Page 61 of Altius (The Scent of Victory #2)

“Then perhaps we ought to give Kelsey some space,” I suggested, “and reconvene across the hall after you get some sleep.”

“I slept on the plane.”

“Oh, we know.” Wyatt flashed a mischievous smile. “Your new boyfriend told us all about your spicy snacks and cuddles.”

She pulled back, glancing between us with a hint of uncertainty. “I was going to tell you.”

Leaning forward, I brushed a few errant strands of hair out of her face and kissed her temple. “We saw it coming a mile away, sweetheart.”

“But that doesn’t mean you’re necessarily okay with it.”

“Of course we are,” Wyatt said. “And given the way things are heading… Maybe one day we’ll all be a part of Pack Redmond. Just throwing it out there.”

“It’s a possibility,” Morgan said, rubbing the side of my hand. Silent reassurance that she was in no rush to form a pack, especially with my grandfather still in the hospital.

Her consideration was why it was impossible to be mad at her.

And I wanted to be upset with Morgan. To demand she not keep secrets from me, like the incident with Garvey that Joaquin had recorded, but I already knew what she’d say.

I had a lot going on with my family. Work was hellishly busy. She didn’t want to burden me further when she was perfectly capable of handling herself.

Which was true nine times out of ten. But every time her luck ran out, it left her hospitalized or battered…

No wonder Kelsey was upset.

Wyatt reached over and punched my shoulder. “Dude. Pull yourself together. You smell gross again.”

Morgan blinked at me in confusion. She breathed through her mouth, attempting to pick up a hint of the toxic fumes I was pumping out, but she couldn’t.

Her orchid scent took on a worried undernote.

“I’m just pissed with Garvey,” I said, giving her hand a final stroke before getting to my feet. “Just need a quick shower.”

“At least we’re not the stinky ones, for once.” Wyatt rubbed his face against Morgan’s uninjured shoulder, greedily coating her with his pheromones. “Do you know how hot you looked when you sprayed that fucker in the eyes?”

Shutting the door to Morgan’s bathroom behind me, I tried not to think about the determined set of her jaw and the utter confidence of her movements as she squared off against an alpha three times her size—and how badly it all could have gone wrong.

Achieving a reasonable degree of calm again would be impossible until Garvey got what was coming to him.

Reputational destruction and professional ruin.

And maybe, just maybe, if the fates were merciful, my fist in his face.

***

“What the hell, Morgan?” Audra Van Daal’s biting tone echoed through the first floor of Pack Redmond’s loft.

Morgan sat at the end of the dining table, surrounded by paperwork, frowning at her phone. A stoic Wyatt sat beside her, holding her uninjured hand beneath the table, face verging on crimson as he bit his tongue.

Owen sat at the head, tapping an imperious finger against the wood grain, mentally deducting favorability points from his impression of Audra the longer she spoke.

The mated pair was sitting at the island, having a whispered debate about what to order for lunch, but the matching frowns on their faces betrayed they were half-listening.

Sitting on Morgan’s other side, I was similarly displeased with Audra’s tone.

Surely, one sibling tongue-lashing was sufficient, and Kelsey had done a sterling job, something Morgan had tried to explain twice already.

Not that Audra cared.

“You’ve been getting harassed for months and never said—”

“Audra, darling, loveliest of mates,” Quinton interjected, his deep voice smooth as butter. No wonder he did so well in the courtroom. “She’s my client, not yours.”

“But she’s my little sister.”

“And I’m charging her by the hour. So, please, be quiet.”

He resumed asking questions about Morgan’s run-ins with Garvey and some of the finer language in her fellowship agreement.

Now that things were back on track, I got up and headed into the kitchen to make a fresh pot of coffee.

Just as I hit the start button, Alijah approached, clutching a bottle of scent-canceling spray against his chest.

“Can I have a minute?” he asked in a near-whisper. “Need to ask you something.”

“Sure.”

He gestured toward the spare bedroom off the kitchen, where their old couch sat, surrounded by empty cardboard boxes and rolls of paper towels.

I plopped down on the lumpy couch. “What’s up?”

