Page 71 of Altius (The Scent of Victory #2)

“Morgan?” Chantal asked.

“It’s fine.”

She paused, head canting in my direction, nostrils flaring as she tried to pick up any hint of deception in my scent.

But there was nothing to find, thanks to dousing myself with the last of the travel bottle of scent-canceling spray Wyatt had given me.

Some of my secrets were still safe.

“The fact that you can’t control the strength of your pheromones is very concerning,” she said.

“It’s partly due to your anosmia, of course, but I’m worried.

Being on such a high dose of suppressants for so long may have caused permanent damage.

We should pursue a complete workup of your pheromone gland function.

It’ll give us a clearer picture of how to proceed. ”

She leaned across the desk, softening her voice, removing any hint of alpha persuasion. “I need to know you’re on board with this, Morgan.”

“Whatever you two think is best,” I croaked out. “Waning syndrome isn’t my area of expertise.”

I don’t know how long I sat there, nodding politely and replying with seemingly appropriate monosyllables while they made robust plans to deal with my diagnosis.

The next thing I knew, Cal was driving us across the Tolliver Bay bridge.

Whitecaps skimmed across the bay like dull blades, as unforgiving as my racing thoughts.

I felt scraped raw, paralyzed by information overload, reeling from the impact of every poor decision I’d made since the day of my accident.

If I’d called Wyatt after my memory started working again, and flown him out for regular visits, would my sense of smell have recovered?

What if he’d been available for my heats? Would I have enjoyed the experience, maybe even looked forward to them?

One thing was for sure—I would never have abused suppressants the way I had. Because I would never have convinced myself that I only had the attention span to be a doctor or fall in love, but not both.

It’s not like I hadn’t tried to let men into my life after the accident, but they always rejected me. Made me believe that my condition was a fatal flaw. That I was better off alone—because Wyatt was never coming back into my life.

So, I dedicated myself to medicine, a goal-driven automaton that ignored everything except her self-imposed routine of exercise, work, more work, and sleep.

But then fate tempted me with Cal’s easy partnership and unwavering support.

Blinded me with Alijah’s megawatt smiles and heartfelt care.

Allowed Joaquin to poke at the dying embers of my interests and find a healthy outlet for my temper.

Unsettled me with the depth of Owen’s mind and the unexpected shelter I found in his dominance.

And Wyatt…

The surprise of him standing there—frozen in the aisle of the airplane in Chicago, as striking as a Greek statue, stealing my breath and threatening to take my heart along with it—still hadn’t faded.

I should have known we’d wind up together, that our biology would override everything else.

He was my scent match.

And I’d nuked my pheromone glands in my desperation to stop needing him.

My lack of scent was directly responsible for his worsening condition.

Guilt was something I was used to living with. I found ways to apologize to my parents and tried to show how much I appreciated Kelsey taking care of me whenever I could. Even Jenna had realized my efforts to maintain our tenuous connection were sincere despite being predictable.

But I couldn’t buy my way out of this mess with a gift card or a shopping spree at a fancy vintage boutique. No amount of carefully worded text messages would repair the damage I’d done.

How was I supposed to face Wyatt and pretend we were equally at fault when I was responsible for our mating syndrome?

Me and my damn pride.

Convinced that I had to become a sports medicine physician, no matter what it cost me or how much I suffered, just like Jacobi said.

But my health was supposed to pay the blood price. Not Wyatt’s. Never Wyatt’s.

Why hadn’t I told him we were scent matches the day we scented each other? I should have known he wouldn’t understand, not with the way his mother raised him. And he deserved to know. Not telling him immediately was selfish and unfair. My lack of decency had doomed us both.

As if that wasn’t horrible enough, I was also forcing Cal to relive his worst nightmare—potentially losing the most important woman in his life to waning syndrome.

All because I chose to wallow in self-pity instead of calling the man I was halfway in love with and telling him I missed him.

Cal kept glancing at me as he drove, watching for any sign of outward distress. One tear. A single quiver of my chin. For my breath to snag. Proof that I hadn’t reverted to the heartless shell he’d met in July.

But it was worse than that.

My heart wasn’t beating at all.

***

Cal shepherded me from the garage to the elevator, one hand always touching me, forever mindful of my safety and comfort, even though I could tell from the furrow between his brows that he was trawling through his vast repertoire of knowledge, looking for a way out of this mess.

I knew, without a doubt, that he’d try everything to fix us.

The large hand wrapped around my limp fingers was my only source of solace. Without him, I’d…

How foolish I’d been, pretending that I hadn’t been attracted to him from the moment he strode into our introductory meeting, one thumb hooked in his pants pocket, trusty legal pad tucked under his arm, wearing his confidence like a second skin.

That one lingering glance from those keen hazel eyes hadn’t made my omega stir for the first time in ages.

I’d tried to resist him. Honestly and truly tried.

Because with me, regret is inevitable.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered just as the door slid open, nearly drowning out my voice.

Cal paused, one foot in the hallway, fingers digging into my palm.

“Feel whatever you need to feel tonight.” Glancing over his shoulder, there was a determined edge to his half-smile. “Because starting tomorrow, you’re my patient first. Girlfriend second. I won’t go easy on you—either of you.”

I nodded and followed him down the hallway. There was no point in resisting or trying to delay facing Wyatt.

With a surprisingly steady hand, I pressed my thumb against the lock on the front door, but Cal turned the handle and swung it open, revealing Wyatt pacing in front of the fireplace.

Kip and Tenny scampered over for affection, a task I left for Cal to handle.

I was too busy being consumed by Wyatt’s embrace. He buried his face in my neck, seeking reassurance I couldn’t give.

“I’m sorry.” It was all I could manage to say. “I’m so sorry.”

Even the scalding tears sliding down my cheeks couldn’t thaw me. Nor could the purr that sputtered in and out between his sobs.

“It’s okay, baby. We’re gonna be okay.”

Doubt swept over me, erasing all discernible thought, leaving me too blank to function.

When my conscious mind rebooted hours later, I was lying on my side, in the center of my nest, sandwiched between two purring alphas.

Cal’s large body ran the length of my back, his face buried in my hair.

Pressed against my front, his head tucked beneath my chin, a fitful Wyatt had the corner of my shirt clenched tight in his fist.

Except my shirt had become a pajama top. They’d even been thoughtful enough to remove my bra.

What time was it? I had to be ready for lunch with Kelsey at noon. Where was my phone…

That’s when I realized one of my hands was tangled in Wyatt’s long hair while the other was hooked beneath Cal’s knee, ensuring his leg blanketed my lower half.

Trying to find my phone would mean having to move, and between the grounding weight of their bodies bracketing mine and their synchronized purrs, it was all I could do to keep my eyes open.

It was okay, I told myself. I could go back to sleep.

My alphas had me.