Page 76 of Altius (The Scent of Victory #2)

Forty-Seven

Wyatt

I was used to performing for an audience. Not whatever this was.

“Pick up the pace,” Cal said, trying to capture beads of sweat running down my bare torso in a glass vial. “This isn’t nearly enough raw material to work with.”

With a perverse gleam in his eyes, Owen increased the speed on the treadmill in Morgan’s home gym to eleven miles per hour.

“Why are you pushing him so hard?”

Morgan lay on the floor, drained from her own sweat extraction exercise, unknowingly filling the room with a heady cloud of her orchid scent.

Combined with the visual stimulation of her full chest in a sports bra and thick thighs in skintight athletic leggings, it was too much temptation for my lovestruck brain.

I accelerated to a full-blown sprint, fighting the primal urge to pounce, knot, bite—

The cold rim of the vial dragging across my skin shocked some sense back into me.

Taking a deep breath, I looked out the window at the pre-dawn February gloom that shrouded the river

It was early. Too fucking early. Even for gym rats like me and Morgan. But they didn’t want Kelsey to know what we were doing.

I didn’t agree with the decision, but I got it.

Morgan wanted to keep her diagnosis private until Kelsey finished moving.

Breaking the news to her family would be easier after Cal moved in. There could be no greater reassurance than having a leading pheromone expert living under the same roof as two people with waning syndrome.

I’d already relocated my meager belongings into the guest room upstairs. Technically, it was my room now, but it felt more like a glorified closet, since I slept with Morgan every night.

A luxury that wouldn’t last.

Joaquin was already insisting that Alijah’s Wednesday date nights were now a group activity that included sleepovers.

Morgan nipped that in the bud for the time being. But we all knew it was temporary. They’d start pushing for more time with her as soon as Kelsey’s last box was carted out of the loft.

You always knew you’d have to share, I reminded myself as Owen increased the pace yet again.

I shot my brother a death glare. He responded with a smug grin.

“Keep going,” he said, attention shifting to Cal. “See if you can manage another six-minute mile.”

Cal huffed, slowly running the vial along my neck. “We’re here for serious business, not to give me shit about my knees.”

“Why not both?” my brother and I asked simultaneously.

We looked at one another in surprise.

A soft laugh came from behind us, accompanied by a fresh cloud of orchid temptation.

Eyes fixed on the window, I watched Morgan’s reflection as she got to her feet and headed toward the door.

Not her ass. I was most definitely not checking out her perfect ass.

“Can I trust you three to play nice while I take a shower?”

“Maybe,” Cal grumbled.

Owen straightened his glasses. “No promises.”

“No, baby—wait.” Turning to look at her, I stumbled, disrupting my pace and almost twisting an ankle, forcing me to grip the handlebars for support. “You’re leaving me alone with these two?”

She glanced at the clock on the wall. “We’re starting our hand and elbow rotation this morning. Need to get there early.”

“And you’re not going anywhere until I get four more milliliters.” Cal jabbed the vial at my armpit.

Trying not to look amused, Morgan slipped through the door, gently closing it behind her.

Owen increased the speed one final time—and I ran like hell.

If the big-brained bullies wanted sweat, I’d give them sweat.

Anything for Morgan.

***

My squad dominated their home meet against Wakeland State on Friday, moving us to second place in the conference.

“How do you want me to apologize for embarrassing your fellow weasels?” I teased Morgan as we stepped out of the elevator.

“Fisher,” she corrected me flatly for the tenth time today, striding down the hall ahead of me. “It’s Finley the Fisher.”

The door to 602 swung open, and Cal’s head popped out. “Oh, good. You’re back. Can you come talk some sense into Owen? He’s pissed his team didn’t find anything unusual about Nika’s sensor, and now he’s ignoring your feedback about accessories for the vibration therapy units.”

“Sure,” Morgan said, pressing her thumb to the lock on our front door. “Fill me in while I change?”

Cal ambled across the hall, following us into the foyer, where he helped Morgan out of her coat. “It’s the surrogate object concept. He can’t understand why anyone would need a vibrating pillow—”

“Ooh, that sounds fun.” Rory bounded out of the stockroom, carrying a box of fuzzy socks. “Can I have one?”

The three of us stopped short.

In the twelve hours we’d been gone, the number of packing boxes had quadrupled, covering every square inch of the living room floor. The furniture had been pushed to the far wall, beside the piano, which was covered in a tarp for protection.

“Leave them alone, Rory,” Kelsey called from the depths of the cardboard maze, checking the contents of an open box against the master inventory list on her clipboard.

“But Cal’s talking about cool vibrating things.”