Alijah glanced over his shoulder before stepping inside, then carefully closed the door behind him. “I think Morgan might have the wrong idea about why Dr. McEwen dismissed her early, and I don’t know how to tell her.”

“What do you mean?”

“She—she…” He wrung the neck of the spray bottle, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “Her pheromones. They were horrible. Not rusty, but more like…withered. It was different from before, after her seizure. Imagine that fear was a flower growing in a swamp of grief.”

Alijah’s vivid description added another sickening layer to the footage he’d captured.

Not only had Garvey attacked her, but he’d also forced her to relive part of the trauma caused by her accident—an omega athlete with a concussion, who’d been left vulnerable by a system more focused on results than safety.

Sure, she’d fought through it, maybe even healed a bit from the experience, but that didn’t mean her pheromones had been on the same wavelength as her logical mind.

I ran a hand through my hair for the hundredth time today. “She took it as Dr. McEwen turning his back on her, as a physician, rather than wanting to get her to a safe place?”

“Yeah. She was…” Alijah’s voice wavered, eyes dropping to the floor as he picked at the label on the bottle.

“She’s so strong, Cal. Before, during, after—I…

I’m just so in awe of her, and I can’t tell her because she won’t believe me.

I saw some of her texts with Reyhan last night.

She thinks she didn’t do enough for Amir. And…”

While Alijah tried to find the right words to continue, my phone buzzed in my hand. It was a text from Joaquin.

Owen’s phone just rang. He answered it. Sounded like someone from Redwing. Talking in his suite now.

My stomach sank. Owen rarely answered phone calls.

“Are you still checking Morgan’s hormones?” Alijah asked gingerly.

“Not for a few days. Why?”

“I think her pheromones get weird when she’s apart from Wyatt for too long.

The same goes for him. Wyatt was fine when he left for his away meet, but he stank when he got back.

Ask Joaquin if you don’t believe me.” Furrows dug into Alijah’s forehead.

“Morgan was fine at the start of the week, but she had a few hiccups on Thursday and Friday, and then by the time we got on the plane…”

When I opened the hormone-tracking software on my phone, I received a nasty surprise. Morgan had been just shy of entering a heat spike last night.

“You’re right.” Glancing at the anxious beta, I forced out a smile of appreciation, despite the serious ramifications for Morgan’s health. “Good catch.”

Alijah’s head dropped forward, squeezing the neck of the bottle. “But it’s not good news for them, is it? Wyatt told us he has waning syndrome.”

Tapping the side of my phone, I leveled with him. “I don’t know. Morgan didn’t have a heat for a long time, so it could be that she needs to have a few more before things even out. But yes, Morgan might have it, too. We won’t know until we run some more tests.”

He gave a half-hearted nod. “I just want her to be healthy.”

“She will be. We’ll make sure of it.”

“Okay.” Alijah’s head snapped to the side, nose wrinkling in disgust. “Owen’s coming this way. He smells pissed, and I’m not sticking around to find out why.”

He opened the door and fled to the safety of the laundry room across the hall.

Rapid steps, echoing with vexation, preceded Owen’s entrance. After closing the door, he marched over and sat next to me. He crossed his legs and stared at the ceiling. Nostrils flared, mouth pinched, his breathing intentionally deep and even—the Owen version of a temper tantrum.

“Everything all right?” I asked.

“No.” One tap of his pointer finger was followed by a second…then a third.

God damn it.

“Morgan was right,” he said, taking off his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. “San Diego media overheard Garvey’s outburst about the pheromone bombing. After last night’s fiasco, they contacted Redwing PR for comment.”

Owen fixed me with a steely gaze, even colder without the protective shield of his lenses.

“Tabitha sicced our legal team on Northport. You know how seriously she takes the company’s reputation.” He put his glasses back on. “Garvey’s finished.”

A sickening realization jolted me forward in my seat. “If the university fires him for violating his NDA, rather than omega rights infractions—”

My phone vibrated in my hand. Somehow, I already knew who was calling.

The same person who always delivered bad news on behalf of the annoyances in my life.

