he’ll post all the pretty pictures of all the pretty faces at his pretty little parties that he wants?”

“That,” I said with a blink of surprise, “is disturbingly accurate.”

“Everyone on the alpha team—guys and girls—knew about his rotating crush of the month. Wore it like a fucking badge of honor or something. But his taste… I mean, Reggie Showalter?”

Oh, the filthy things I knew about Reggie.

He attended Wakeland State at the same time as Jacobi and me.

The man might have the facial structure of a rhinoceros and the legs of a rooster, but he was a god on still rings.

And, according to Jacobi, he was a great listener with a big dick and an even bigger knot, both of which he knew how to use.

Plus, he gave spectacular head.

“What can I say?” Trying to keep a straight face, I adjusted my glasses. “Jacobi’s an equal opportunity lookist. If you don’t have a pretty face, then…”

“What do you—oh. Ugh, no.” Wyatt spat out the words, waving his hands in defeat. “I don’t—god, I haven’t even eaten yet.”

“That’s your fault. You can’t be squeamish when it comes to properly functioning omegas, Wyatt. Our designation’s not that picky. Especially if someone doesn’t have mate potential.”

“And what’s your criteria for that?” he asked, trying to keep his tone light despite the nervous shake of his left calf. “For mate potential.”

“Hm.” I gave him a flat stare. “Guess you’re not all that interested in calling a truce, are you?”

Wyatt looked toward the ceiling, neck tendons flexing as he forced his frustrated wishes back into his gullet—just like I’d anticipated. He knew how to pick his battles, especially when his opponent was emotionally armored to the last shred of sympathy.

“You’re not cleared to drive yet, and more than a few people will take issue with you working out again so soon. Not me.”

His head eased in my direction, unveiling a self-assured smile that almost disarmed me. Confidence looked good on him.

“I know you. That you do listen to your body. And our schedules are similar.” Wyatt eased back, allowing me to focus on his words rather than his handsome face. “So, for the next few weeks, I’ll join you here in the mornings and drive you to campus. Saves Kelsey the hassle of getting up early.”

“What’s in it for you,” I asked, deploying my trusty shield of sarcasm, “the pleasure of my company?”

“Obviously,” he said.

And he meant it. Unsettling me anew.

“Being near each other is good for us.” Wyatt took a deep breath, balled fists digging for comfort at the bottoms of his pockets. He forced himself to make eye contact again as he choked out, “Because we’re scent matches.”

“I know.”

Whatever reaction he expected, it wasn’t my indifference.

“Morgan…” His irises were pinpricks of disbelief. “No, you—you couldn’t have. It’s not possible.”

He grabbed the corner of my shirt, twisting it into a hopeless tangle, begging for reassurance I couldn’t provide.

“You’d have told me. Wouldn’t have— by yourself —all this time—that’s… It’s too awful. Too cruel. You wouldn’t have done that to yourself. To us.”

I took two centering breaths before speaking. Yet my voice still wavered.

“I tried telling you, Wyatt. That night. The following weekend. And the week after that, and the week after that… But you refused to talk about us scenting each other.”

If I hadn’t experienced an emotional break at the hospital, if ten years hadn’t dulled my resentment, maybe I could still shed a tear for the fated lovers we might have been.

“And it hurt —because I’ve never wanted anything as badly as I wanted you at that moment. Anything .”

Wyatt struggled in vain, fisting my shirt so tightly that the stretched collar exposed part of my Olympic rings tattoo.

“It’s my fault. All my fault. I was an idiot who didn’t understand.

You know what my mom’s like, all the bullshit she spews about scent matches being fake.

I didn’t trust what my instincts were telling me.

All I could hear was her voice, saying I wasn’t good enough.

That you were a gold medalist, a living legend, and I was a loser you were taking pity on. ”

“You’re wrong.”

“I know that, now.” He grasped my wrist. “I just—just wanted to be worthy of you.”

“But I’m not worth—”

“Shut up. That’s bullshit.” Fingers digging into my skin, Wyatt leaned closer, pressing our sides together, forcing me to meet his gaze.

“You were— are —the most amazing woman I’ve ever met.

The way you’ve rebuilt your life is nothing short of miraculous.

Seeing you like that, lying helpless in a hospital bed, wearing a cervical collar, hooked up to a shit ton of tubes and wires…

It haunts me. You must have gone through hell to get here.

Endless hell. And I’m sorry. So fucking sorry.

I should have been there, by your side, every step of the way. ”

I shook my head, trying to reject the weight of his sincerity.

Wyatt’s grip intensified. “But I had nothing to give you, Morgan. Couldn’t afford plane tickets. My grades were shit. Had to keep my scholarship or it’d all be over. Gymnastics. My future. Everything. ”

His hand fell away. Wyatt leaned against the wall and tipped his head back toward the ceiling.

“Talking to you on a good day was hard enough. What if I said the wrong thing and revealed how dumb I really am? But after your accident, when you told me to get lost, I didn’t know what to say.

At all. Lost all confidence in myself. Figured you would be better off without me. Seems like I was right.”

“What do you mean?”

His mangled expression stung even more than the lingering impression of his fingers on my wrist.

“We’re scent matches. Supposed to be together. So why haven’t you ever reacted to my pheromones again? Not on the plane or during our conversations on campus, even when I was at my worst, a walking garbage dump, you didn’t…” His jealousy bubbled over with a pained cry. “And now you’re with Cal.”

Irked that he was dragging Cal into our business, the truth came barreling out.