“And it’s confidential,” Morgan said, heading toward the doors to her suite—but not fast enough.

A pair of athletic young men walked out of the stockroom. Each one carried a heavy packing box. Their faces lit up when they saw her.

“Doc!”

Then they spotted Cal and froze. They looked between him and Morgan a few times before glancing in my direction.

Ever amiable, Cal offered them a welcoming smile. “Hey, guys. How’s practice going?”

That’s when it clicked.

The slimmer one was Landon, the football team’s star kicker. And the beefier one with locs was Amir, the omega linebacker Morgan had gotten hurt trying to protect.

“Practice is good,” Landon said a bit awkwardly.

“Are these the boyfriends you mentioned?” a dazed Amir asked Rory.

“Yeah,” Rory said. “This is Cal and—”

Morgan cut him off with a quick reprimand. “Rory.”

“What?” He blinked at her twice and then jolted, realizing he’d let a very precarious cat out of the bag.

Our relationships were supposed to be a secret. If either player blabbed, we’d all be in trouble with the university.

“Oh, shit.” Rory went pale. “Football players. I didn’t—I mean, it wasn’t on purpose…”

“We won’t tell anybody,” Landon promised, setting his box on the dining room table.

Amir’s expression was somber as he nodded in agreement. “You have our word, doc.”

“Thanks,” Morgan said, opening the door to her suite. “We appreciate it—both your discretion and your help packing.”

Landon dismissed her thanks with a wave of his hand. “When Rory said we could pick a Beaufeather’s nesting kit if we helped his sister move, we were more than happy to help.”

Kelsey and Morgan levelled their baby brother with near-identical glares. Nesting kits started at several hundred dollars, and Morgan would be on the hook to pay for whatever they chose.

With cheeks as ruddy as his auburn hair, Rory grabbed an empty box and hightailed it back to the stockroom.

Morgan sighed and headed for her bedroom. I followed suit. Cal brought up the rear, closing the suite doors behind him.

“Are those two trustworthy?” I asked, dropping my duffel on the velvet ottoman in the foyer.

Rubbing his jaw, Cal took a moment to ponder his response. “It should be all right. They owe her, especially Amir.”

“What about Landon?”

“He was exposed to compatible pheromones right before a game at the start of the season. Went into pre-heat early. Morgan caught it during a manual review of the PheroPass data, so my team was able to adjust his suppressants in time. He scored the winning field goal that weekend, thanks to her—she might have saved his entire season, now that I think about it. He just declared his eligibility for the pro draft.”

I was happy for the kid, but something didn’t sit right about Cal’s words. “When you say exposed, do you mean the pheromone bomber targeted him?”

“No, it happened during class.”

“How do you know it wasn’t deliberate?”

Cal’s gaze darkened. “The timelines don’t match up.”

“The pheromone bomber had to start somewhere, and seeing if you can get the star kicker benched—”

A sharp, floral spike, tinged with distress, grated against our skin. We rushed into Morgan’s bedroom.

She stood outside her closet, with vacant eyes fixed on her phone.

“What happened?” I asked, tense voice verging on a demand.

“Nothing.” Despite the well-honed neutrality of her facial expression, Morgan reeked of disappointment.

Cal wrapped her in his arms. “Nice try, sweetheart. But you keep forgetting we can smell you’re upset.”

“Oh.” She blinked, exhaled deeply, and held out her phone, displaying an email.

Before I could decipher the jumble of text, Cal’s conciliatory purr echoed through the closet.

“It’s a rejection from Garroway Forest.”

“What?” I grabbed the phone, poking at the screen in disbelief, as if the blurred words would rearrange themselves into a job offer. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

Morgan had been so excited about that interview. She would have been a perfect fit for their program.

She didn’t respond, just held Cal tighter while her scent grew increasingly bitter, taking on a sour undertone.

My pheromones poured out in a misguided attempt to soothe her, filling the room with the stench of decay.

Cal gave me a warning look.

“I can’t help it,” I protested.

“Help what?” Morgan asked, her voice muffled by Cal’s bulk.

“It’s time to up his scent blockers again.” Cal kissed the top of her head. “And start you on one.”

Morgan pulled away, openly pouting as she headed into her closet. “Great. More meds to add to my collection.”

She pulled off her Narwhals sweatshirt, exchanging it for a tank top and an oversized black flannel shirt that I’m pretty sure belonged to Joaquin.

“Look on the bright side,” Cal teased, admiring our girlfriend’s toned legs as she swapped her jogger scrubs for sweatpants. “You have carte blanche to tell Owen just how wrong he is about what an omega needs from a purr unit.”