I hit answer and turned on the speaker function, not bothering to play nice with my nominal pack mother. “Anya.”

She greeted me with a bone-weary sigh. “Sounds like you already know about the university’s decision. I suppose I have Owen to thank for that.”

“You’re letting Garvey get away with assaulting two of your medical fellows and trying to drag an injured player back onto the field?”

“It’s out of my hands, Cal.”

“Then why are you involved?”

“Because university leadership thought Morgan’s fellowship director was the appropriate point of contact for what I’m about to say.”

“Say it to her. Not me. You have her number.”

“It’s precisely because I respect her professional abilities that I…

” She paused, swallowing so hard the sound reverberated throughout the room.

“I can’t. Not when the program, my program, failed her.

This situation is a disgrace, Cal. And I want no part of an institution that allows outstanding individuals like Reyhan Parsha and Morgan Van Daal to be treated like this. ”

Her voice cracked.

I suspected she’d already called Reyhan, trying to bolster her courage before thoroughly offending my girlfriend. And it didn’t work. Reyhan was among the few people who took more pride in being a physician than Morgan.

I rammed a fist against the side of my leg. “How much are they offering?”

“Because of Morgan’s profile,” Anya said, trying to mask her guilt with sarcasm, “she can name her price, within reason.”

“Are they offering a settlement to Reyhan as well?”

“Yes, along with Amir Okorie and several other injured players, as well as Dr. McEwen. His wrist’s fractured.”

Catching Owen’s raised brow, I asked what we were both wondering. “What about the rest of the coaching staff?”

A prolonged silence followed.

“They aren’t getting punished for their negligence?” I snarled.

“It seems that they’re letting Garvey fall on the proverbial sword.

Any additional rearrangement of the coaching staff is due to their embarrassing end to the season, not allowing the pheromone intimidation situation to continue.

” She sucked in a harsh breath. “And it’s been suggested that I retire.

My choice of medical fellows has been deemed subpar. ”

The corner of Owen’s mouth curled back into a threatening sneer.

A furious rumble sounded low in my chest. No one talked about our mate—about Morgan—like that.

Anya realized her mistake too late. “They didn’t mean her, Cal.”

“No, just omegas and betas in general,” I ground out. “I still don’t see why I should be the one to tell her.”

“Do this for me…and I’ll make sure that if you file courting paperwork before the end of my time at the university, it won’t impact Morgan’s team placements.”

Owen and I stared at one another for a breathless moment.

No. The university wouldn’t honor such an agreement.

I shook my head, trying to dislodge the temptation of her offer. “You can’t guarantee that.”

“Sometimes, I think that you forget I’m a Carling, too.” Her characteristic laugh, all sinuous wiles and obscure motives, poured out of the speaker. “Just like the university. But they’ll remember who I’m mated to when your father’s donations dry up.”

“Fair enough.”

Chaz saved his meager expressions of loyalty for situations like this, when ye olde Carling pride was on the line. He’d make the university sorry for forcing Anya out.

But not as much as I would make them regret trying to buy Morgan’s silence instead of listening to her valid concerns about pheromone intimidation in the first place.

“So, you’ll tell her?” she asked hesitantly.

“Yes. But instead of the paperwork approval, do your best to have her back at work. And make sure Heather leaves her the fuck alone.”

“You have my word.”

The line went dead.

Slumping down on the couch, I let out a self-deprecating laugh. “I just got played, didn’t I?”

“Masterfully,” Owen said, straightening his cufflinks. “Your father mated Anya for her tactical prowess, after all. But it’s not a bad deal.”

“Even though I just gave up our best bet of getting Morgan to agree to a proper courting before July?”

Owen’s laugh was cruel and sobering. “I’d be more concerned with getting her to agree to the settlement without getting dumped in the process.”

Groaning, I ran my hands over my scruff. “I’m fucked, aren’t I?”

“Well and truly, old friend.” Owen got to his feet. “My condolences.”

The couch was too deep to get up without making my knees pop. “Fuck everything about today.”

“Pace yourself.” Owen shot a wry glance over his shoulder. “It’s going to be a long week.”